The Super Mario Bros. Movie is out, reaping huge piles of cash in its first week. Everyone wants to see this movie, it seems. And why not? Mario is a feature of countless childhoods, carried in the hearts of those same souls who now have kids of their own. Yes, like Disney and Mickey Mouse, Nintendo has its Mario branded on every generation, every mind and kind.

So it’s no surprise that people would freak over an actual Mario movie, a film that conveniently distills in celebratory fashion forty years-worth of lore and color, of princesses and mushrooms and turtle dragons and bottomless chasms. But is it good? That depends. (Minor spoilers ahead.)

The cynical critic will find plenty to dislike. The plot is thin and spins too fast, sending Mario and company on a quest that barely hesitates, let alone stops. In ninety minutes, the hero gets transported from Brooklyn to the Mushroom Kingdom and all its neighboring lands, and then back again. There’s very little time for introspection as characters run and bound and get battered about, as things just inexplicably happen—inexplicably, at least, for those with little knowledge of the source material. One critic openly complained about Mario turning into a cat, not understanding the seemingly arbitrary nature of the transformation. She didn’t know, of course, that “Cat Mario” is a real powerup that fans of Super Mario 3D World instantly understand.

Gamers, on the other hand, have plenty to love; the movie is a store of secrets and references, much to critical disdain but fan demand. Again, the movie is a tribute--a moving collage--of all-things Mario. It’s less a story than an explosion of the games’ characters and highlights, just administered now on the big screen without a controller in hand. It’s fun, fast, and respects the original material. Well, mostly.

Nitpickers will find some changes to the canon somewhat unfortunate. Luigi is indeed excised from much of the story, replacing the Princess as the damsel in need of saving. This is a shame, as the close brotherly relationship he shares with Mario encompasses some of the film’s most powerful, poignant moments. But he’s quickly relegated to “player 4” here, sidelined by Toad and the Princess.

And yes, Princess Peach is another sticky predicament; although usually a fixture of temperance, peace, and grace in the games (Smash and Mario Kart aside), she’s a regular Pink Ninja here, combative and brazen and sooooo immensely capable, it’s a wonder why Mario is even needed. That said, for those who don’t care about her matching with the games, she’s perfectly likable here...just not the same princess.

The mainline Mario games rarely cared about narrative, which might explain the movie's occasional plot problems. Fans will be too busy giggling to likely notice, but it’s hard to imagine why Bowser, facing defeat, just doesn’t use the Power Star himself. Or why the penguins don’t use it at the beginning of the film. Moreover, why does a fall from Rainbow Road (an ethereal highway) lead to an ocean? Why is Peach a “Princess” and not Queen? And isn't Kamek, Bowser’s pet wizard, just a little too overpowered with that do-everything wand of his? Yet, he barely features in the final battle.

And lastly, for all its pomp and wahoos, the film can get seriously dark, what with two armies and a hapless human all nearly dissolved—slowly—into a vat of lava. This Bowser, for all his sweet princess-pining, is truly despicable. Scarily so. Like, on a real, psychopathic scale.

But, for all its passing oddities, the movie is still supremely entertaining. And Mario, for being a mascot of rote catchphrases and little more, is truly likable here--real, relatable, and easy to cheer. In short, the movie has a heart and charm that even the games often lack, and that is an amazing accomplishment.

The Mario movie deserves to be seen. It’s energetic, fun…and yes, a little dumb.

Just like the games. And that’s okay.--P

More thoughts about games and things at www.lostnostalgia.com

Howard Scott Warshaw—he’s the man who created such beloved Atari 2600 games as Yar’s Revenge and Raiders of the Lost Ark. He’s also the dude who programmed E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, a subpar 2600 adaptation of the 1983 film that many credit for destroying the early ‘80s gaming market. Warshaw has been outspoken about his ignominious role in all of this, resenting the prominent disgrace he’s endured while still trying to laugh it off at the same time. But the question remains: Is the infamy deserved? Did his poorly-conceived E.T. bring about the 1983 video game crash?

