April 18, 2013
The Enduring Romance of Super Mario
By ALEX VADUKUL
Joe Tarczon, a law student,
recently visited St. Marks Place to indulge in a somewhat specific hobby. He
climbed stairs to a small, discreetly located shop where he knew he would find
what he was looking for: video games with great graphics and challenging gameplay — and compatibility with the extinct Nintendo
Entertainment System.
Inside 8 Bit and Up,
cluttered shelves hold Nintendo cartridges in black plastic sleeves and stacks
of Sega Genesis games. Former hits like Super Mario World, NBA Jam and Sonic
the Hedgehog are often stocked. Behind the counter, other games are still in
their original shrink-wrapped boxes. A heap of loose instruction manuals —
early literature for some — fills one tub. Controllers for deceased consoles
hang from the ceiling like mobiles.
The store sells all the latest games and systems. But its
specialty is nostalgia, in the form of products from the ’80s, ’90s and early
millennium. For aficionados of 8- and 16-bit gaming, the introduction of the
original Nintendo in the 1980s represented the beginning of a golden age. When
they look back, it’s the pixilated graphics, nonsensical story lines, wobbly
music and epic boss battles that made these games perfect.
Or maybe they are just a way to connect to simpler times,
when life’s most pressing concerns were setting high scores and conquering
dragons. Joe Tartaglia, 8 Bit’s owner, refers to his retro customers as “relivers” — and their romance with their childhoods can be
profitable. The store also carries collectible oddities. Family Fun Fitness:
Stadium Events, a rare sports game for the Nintendo, has sold for around
$15,000, Mr. Tartaglia said. The store’s only copy is kept in a well-hidden
metal box.
Mr. Tartaglia, 58, said he rejoices when the big chain
stores “retire” older games and systems. “You’re not going to beat them,” he
said of his corporate competitors. “So we don’t try. We try to do everything
they won’t.”
Visitors to 8 Bit are also offered a more immediate time
warp: two arcade game cabinets, including one playing Street Fighter Alpha 3.
One recent Saturday afternoon, Steven Stover, 28, was
enjoying a winning streak against Chris Scott, a store manager. Mr. Stover, a
comedy writer and an 8 Bit regular, wore a belt that used his childhood
Nintendo controller as a buckle. With the slap of a button, he ended the bout
with a well-timed head-butt from his character, the sumo wrestler E. Honda.
Earlier, Jarus and Jefferson
Cox, brothers, had stopped by. Jarus, 28, decided to
purchase a complete Nintendo rig: console, controller and games. “I want the
actual devices,” he said, explaining that one day they might be even harder to
find. “When I’m older I want to be able to play the games the way I did.”
Another store manager, Marcus Richardson, showed him some
of the bulky gray devices kept behind the counter. They tested one with Mega
Man 3, released in 1990. An error screen appeared, so Mr. Richardson dabbed a
Q-tip in alcohol and rubbed it along the cartridge’s connection pins. “I know
the back says not to do it,” he said, “but a little never hurts.” He stuffed
the game into the machine and a title screen appeared with a moody electronic melody.
Mr. Cox began playing the game with instinctive memory,
blasting away at enemies. Two of his brother’s friends were in the
neighborhood. They dropped in to discuss the night’s plans, but the
conversation slowed as they watched the action on the
screen. They started reminiscing about the game’s unremitting difficulty.
Mr. Richardson offered the bundle for $130. Then the game
froze. All progress was lost. Would Mr. Cox shy away from the sale?
“They did that all the time,” he said as he agreed to the
deal. “Part of the nature of the beast.”