Man Just Can't Wait To Be 'King'

Michael Sragow - The Baltimore Sun

The title The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters is more than a pair of puns on famous action movies. This film about fierce competition among classic video-game players is a comic action epic in documentary form. It captures fear -- and heroism -- in a handful of dusty video games.

Donkey Kong in particular retains the loyalty of gamers because it requires ungodly hand-eye coordination and a deep and comprehensive working intelligence. In an era when big-studio movies have been aping the amped-up velocity and firepower of computer games, this film about arcade phenomena, which peaked in 1986, explores issues of character and identity with wisdom, warmth and electric down-home humor.

Steve Wiebe of Redmond, Wash., the seeker of the Donkey Kong crown, has experienced so many disappointments in his life that he sheds tears as naturally as he flashes a shy smile.

For once, it's good to see a grown man cry. It's part of Wiebe's open-book personality. As a student-athlete prone to choking and a man who thought he'd follow his dad into working at Boeing all his life (he loses his engineering job the day he and his wife sign their mortgage), he's accustomed to letdowns.

He's happy teaching middle school science. But his true joy comes from the Donkey Kong machine in his garage; he learned to play at a record-breaking level by competing there against himself. The key to the film's suspense is that we're never sure whether Wiebe is a lovable loser or a winner waiting to happen. The film is tough-minded about Wiebe's lack of fiber.

As a rascally supporter tells him, "Don't get chumpatized!" Wiebe keeps hoping for a sit-down smack down with Billy Mitchell of Hollywood, Fla., the ruler of the Donkey Kong universe since 1982. But the movie isn't merely about a gifted upstart going up against an entrenched winner. It's about a fellow like Wiebe, who presents one face to the world even when he's putting on his game face, taking on a character like Mitchell, who has crafted an impermeable image.

Mitchell keeps trying to extend his legendary past into an infinitely glorious future. And his past looks good even now. When he emerged as a Donkey Kong and Pac-Man virtuoso in the '80s, racking up seemingly unbeatable scores (including a Pac-Man perfect game), he even turned a cheating would-be competitor, Steve Sanders, into an honest man and his best friend. Mitchell proselytized for the moral clarity and excitement of in-person bouts at video-fun spots, became an ambassador for classic video-game competition, and helped establish the Twin Galaxies organization as the arbiter of all things classic video-game related.

But when, alone in his garage, Wiebe beats the champ's score, Mitchell and his friends refuse to accept the taped evidence. The VHS recording is indisputably and hilariously authentic: Wiebe's son can be heard on it urging him to quit the game to wipe the boy's bottom. But Twin Galaxies rules that the Donkey Kong machine may have been tainted.

Before long, Mitchell goes back on every one of his own tenets to stave off Wiebe's claims to fame. One fascinating aspect of the movie is seeing men like Sanders, and Twin Galaxies referee Walter Day, respond to Mitchell, now the successful head of a Florida hot-sauce company, as if he were the limitless hero he was 25 years ago. Movie audiences may look at Mitchell's elegantly molded mullet, Old Glory tie and tailored jeans and see a hot-sauce salesman trying to come off as a country star.

Director Seth Gordon fills the movie with eccentric characters who could be prime targets for Triumph the Insult Comic Dog. Remember when Triumph interviewed Star Wars maniacs waiting in line for hours for The Phantom Menace and asked one, "How are you going to explain this to your imaginary girlfriend?" The jibe would fizzle against the slick, self-assured Mitchell but would melt many of his fawning followers.

Wiebe himself is less mature than his understanding wife and the daughter who asks whether people don't ruin their lives trying to get into the Guinness World Records. But Wiebe has real love for his family and undrainable wells of enthusiasms for music, sports and games.

If Mitchell only lets you see what he wants you to see, Wiebe has the pre-media America virtue of proclaiming, with every ounce of his being, "Take me as I am." By the end, he wins over even Mitchell die-hards such as Sanders and Day. This film's unsentimental salute to a straight shooter is what makes it hit the documentary bull's-eye.

Copyright 2012 by The Baltimore Sun