Well, the winds of shame have indeed shifted over time. Some revisionists now defend the downtrodden designer, describing E.T. not as a misguided cash-grab, but rather a misunderstood but admirable attempt at distilling the movie’s basic plot points into the already antiquated Atari 2600 hardware. But...is this true? Has poor Warshaw been unfairly singled-out and maligned?

Yes and no. E.T. isn’t so much a terrible game as it was the wrong type of game to represent such a timeless, heartfelt film. Few kids, waking up Christmas Morning 1983, would appreciate the supposed “ambition” hiding behind E.T.’s plodding gameplay and somewhat cryptic design. Even Steven Spielberg, the maestro behind the movie, had envisioned the game to be more akin to a Pac-Man-clone that what Warshaw actually delivered.

But…yes, the game isn’t the worst title in history. It’s not even the worst game of its generation. It’s simply a mediocre film-licensed title that was rushed to market and, due to its popular namesake, became the symbol of everything toxic and wrong with the early ‘80s gaming industry. And there was a lot wrong—gluts of titles, mostly bad, pouring out from numerous, sometimes shady companies, plus poor planning, wasteful business practices, antiquated hardware, employee/designer disregard, and greed. Pure, ageless greed.

And unfortunately, Warshaw isn’t guiltless on this last point; far from being the poor Atari worker forced to work on this rushed take on E.T., he gladly took on the project. Why? Money. He got paid $200,000 for five weeks of work which, in today’s cash, amounts to almost $600,000. And that’s before one counts the alleged royalties he also received, although the particulars on these are unclear. In short, whether he deserves his infamy or not, he got paid extremely well for his services. And all by his choice.

If only we could all be so lucky in our unfortunate choices…

Anyone wanting to delve more into this nifty piece of gaming history can check out my podcast, which touches on this topic in more detail.

Thanks to Ain't it Cool News and Den of Geek for offering these images.

I received a nice surprise a few weeks back - my Arduboy FX finally arrived, a credit card-sized handheld designed to resemble the original Game Boy. It's wafer-thin (a cracker or two thick), sports a 1-bit OLED display (meaning it only produces stark, black-and-white graphics), and can store hundreds of games at once due to its built-in memory (unlike the original model that allowed only one title at a time). Better yet, the machine comes preloaded with over 200 of them! In short, it looks like this:

I recently published a brief podcast reviewing the unit, but here's a excerpt detailing the system's specifics:

"The name, 'Arduboy,' speaks to the philosophy behind its design. The first half—Ardu—comes from Arduino, which is an open-source electronics platform intended to help hobbyists, artists, enthusiasts, and amateurs create interesting tech products without the huge learning curve usually involved with such enterprises. The latter half—Boy—of course refers to Nintendo’s own classic portable system, the original Game Boy. Indeed, the machine, despite being many times smaller than any of Nintendo’s hardware, is clearly an homage to that classic design. Yep, it’s a flat rectangle meant to be held vertically with a d-pad and two buttons arrayed parallel to a small black-and-white screen. If Nintendo itself had come up with something like this, the company would have sold millions just on the novelty value alone.

"But I digress. As Nintendoish as it seems on the surface, the Arduboy is clearly its own animal chasing its own whims and design philosophies. For one, despite the retro pretenses, it's packed with some interesting hardware, most notably a 1-bit OLED matrix display of 126x64 pixels. Yep, it’s a fine screen…but one hamstrung by a severe limitation—it can only spit black-and-white graphics. Even the original Game Boy could do four gray shades, but here we have a measly two! The screen is strangely squat, as well. Think of it being like a Game Boy screen with the top third hacked off, and that’s the real-estate you can expect from the Arduboy. It seems underwhelming, but does complement the modest 8-bit hardware powering the unit; the teeny screen at least makes for a wallet-friendly machine that's big on charm."

