FEBRUARY 29, 2008 - VOL. 1, ISSUE 4

Steve Wiebe's life was one of a man who had failed too many times. He couldn't succeed in baseball and his grunge band fell apart. The forty-something middle school science teacher clearly had a missing piece. Wiebe was looking to anything that would give him a sense of pride. He sought refuge in the back of his garage, staring obsessively and mathematically at an 8-bit, barrel-throwing gorilla— Donkey Kong.

Now don't be misled by the video game front. This movie is far from being about arcade games alone. It's about the basic right of fairness. It's about more than playing for a title or for a high score. It's about getting the same opportunity as the Establishment. The film was originally made about Wiebe's struggle to make his stake in the record books, but it becomes a film about fighting for his rights, complete with "Eye of the Tiger" and some songs from The Karate Kid.

The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters is a documentary partly about how the world tends to get behind the underdog. While many movies use these guidelines in the "rise from the ashes" sports genre, such as We Are Marshall, Remember the Titans, and others, The King of Kong manages to show how even in unexpected venues, the everyman wins favor with the people. Not unlike the 2004 Red Sox or Rocky Balboa, Wiebe is up against the well-established powerhouse. Wiebe's New York Yankees or Apollo Creed, in this case, is Billy Mitchell.

Billy Mitchell, 43, is the longhaired, shirt and tie, bearded and bland "Gamer of the Century." He thinks of himself as a hometown hero, but in actuality, he isn't much past being a regular guy and a condescending jerk, especially when talking about how much better he is. He was the first to achieve the perfect score for Pac-Man and gained the world record in the original version of Donkey Kong. He earned the record in 1982, going without a challenger for 25 years.

The film depicts the otherwise empty-eyed Wiebe as a mad-scientist, taking diligent notes of the Donkey Kong map. Finally, after what clearly is depicted as a long night behind the machine, his camcorder watched as the score surpassed Mitchell's 874,300-point record and then the million mark— a new standard for the classic game. Wiebe had finally raised the bar. He sent his tape into Twin Galaxies, the obsessive and smelly looking referees and official scorekeepers of competitive gaming.

Mitchell, painting himself as the conniving, ruthless champion (see also, Team Iceland in D2: The Mighty Ducks) called Wiebe's score into question. Mitchell, along with the people at Twin Galaxies, investigated his Donkey Kong machine. After much speculation, Twin Galaxies concluded that the machine was faulty (think performance enhancing drugs for gamers), thus his score was not counted. The people at Twin Galaxies urged for Wiebe to beat Mitchell's score live at an arcade.

The rest of the film essentially consists of Wiebe traveling to various arcades across the country, trying diligently to break Mitchell's score. He does manage to beat his score once at Funland Arcade, but it was quickly overridden by another one of Mitchell’s records... sent via video tape.

Wiebe didn't get the same chance as Mitchell— to have his video taped score count. His record-breaking aspirations were cut short because people trusted Mitchell over him. What's even more ridiculous is how Mitchell and the referees painted Wiebe as a cheater, even though he's clearly a humble, honest man. Regardless, Wiebe had to swallow his pride once more and continue on his quest for not only glory, but what's more, fairness.

However, the quest was all for naught. His trek from Washington to Florida, in Mitchell's hometown no less, was fruitless. He didn't achieve the record-breaking score, and he went home empty handed.

Regardless of his lack of a record, Wiebe proved to be the better man. Twin Galaxies recognized him as the real deal, agreeing to accept his future tapes. Other gamers admired his spirit, his family was proud of him, and he proved to be an honorable warrior. Mitchell may have puffed up his chest and tried to look like the bigger man, but truly, he was just a pompous ass with a title.

The film doesn't thrust forward an agenda regarding Wiebe or Mitchell. Director Seth Gordon shows the men for who they are and who they present themselves to be— Wiebe with his wife, his children, his students, and his hobbies; Mitchell with his plaques, trophies, business, sports analogy tinged monologues, and accomplishments. The portrayal of each man is an honest one, given what each man was willing to divulge to the cameras. It isn't spelled out, "Billy Mitchell is the bad guy." He's just so unlikable that it's hard to refute it.

The King of Kong thrives with the unique characters portrayed in the film. Using interviews with the cuddly singer/songwriter/head referee Walter Day, Wiebe's friends, and old-time competitive gamers to put the film into motion, the documentary utilizes its sources well. Some of the cinematography even manages to give the joystick life, much like aspects of Terrence Malick's take on the natural world.

By the end of the film, it is clear that Mitchell has a wealth of people who praise him and follow his every word, hanging onto his pseudo-celebrity status. Mitchell's adoring fans and peers are much like the fawning entourage of Barry Bonds. While Mitchell may be the best statistically, his facade is ultimately much more forgettable compared to the relatable everyman persona of Wiebe.

While the film eloquently captures the great stresses behind playing classic arcade games, The King of Kong stops being about video games as soon as the audience is informed of a brief history regarding their competitive nature. It grows and expands into a film about the everyman working rigorously to stamp his name into history— showing a bleary-eyed Wiebe spending countless hours behind the joystick. It's about that man traveling for miles and miles in order to get what he deserves. It's about having the faith and belief in yourself that you can make an impact in your own way. The movie makes you cheer Wiebe on, but it also makes you feel the miles and the hours that he has to go through.

Ultimately, The King of Kong isn't video game specific. Hell, it could have been about a pie baking contest— replace joysticks with spatulas and you still have the same motif. No matter what, you have the everyman looking to succeed for once and the champ looking to keep his stake in history.

At the end of the movie, Wiebe admits the truth; "I guess it's not even about Donkey Kong anymore. It's become just a game and trying— for me, trying to get a score recognized and trying to beat this empire that I'm trying to break through and get a fair chance."

Steve Wiebe, the underdog, wasn't given a fair chance. He was being oppressed and wanted his voice to be heard. Just like Clubber Lang being denied his shot at the title with Rocky or even the Patriots being ignored by King George in the eighteenth century, Wiebe didn't want to be denied of his basic right. He wanted the option of having his score count from the luxury of his home. If it was available to Mitchell, why not Wiebe?

In the epilogue of the film and in the luxury of his own home, Steve Wiebe became the King of Kong once again. It's arbitrary as to whether or not he was stripped of the title after the film's release— it's clear that the audience will stand behind Wiebe, the everyman.