Lakitu and Leaning In: What a Video Game Can Teach Us about Introduction
I am deciding to end this series on interesting introductions with video games for a couple of reasons, the most pressing of which is that I wanted an excuse to write about Super Mario 64. Released for the Nintendo 64 in 1996, Super Mario 64 is not the first game I played, nor is it my favorite. But when I look back on some of my favorite opening moments in video games — openings that are effective on their own, with minimal cut-scenes or a need to know the ending — this game always comes to the forefront of my mind. A lot of this is due to the genius of its opening space: the exterior of Princess Peach’s castle.
The level layout alone gives us some insight into the effectiveness of the game’s opening. If you’ve never had the chance to play the game before, can you guess where Mario starts? Can you guess which direction he will be facing and where he’s supposed to go? After you have an idea, go ahead and watch the opening moment here (end at about 2:10).
By way of review, let’s break down how this reflects the aspects of interesting introductions I’ve discussed so far:
- An interesting introduction sounds good.
The sounds are really what make this opening moment so memorable to me. I’m not talking about the music either, although it is a fitting fanfare to bring players into this 3D world. The sounds that I remember most are actually the ones you hear after the music has ended: intermittent birdsong, the tap of Mario’s shoes, and the exuberant sounds as he leaps into the air. This gives the space and the characters in it another audio dimension to go along with the added spatial dimension, showcasing the power of the new hardware and the depth of this new world.
- An interesting introduction circumscribes, rather than describes, its subject.
The flythrough of the castle grounds could be considered a literal circumscription of the subject — we get to see the space which Mario will be exploring momentarily. But there is a second layer of circumscription in the use of the camera-wielding Lakitu. Lakitu is not the most iconic of Mario characters, usually coming up as an enemy in the later levels of the earlier games, so seeing him here (in what turns out to be a helpful role) may be a surprise for players. This not only builds up the suspense to see Mario in his polygonal glory, but allows players to see the space they will eventually begin exploring.
- An interesting introduction makes its audience start to think.
The flythrough does more than show off the castle — it gets players thinking about the possibilities of exploring a 3D space (which, again, was a novel concept in 1996). Lakitu’s flight under the castle’s drawbridge and over the green hills encourages players to think about how the space is connected and where they might traverse. Players with a keen eye might even notice an enticing secret: when Lakitu pulls back before going under the wooden bridge (at about 1:43 in the video), there is a door visible submerged beneath the castle’s moat.
The first time I noticed it, I immediately tried to swim down and check it out. Though it turns out to be nothing you can get to yet, its existence is enough to get players searching for secrets — a tactic the game rewards players for later.
- An interesting introduction recognizes its audience.
In general, games tend to address their audiences more directly than other media do, mainly by describing how the non-diegetic mechanics and systems work. Lakitu’s existence, however, takes this to another level. The audible click and perspective shift right before Mario comes out of the pipe establishes that the audience is viewing this world through a moveable virtual camera. As this was probably the first game with 3D graphics players would have experienced, and establishing this visual metaphor is crucial for the rest of gameplay. The connection to the “Lakitu Bros reporting live” bit is later made explicit in this introductory sequence in order to reinforce this point.
What is remarkable about this scene with Lakitu is how it represents one of the few non-optional tutorials players get in these opening moments. As soon as players are able to take control of Mario, they are presented with these directions:
Ciao! You’ve reached Princess Toadstool’s castle via a warp pipe. Using the controller is a piece of cake. Press A to jump and B to attack. Press B to read signs, too. Use the Control Stick in the center of the controller to move Mario around. Now, head for the castle.
In a mere 51 words, the game has told new players all they need to know about movement. The signs scattered around the castle and the game’s multiple levels give players more tips, but I don’t remember ever needing to read them in order to figure out the game. Pretty much everything you need to know is given here or via Lakitu’s talk about the camera (which occurs after you have a chance to mess around with the controls). This leads to the final takeaway of interesting introductions:
- An interesting introduction leans forward
Although players are free to explore Super Mario 64’s opening space, such a space is designed to push players forward. If the fact that Mario’s position at the bottom of a hill directly faces an enticing castle didn’t make it clear enough, the game tells the player three separate times (in Peach’s letter, the opening tutorial, and Lakitu’s discussion about camera movement) to go to the castle. No one stops to remind Mario if he’s fooling around for too long in the garden, but these original instructions do encourage forward movement. There are also more subtle techniques for this as well: players who fall into the moat soon discover that there is a slight current that leads them directly to a beach at the right of the screen, which is an easy walk back on land and towards the castle.
This is what I mean by leaning forward rather than forcing someone forward. Each of the introductions I have discussed so far — the descriptions of holes in The Hobbit, the slow zoom into a TV in Us, or Super Mario 64’s castle exterior — are wonderful places to linger, but are designed so that one doesn’t linger too long. After all, beginnings only function if they have a text that follows; otherwise, they’d just seem incomplete.
… and it is in that spirit that I really ought to get back to writing my dissertation. I hope that this look back on some of my favorite opening moments has been as fun for you reading it as it has been for me to write it! For now, it’s time to lean ever more forward and (hopefully) get a text worth a great introduction.
John Sanders is a PhD Candidate in the Syracuse University English Department where he studies film, new media, and adaptation. He is currently working on a dissertation about digital and analog games based on literary works, and hopes that no one recalls his library books.