As noted, the system isn't perfect, but its limitations are part of the fun; the so-called shortcomings force programmers to get creative with the games they make, maximizing the little that's available in terms of power and visibility. And yep, while many of the unit's offerings are forgettable distractions, some are true masterpieces considering the platform's inherent restrictions. My favorite might be Catacombs of the Damned, a fantasy FPS that plays with a buttery fluidity I would have thought impossible before.

Ardynia can be likened to The Legend of Zelda...

And Sirene is a charming horizontal shooter (which I couldn't get a good pic of, hence the title screen shown)...

Along with all the games, the handheld packs some weirdness, including a Fidget Spinner, an LED tester, and even a credit card number saver. The system is full of such curiosities.

It's an eclectic, and eccentric, device to say the least; a bauble worth buying, in my humble opinion (especially for the modest $55.00 asking price)! And because it's open-source, anyone can develop for it. Check out Arduboy.com for more info; preorders for the second batch are currently underway. If nothing else, it makes a neat conversation piece!

When I was a wee lad, a buddy of mine had a portable Pac-Man machine that bore a surprisingly close resemblance to the original arcade version. Released by the late, great Coleco, the gizmo used vacuum fluorescent display (VFD) technology—an early precursor to the LED—to provide a crude but playable approximation of its arcade big brother. I was fascinated by this little facsimile, but in retrospect, it was the relatively faithful reproduction of Pac-Man’s arcade artwork that was truly impressive. How awesome would it be to have the entire line of Coleco’s mini cabs adorning a shelf or some center showcase? It’d be a miniature home arcade that anyone could afford to own!

Well, I never did get my own Pac-Man portable, nor any other for that matter. But years later, around the turn of the century, I began thinking about that tiny replica again. It was so cool! Why hadn’t another company come around to do the same thing in recent times, releasing similar replicas now built around the magic of modern technology? Well, jump ahead another fifteen years or so, and my wish finally came true. Walking through my local Wal-Mart one evening, I found one corner of the toy department crowded with something I hadn’t seen in eons—rows of squat, five-inch arcade cabinets bearing the likeness of Centipede, Q*bert, and a bevy of other classics. Even better, their displays now utilized true LCD tech that played actual ROMs (albeit of sometimes indeterminate origin). It was like someone had finally heard my prayer!

Except, it was more than one answering angel. Indeed, a legion of other companies have now entered the market with their own arcade miniatures of one kind or another. Arcade1UP specializes in ¾ scale machines than come closest to matching the full-blown experience of the real deal. On the opposite end, Super Impulse is sprinkling retailers with its Tiny Arcade line, which comprises teeny, Christmas Tree ornament-sized baubles that can barely be played given their puny dimensions--but at least they look neat and cost pennies by comparison. My Arcade sells slightly superior, snazzier versions of Basic Fun’s machines. New Wave Toys’ Replicade series tries to simulate the original arcade experience as precisely as possible, but within a 1/6 scale design. And Numskull, deeming those original arcade cabinets of yesteryear to be works of art, is doubling down on the aesthetic element, recreating ¼ scale wooden cabinets that, in theory, should be nigh indistinguishable from their grown-up counterparts (dimensions aside).

Thus, enter Galaxian: Numskull’s latest in what some might call its "Namco Vintage Collection"; Pac-Man, Galaga, and Ms. Pac-Man “Quarter Arcades” have already seen release by the British-based company, with each machine receiving fair to positive reviews from the enthusiast collective at large. In truth, I’m still waiting for my Ms. Pac-Man to arrive, but in the meantime, I’ve decided to briefly evaluate the Galaxian cab that came adorning my doormat during the Christmas break. Enjoy the following splurge of pictures!

