King Of Kong.

Last week, the documentary, "The King of Kong: A Fistful Of Quarters", made it's DVD debut. Set against the backdrop of video arcade game tournaments, it's the tale of two adversaries vying for the world's record "Donkey Kong" high score.

Full of feel-good moments of heroic realizations, conspiracy theories, good guy/ bad guy personas, and allegations of sabotage, it's a completely engrossing watch. Totally engaging. I gotta tell you, if this film doesn't make you want to immediately run out and find some lonely drifter to wrap their arms around you while spending your last $5 playing video games in a stale-beer-and-feet, run-down bowling alley...well, then maybe that's a normal Saturday night for you, and you were gonna anyway. Don't let me stop you.

But for those of us who were around to play in the time of what's referred to in the film as video gaming's "golden age" (early 80's), this film is a evocation of memories in a simpler time. When games were gentler, and crude-but-cute renderings of gorillas and portly, mustachioed plumbers merely competed for the attentions of a golden haired lass. By throwing fire and barrels at each other, rather than reaching in and pulling each others' brains out and then mercilessly jacking one another for their bling, as might happen today. But whatever. I'm old, and I wasted a lot of money on this game back then, so I got all mushy hearted inside watching.

Enter Billy Mitchell, the Hot Sauce King of Florida, perfectionist and over-achiever, and dubbed "Video Game Player Of The Century" by people who know such things. Billy holds the "Donkey Kong" highest score ever verified, a record that has stood for almost 25 years. In tune with his inner feng shui, he kind of struck me as looking like a cross between Jesus and Anton LeVey Tom Cruise. (More "Last Samurai" by way of "Magnolia" swagger, than "Born on The Fourth Of July," fortunately.) With his flowing perfect hair, dark shirts and painted on black jeans, everything about him just exudes charisma and attitude. Right off, you kind of don't want to like him, with his confidence coming off a little more like arrogance. The guy just wins at life's every turn, and there's plenty of footage of his parents and hangers-on to verify. He's a "topper." Nothing you've ever done can ever stand tall to what Billy's ever accomplished. Mostly, Billy will tell you in certain terms just how great Billy is. You respect his ability and, admittedly, his showmanship. You just hate his patriotic ties.

The bane to his existence, though, appears to be Steve Wiebe, way on the other side of the country. Perpetually an "also-ran" in life, Steve's just one of those likeable guys you can't help but want some luck to fall in his favor, just for once. The way the film paints him, he just always seemed to come up short in most endeavors. He even gets laid off from his job at Boeing on the day he and his wife buy a house. With life's direction sort of at a standstill, Steve retreats to the sanctity of his garage, where he sits for hours at a time, practicing "Donkey Kong." With no real intent at first other than to occupy his mind with something productive, he formulizes the game down to scientific terms, nearly distilled to absolute Physics. He absorbs the game's motions and responses into his being, for hours on end. So much so, at one point, he breaks Billy Mitchell's world record and captures the entire session on video tape (with an amusing audio coda by his bathroom routine-challenged son caught for posterity).

But with the performance submitted to officials for verification and admittance into the record books, Steve's new found limelight suddenly is dimmed; refuted by allegations of game tampering, his tape is invalidated as proof. Suspicion abounds, many from gamers well within Billy Mitchell's circle of sycophants, as to the merits of this heretofore unknown upstart's ability. So, with his character nearly assassinated, Steve sets out to...ahem...set the record straight (sorry), and travels cross country to compete in a tournament and recreate his score-shattering performance, live. With the ultimate intent being to compete against Billy Mitchell one-on-one. But for all of Billy's bravado, he's like this elusive apparition...kind of like a modern day Jimmy Hoffa disappearing act, except for the mob part. Or the buried part. No one's really seen him. Billy communicates his directives by phone, and sends old ladies out as mules to do his bidding - courriers of video tapes as proof of his new high scores. Has anyone really seen him in person since 1982? Oh yeah, and he styles that hair. My favorite scene in the film, is a roomful of people wondering when Billy will appear at a tournament, and the next shot being a doorway peek-through of Billy running a pick through those long brown tresses of his. Couldn't care less who's waiting.

And so it builds...testimonials, positive affirmations reduced to accusations of corruption, and the quest for a final DK showdown. All leading to Steve's shot at redemption, and what later becomes a Guinness World Record score at stake. Sounds hokey, but it really works.

I really want to be like a gosh-darned real movie critic right now and have all these have bold typed, 64-pointed exclamations on my page, like "Exhilarating!" or "The Ending Will Leave You Breathless." Or "You'll Stand up and Cheer!".

Maybe I'll make up my own and say, "It's the film that shows, it takes a lot of courage in life to win, but you only need a quarter to play!"

Or not. That's cheesy. But go watch it. Now.