It finally has happened.
Video games have finally become too cute for my brain to process.
It’s been tough for me to determine whether parenthood and age have just softened me up or if games have really ratcheted the squee factor up in the last few years, but I’m seeing growing evidence that it’s the latter.
Once upon a time, most video games were ugly. They were blocky and crude, blinky and angular, they gave you a headache if you stared at them for too long. With better technology came curves and softer edges, sounds that were more human-like, and a raft of anthromorphic shapes (“Pac-Man”) and pint-sized pixel heroes (“Donkey Kong” hero Mario).
“New Super Mario Bros. Wii,” a game so diabolical that even in its side-scrolling, magic mushroom-munching cuteness reminded me that my twitch reflexes were no longer what they were when I played games like it as a kid.
That’s right. This was a game that made me think about my own mortality. There’s nothing cute about a game that reminds you of the inevitable march toward death.
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