The positives are obvious—true to Numskull’s word, the cabinet is beautiful, with a stately trim and bright, clean artwork, a glowing marquee, and zero blemishes from what I can see. The little joystick sports a nice “click” and doesn’t wobble when tugged left or right. The screen itself, although not extremely high quality, seems to scale the graphics properly (despite a subtle shimmer to the ship itself) and looks authentic when observed head-on. Likewise, the audio is robust and can be adjusted accordingly. And for the true enthusiasts out there, the game does offer access to its dip switch settings, although the options are so meager, it almost doesn’t matter. The built-in battery also holds a decent charge.

The downsides are mostly nitpicks. Although the screen is bright and looks authentic to casual observation, enemy bullets do bear a slight flicker/shimmer that wasn’t present in the original. This makes discerning/dodging the bugs’ attacks just a touch tougher than ideal, a problem that isn’t helped by the tiny joystick that can’t be manhandled in the way its arcade counterpart could. Strangely, the beautiful marquee bears its own setback—its light bleeds onto the screen via a hidden vent tucked into the “ceiling” of the cabinet, a grate that only exists for decorative purposes! Fortunately, a piece of well-placed black tape will fix the issue. The biggest complaint shared by most, however, is the machine’s inability to save high scores, which is a curious oversight considering it does retain changes made to the dip settings (which are software-based) after shut off. Personally, I would have liked a quick reset option for those games that go awry early on, and perhaps a weighted base to prevent the cab from tilting back and forth during intense play sessions. And lastly, there’s a faint pop or crackle sometimes evident in the audio for those with perceptive ears. I only noticed it when playing the game at near/full volume, but again, in an ideal world, the sound would be completely clean.

But like I said, the complaints are minor, maybe even petty, for what is generally a striking homage to one of gaming’s greatest early classics. Unlike Numskull’s Pac-Man release, I’ve been playing this Galaxian cab almost daily, with a current high score of 27,940. It’s an undoubtedly fine, tiny distraction, and worth the $100.00 I paid for it. (Prices vary depending on retailer and occasion.)

Nevertheless, the real reason to get one of these units is not for the gameplay, but for that pristine exterior design. In other words, these are meant to be displayed more than to be played; if you’re searching for a commercial grade build of Galaxian to bang around on, I would not recommend Numskull’s offering. It’s an art piece first, video game second. (Arcade1UP’s Countercade line might be preferable to those favoring the latter.) Indeed, Numskull's 1/4 scale design might be the ideal happy medium amongst an increasingly crowded field of miniature machines built for different purposes...and budgets.

Thanks for reading! And if you want to learn more about Numskull and the mini-arcade scene in general, feel free to check out my weekly podcast.

Thanks to bigmansavagedan81 and handheldmuseum.com for the Coleco and Basic Fun pics.

After several delays, New Wave Toys’ Street Fighter 2 arcade miniature is finally shipping out to fans! As part of the company’s Replicade series, this long-awaited machine is third in a line of high-quality collectibles meant to both preserve and replicate that old-timey arcade experience, albeit in 1/6 scale form. This means a high-quality display, authentic arcade ROMs, a wooden exterior, faithfully reproduced artwork, and perhaps most important of all, authentic controls. Sounds too good to be true, right?

Alas, in the beginning, it sorta was. The first two releases—Centipede and Tempest, respectively—suffered a host of issues, the former sometimes undermined by a faulty battery and unreliable trackball, the latter with “clicky” dial controls that did not properly simulate the original’s smooth spinning dynamics. And considering these gizmos aren’t cheap, ranging from $120.00 to $160.00, I naturally dismissed both as unfortunate novelties.

The Street Fighter 2 attempt seemed equally problematic—why would anyone even consider squeezing a six-button layout onto such meager real estate? But the more I read about the device, the more I became intrigued. All the usual selling points were there, from the lighted marquee to full dip-switch customization, but what really regaled me were the two included micro-switch joysticks; while the first was affixed to the unit in proper fashion, the second came as a separate, mini control pad held within the rear of the unit. In other words, two-player games were possible without compromises or expensive add-ons!

