Meet me in Wonderland

Last week I turned 25, and as any 25-year-old is wont to do, I had my birthday at the local video game fun time emporium (well, OK, that and Red Lobster). Wonderland is Regina's only real arcade that's not inside a movie theatre, and it's straight-up glorious.

I never really had much use for arcades growing up. My gaming trajectory has gone something like this: Mario, assorted NES classics (forgotten or otherwise), some Super Nintendo at the babysitter's, some Sega Genesis at my aunt and uncle's place, a long bout of computer gaming, a long dry spell, and then my purchase of a Gamecube which brought me back to video gaming in 2005 (if only in little baby steps). Since then, I've purchased a Wii, a DS, a 3DS, an XBox 360 and a PS2. I love video gaming, even though I frequently find myself dissatisfied with what I'm playing. It's not that I have bad taste – in fact, most of the games I play I like, but I don't fall head-over-heels, can't think about anything else in love like I used to. That maybe only happens once a year.

What Wonderland reminded me of is that obsessing over frightfully large, complicated worlds with intrinsic rules and story-centric structures, isn't necessarily the only avenue to video game nirvana. Playing any one of their assortment of arcade machines in various states of disrepair reminded me that sometimes all you need is an objective and an obstacle.

That was what it was like for me as a kid. The NES is certainly the video game console I've played the most, and while most of the games we had were at least a little more complicated than your average arcade game, they weren't that much more complicated. Those short bursts of highly focused gameplay were what brought you back for more – and nothing else.

That feeling is incredibly refreshing. Sitting down to play a table-top version of Galaga, for instance, was just wonderful, and I can even recognize that Galaga has been surpassed by quite a few shmups in terms of playability and fun. But that laser-precise gameplay, the joystick and cabinet designed specifically for that one game, made every move, every shot and even every death feel completely natural, like an extension of my own body.

That goes even moreso for the games in Wonderland requiring actual physical dexterity. There's a real satisfying tactile response to playing something like Skee-Ball or pinball, something that simply cannot be recreated in the home, not even on the motion controllers. Arcades may be dying out, but goddamn if playing Skee-Ball wasn't some of the most fun that I and my friends have had in quite some time – in fact, some of us even got Skee-Ball elbow from playing it for so long. There's something so satisfying about actually doing something like that, rather than doing a video game representation of it, something that arcades are uniquely equipped to handle.

OK, obviously Wonderland is a bit of an anomaly – most arcades don't let you play unlimited games for $6 an hour. These machines have been, and will continue to be, about sucking money from your pocket. Coming from a very staunch socialist, this is going to sound heretical, but the arcade is one of the only places where free market capitalism works. Because an arcade machine is designed to take your money, to build up a long-term relationship or to have players be sucked in, the game simply has to be good. Shitty arcade games won't make money, meaning that the level of design acumen on display is usually very, very good, especially if that game can keep you coming back. It requires design skills in a very concentrated form, gameplay of the purest sort – no wonder Shigeru Miyamoto's trial by fire was in the realm of arcade cabinets, and no wonder that he turned out to be such a genius. If you can pull off a great arcade game, I think you can pretty much do anything.

I'd be exceptionally sad to see arcades go away. Wonderland wasn't even that busy, and my friends and I were left to wonder how in god's name the owner makes any money. Video gaming has lost something of its soul by moving away from the arcade. This is where our fair medium's roots are, and some of the best, most pure examples of the form are found in the arcade. There certainly has to be room in this world for both home-based and social, arcade gaming to exist. Too often, we're willing to sacrifice our history for the sake of what's flashy and new, but looking back can bring with it its own rewards. I haven't had as much pure fun playing video games in a long, long time as I did last Wednesday. If you're looking for me, I'll be down at the arcade.

(Would people be interested in me doing arcade reviews? Because that's something I'd love to do.)