Wow. What an underdog story. Even though this documentary focuses on something so absurdly frivolous in the larger scheme - the Donkey Kong world record - it still managed to be inspiring, gripping, and emotionally stirring. And it's all of those things because the two main characters (and since this is a documentary, they're very real people) contrast so perfectly with one another. On the one hand is Billy Mitchell, revered as a god in the world of competitive retro arcade gaming. He's so over-the-top that you'd swear he was a fictionalized caricature. Patriotic neckties, shoulder-length straight hair, eyes permanently fixed in some sort of scowl. In every other talking head he gets, Billy stresses the importance of competing or winning or integrity. He owns his own business. His wife is large-breasted and admits she's never seen him play Donkey Kong. He has held the world record for the game since 1982, with a mark of over 874,000. (For comparison's sake, the second best score on record is in the 500,000s.) Billy isn't just a veteran of the subculture this documentary explores; he's an icon. Fellow Donkey Kong gamers vie for the title of "Billy's protégé" and hail his record as unbeatable. Meanwhile, across the country, family man and recently laid off engineer Steve Wiebe decides to take up Donkey Kong, since video games are one thing he can have control over. He's never competed at arcade games in his life. He's an outsider to the Billy-worshipping arcade subculture. It's fitting, really, because he couldn't be more unlike Billy. Steve is quiet. He's humble. He works as a middle school science teacher. He has two young children. He is the Matt Saracen to Billy's J.D. McCoy. The Yossarian to his Milo. The Rocky Balboa to his Apollo Creed. (We're talking about the first Rocky movie in that last analogy, in case it wasn't clear.) And in his garage one day, Steve tapes himself scoring over 1,000,000 points. He's the new world champion. Or is he? Suspicious about Steve's machine, Billy sends some of his lackeys all the way out (from New Hampshire and Florida) to Washington in order to tear the machine apart and investigate the motherboard. And because the board was provided to Steve by one of Billy's long time nemeses (without Steve's knowledge), Billy and his friends - who happen to include several of the highest ranking referees and record keepers in competitive gaming - decide that Steve's record isn't valid. Heel move, right? They invite Steve to fly out to New Hampshire to attempt to set the record on one of their own machines, and when he does so they're kind of amused. A few of Billy's loyal soldiers try to play mind games with Steve, hyping up the pressure of playing on camera and warning him that several gamers swear the machine is "possessed" and more difficult to play on than any other Donkey Kong machine. Lo and behold, Billy's cooked up a scheme of his own, and sends a little old lady to New Hampshire with a video tape and some very specific instructions regarding who can see it. Steve ends up setting a new record of 985,000, this time for all the (interested) world to see. No one can deny it, and Steve becomes the official proverbial "King of Kong." But less than one hour later, Billy's tape arrives and the old guard have a private viewing party that Steve is not invited to. Sure enough, Billy has beaten his old score (and Steve's new one, and even Steve's disallowed garage-based one) and has posted a 1,047,000. He has done so from his home in Florida, and yet the officials deem it valid. This upsets and flusters Steve (understandably), and things only get more unreasonable when Steve is not allowed to watch Billy's tape. Worn out and frustrated, Steve heads home, but not before giving a weirdly relatable talking head in which a tear rolls down his cheek. This is a grown man crying about video games and bullies. And yet, it was one of the saddest film scenes I've seen in ages. I realize I've now recapped and spoiled the first two thirds of the movie, but the final showdown between Steve and Billy is the most compelling part. A year or so later, Steve issues a challenge to Billy that he will come down and beat him in his hometown. Billy doesn't accept it, but Steve shows up anyway at the local arcade, intent on destroying Billy's record. For all the times Billy has said, in talking heads, that it's important to be able to compete when the pressure's on, and that public scores are much more impressive than taped scores, you'd expect the icon to finally saddle up and compete (for the first time all film, I'll add). But... he doesn't! Is he shrinking from the pressure? Did Steve's challenge catch him totally off guard? Will Steve end up getting that world record? Will Billy finally show up to face off with him? I won't give the ending away, but I'll say this much - regardless of who ends the documentary as the world record holder, the pair have exchanged the record three times (including one with a guy named Hank Chien) since then. This rivalry isn't over yet! The King of Kong may only be a video game competition documentary on its surface, but deep down its a beautiful film about perseverance as a means to achieve the ends we seek. It's also a great story of an outsider forcing his way into an elitist inner circle and earning respect and acceptance. Check it out some time if you can. You won't be disappointed!
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