Long story short, I preordered a unit. And after months of ponderous waiting, I now possess--within my hands--a Street fighter 2 Champion Edition “arcade machine” of my very own. My twelve-year-old self would never have dreamed this possible.

But is it any good? Well, I think the pics below hold the pleasant answer! (Indeed, these images speak truer than any long, wordy scrawl. However, for those wanting a more intimate, detailed account, I provide that, too, in my most recent podcast.)

A step-by-step unboxing of the Street Fighter 2 cabinet. The packaging is generally well done, although the inner box still incurred a mashed corner at the top. Better the cardboard than the machine, I suppose.

The machine itself, although smaller than initial expectations, still sports a solid, weighty feel. Interestingly, it even comes with four miniature coins, although these are purely ornamental (and honestly, rather pointless). Most impressive might be the fight stick; not only are the micro-switch controls the real deal, the entire device sports a gratifying heft when held. What's more, the backside even comes adorned with rubber feet. Huh...

A beautiful showpiece, whether viewed from the front or the back! The display is also impressive, offering sharp, vibrant colors with no sign of ghosting or slowdown. Audio is likewise accurate and distinct. And though the unit pays tribute to the Champion Edition version of the mythos, the inclusion of Super Street Fighter 2 Turbo is a welcome extra.

Lastly, here's the Replicade unit placed between Numskull's 1/4 scale Pac-Man cab and SNK's somewhat underwhelming Neo Geo Mini. Although I prefer the larger size of Numskull's design, that screen on the Street Fighter cab is an undeniable stunner. A champion, for sure.

In sum...

If the pictures have done their job, you know I’m more than delighted with this “meager” facsimile. Indeed, it’s perhaps one of the greatest mini collectibles I have ever beheld; a device more uniquely and quintessentially Street Fighter than any that's come before. And a fine comeback for New Wave Toys.

Definitely recommended.

The Legend of Zelda is a peerless series—an eternal, unrolling scroll of primal belief and Campbellian myth made flesh via the grace of our digital age. Indeed, the “Zeldaverse” has become both a refuge and lifestyle choice for those hopeful disciples seeking meaning, or, at least, a sense of wonder, in a world seemingly bereft of either. Yes, fans love the franchise for its matchless adventure and epic action. But it’s the mythology more than the mechanics that feeds their continued devotion, shepherding the faithful with an ever-flowing tome of new revelation thanks to its constant updates and reimaginings.

The celebrated Link’s Awakening is no different, existing as Nintendo’s latest attempt in remaking one of the series’ greatest, most provocative tales. No doubt, with all its narrative potential, the Game Boy classic is perhaps among the few in the franchise to truly justify another try—a second quest, one might say, in better developing the story’s deeper meanings. And yet, if early previews are to be believed, the Big N seems content in merely repeating the same narrative beats as before, focusing more on the game’s new glossy graphics than the darker drama awaiting within.

One hopes to be wrong in daring such heresy, but for now, Awakening’s modern return is seeming more rerun than epic retelling.

The Original’s Promise, the Remake’s Problem

Link’s Awakening stands unique as the series’ grand tragedy, even when “victory” is finally achieved by the saga’s end. Indeed, no other Zelda entry is more steeped in the blur between dream and nightmare, in absurdist whimsy and existential misery, of hope and dread and the cruel, dual nature of reality. The Game Boy original sees the hapless hero stranded upon the mysterious Koholint Island where a cast of eccentric villagers, anthropomorphic animals, mythical beings, and brazen monsters all co-exist. Most significant, however, is the mysterious “Wind Fish,” a creature slumbering within a giant, impenetrable egg. Awakening this dubious dreamer might be Link’s only hope in returning home. But if he does, so warns a wizened owl, what happens to the island? What if everything Link has experienced is the mere projection of a god’s unraveling fantasy?

