Bubble Bobble

These days, the video games that constitute the world's hottest entertainment industry tend to offer not an escape from reality, but immersion in many of its less desirable features — war, drive-by shootings, trash-talking athletes, the sexual exploitation of archaeologists. Things were simpler back in the '80s, when all you needed to have fun was a friend.

Few games have taught the crucial lessons of teamwork and cooperation as effectively as 1987's Bubble Bobble. BB's subtle wisdom could be easy to miss; it appeared at first glance to be about nothing more than two dinosaurs blowing bubbles at baddies and chasing Popsicles and cakes. But played intensively for the better part of a childhood, BB made its true meaning inescapable: finding that special person to share your life with. Bill has Hillary, peanut butter has jelly and Bub has Bob. It's as simple as that.

The collaborative spirit of Bubble Bobble is clear from the start. It's far easier to get through the first 50 levels with a teammate in tow, no matter how inept. Most telling is the fact that you cannot complete the game without a partner. If you beat all 200 levels by yourself, kudos — you should be proud. But you're not getting off that easily. BB teases you with a screen saying, "Congratulations! But this is not the true ending! Come here with your friends! You will be impressed with the truth of this story! Never forget your friend!"

Now that's powerful. Sure, you can go along way in this world flying solo. But you need a friend — someone you can rely on to shoot lightning bolts at hooded drunks and flying whales — to make it to your true ending. The story is actually very sweet. A movie with BB's plot could win an Oscar, or at least a People's Choice Award.

The most addictive part of BB is the music. The 44-second loop that is repeated for 200 levels straight should get tiring. But it's like crack. Once it's in your head, you develop a need for the game to be played again very soon. And you're not alone — hum the tune in a crowded place and someone is sure to join in. How many decades-old games can you say that about? Like BB itself, the song connects people. There are even remixes.

People with chronic depression should be made to play Bubble Bobble with volunteers. Having a complete stranger at your side as you search for "the truth" could cheer anyone up. BB could also play a key role in prisons, helping rehabilitate chronic offenders. How could you rob a convenience store with that song in your head?

Perhaps understanding the beauty of its simplicity, or vice versa, the Taito team didn't wear themselves out gilding the lily. Granted, you could only get so sophisticated in 1987, with just two buttons and a directional pad to work with. Still, the game basically consists of that 44-second music loop (which speeds up if that jerky skullfish comes knockin'), 100 very simply designed levels, four secret rooms, 10 unique enemies and a boss you get to play twice. Even the boss is just a larger version of one of the normal baddies. How long was this game in development — two weeks?

But that's just part of the joy. It's you, your friend and a couple of colorful pixels, with no distracting sideshows, no flashy splash screens, no interactive or customizable elements. It's primitive not to a fault, but to a virtue.

More Bubble Bobble games came along, but none matched the pure fun of the original. Not even the fabulous Mario 3 could compare to Bubble Bobble in terms of cooperation — there were always those battles over mushroom houses. The only competition in BB is the race for the last donut on screen, a scenario that can arise in any real-world office. You can make a last dash to the donut on the conference room table, or you can sit in the corner and rack up the points blowing bubbles against the wall. It's a matter of preference. For Bub and Bob, the correct choice is obvious.

Let the donut go. Is it worth it to fight with your friend over such trivialities? Work together! Promote the common good! Um ... shoot bubbles at the Super Drunk! Yeah, that's the ticket.

— Tom Hall (mrthomashall at hotmail dot com)