Hence the game’s moral conundrum; is the island so ephemeral as to be expendable? Can Link, in good faith, sacrifice all those friendly faces in exchange for a ticket to freedom? If everything is a mere illusion, are the islanders’ lives thus meaningless and thereby irrelevant? Who has the right to decide, if anyone, what’s real and what’s fiction? Moreover, what makes the owl so uniquely trustworthy? Can the “enemy” nightmares really be blamed for protecting their own tenuous existence? Shouldn’t Link, the virtuous hero, strive for a solution that will spare the lives of all involved? Or conversely, could the hero himself be the actual villain, a puppet controlled by sinister, invisible hands?

Caught in this drama is the radiant Marin, a girl whose charm and beauty rivals the goddesses themselves. The girl who, incidentally, saves Link’s life, and who also dreams of leaving the island behind. Indeed, an immaculate woman any man would proudly die for.

Except Link, apparently. Here, his role of protector is grossly subverted—only by sacrificing his would-be love, and countless others, can he hope to escape his otherwise paradise. Yep, with a proverbial snap, he can make it all go away. Such is the tragedy—the squirmy, sticky reality—that festers at the game’s murky center.

At least in theory…

Regretfully, these darker elements are more suggested than explored in the original telling, obscured by the title’s emphasis on whimsy and outlandish absurdity. A missed opportunity, indeed, for an otherwise gripping game. And why, ever since, Zelda acolytes have pined for a second take—another chance for Nintendo to get the story right, to finally explore those darker corners barely acknowledged before. Alas, judging from early footage, the remake looks to follow the original’s script almost to the letter, leaving little space to examine those darker themes always hinted in the subtext, waiting to be awakened, as it were.

Remakes come in two forms—those that mirror their predecessors, and those that build on the original’s core. Link’s Awakening has chosen the former road, it seems, interested mainly in updating its visuals—an admittedly charming, if superficial, veneer that succeeds only in demeaning the story’s darker implications.

This is a travesty; a waste of a second chance. And why, if early signs prove true, this is one remake best left to the past.--PAC

Want a deeper look into this topic? Please seek my weekly podcast here. For this particular episode, I elaborate more on Awakening's cute but tonally questionable graphics.

Thanks to Nintendosoup.com for the comparison image.

What? Who would dare hate on Limited Run Games (LRG)? Since 2015, this noble enterprise has served the cause of game preservation by converting digital-only releases, both the popular and obscure, into physical copies perfect for anyone’s dusty collection. Well, almost anyone—the company takes its “limited run” mantle rather seriously, often releasing these gems in scant, two/three thousand-piece allotments, meaning those not paying attention will often miss out. Indeed, even those who camp the site often find themselves losing to other ravenous buyers.

But wailing about the sad realities of limited supply versus demand is not the focus of the following screed. Rather, it’s a testament to everything else LRG does wrong. Listed below are my chief complaints and/or concerns about a company that, some might say, has hit its sophomoric slump.

1. The Misleading “Limited Run” Misnomer: Yep, early on, LRG’s print runs were so meager, many had to resort to eBay to actually nab a copy. But times are a-changin’, with preorders now being the norm. This means anyone who slaps down some cash within a specified period can be assured a copy, and I do mean anyone—per LRG’s loosening standards, there are no limits on these sales, so a single order can feasibly extend into the thousands of units sold. The following LRG disclosure illustrates this perfectly: There is no limit on this item. Orders of 30 copies (or multiples of 30) will ship in factory sealed case packs.

Wow. And if that weren’t enough, big-time retailers like Best Buy also purchase titles to sell in their stores, while some games like Wonder Boy and the Dragon’s Trap have since been re-released by different publishers after their initial run through LRG. Here’s a final example: Oddworld: New ‘N’ Tasty, a long since sold out PS4 title, is being issued again—but this time for the PlayStation 3. A clever loophole, indeed.

Now, many will shrug and say, “So what? Let these companies sell as many copies as possible.” It’s a fair point, to be sure, but it stands in stark contradiction to the “limited run” illusion the company loves to perpetuate. It’s great these games are available, but don’t be fooled, most are hardly rare, and all of them can be published again by other parties at any point in the future.

2. The Collector Edition Addiction: Ideally, if LRG’s mission was purely about preserving games and serving the art form, patrons would be charged a reasonable amount—usually $25.00 to $35.00—for the privilege of owning a favored title. And this is, indeed, the common rate for standard releases. But LRG, being ever so crafty, prefers exploiting the collector’s fetish by offering pricier “special editions” alongside the vanilla versions. While the casual folk won’t likely care, we all know that many a collector, by the nature of his station, will often feel obligated to spill the extra cash for what is, in actuality, a limited edition of a game already, uh, supposedly limited. Gotta catch ‘em all, right?

3. Horrible Hours of Availability: Do you hold a job, have responsibilities, or are otherwise preoccupied between the hours of 8am to 6pm? If so, managing to snag one of LRG’s more enticing titles might prove impossible due to the company’s insistence of selling its wares at two specific times without exception—10am and 6pm Eastern, and always on a Friday. Games offered for preorder bypass this issue, but for holy grails such as Bloodstained: Curse of the Moon for the PlayStation Vita, if you weren’t prepared right when those games dropped, you lost out. Those West Coast folks have it good…

4. Shoddy Shipping: Per LRG’s own procedures—Orders containing Vita games only or 1 PS4/Switch game will be automatically shipped in a bubble mailer. Hmm, doesn’t sound so bad, right? Oh, but it is! For $5.59, the customer gets a flimsy, almost paper-thin bubble mailer to house his “rare,” beloved game. But no worries! For an additional $1.99, the gamer can opt for a cardboard box instead. In other words, for the bargain price of $7.58, gamers can have their itty-bitty Vita purchase sent without worry of damage! This is no exaggeration, either. I recently received a Switch game in one of these meager mailers, and sure enough, the case was cracked on arrival. Worse, LRG wasn’t anxious to replace my item, either, claiming I should have paid extra for the box! After a couple of more e-mails, the company did do right and finally sent me another copy (in yet another bubble mailer, absurdly). But this is one issue that needs to be addressed, pronto.

5. Delays and Long Waits: Not much to add here except, yep, gamers should expect a substantial wait time for any order placed. Some titles arrive quickly, others take months, others are delayed due to shipping issues, problems with the developer, and extra content chosen to be included at the last minute. Some might not mind so long as the game eventually comes, but unpredictability, not consistency, is the operative word here.

To be fair, LRG has shown some recent improvement, from the aforementioned shift toward preorders (itself a double-edged sword), to a one-item restriction on games with extremely thin print runs. But LRG’s growing prominence and influence has ramifications for the entire “niche” industry. As the glut of these “limited,” “rare,” and “obscure” games grow, it undermines other underserved submarkets, especially those of the homebrew variety. Could retro reservoirs like AtariAge begin dwindling in the shadow of LRG and its copycat contemporaries, Strictly Limited Games and Super Rare Games? Hard to say, but an endlessly fragmented market can’t be good in the long term.

Lastly, collectors have reason to be annoyed, too. Despite the excitement of owning copies of their favorite games not tied to on-line servers or temporary licenses, anyone clamoring to, say, assemble the full physical library of the PlayStation Vita are in for a rude awakening. Indeed, with new Vita—or Switch, or PS4—games bubbling up all over the Web’s wild periphery, tracking and procuring every obscure release is becoming a nigh impossibility. Or, at least, a costly reality.

Is the gaming world a better place with the rise of Limited Run Games and its eager competitors? Maybe, maybe not, but one thing’s for sure—collectors and consumers alike could stand some better treatment.

I also record a weekly podcast! Click here for more on this issue and numerous other gaming topics.