Now that I had my videogame concept in place–baby sea turtle must get from Point A (his birthing pit in the sand) to Point B (the open sea) while enduring waves of increasingly vicious predators (dingos, raccoons, vultures, etc.)–the next step was execution. My first inclination was to draw concept art for the game. At the time, I had enjoyed an unprecedented string of wins in the annual fire-prevention poster contest at school. My always-artful fire-prevention posters were, to my mind, more than dopey slogans informing fellow students to “Stop Fires Before They Start!” or to “Check Smoke Detector Batteries Once A Year!” Instead, I tried to do something different. I populated my posters with real people, real situations, and plenty of overcooked, TV-caliber melodrama.
One particularly memorable year I drew a group of firemen offering blankets to a sad family as they watched their house burn to the ground in the distance. The dad of the family, who bore an uncanny resemblance to my own dad, wore a regretful frown on his face. He slumped his shoulders. Tears dotted his cheeks. He was sad because, as the poster explained, the dad had foolishly decided to use a portable kerosene heater to heat the family’s home. In the bottom righthand corner I drew a figure who bore an uncanny resemblance to myself, with a cartoon word-balloon coming from my mouth, informing poster viewers that “This terrible tragedy could have been prevented if only the dad HAD PAID CLOSER ATTENTION TO FIRE-PREVENTION POSTERS, LIKE THIS ONE!!!!!!!” I remember one teacher/judge of the fire-prevention poster contest saying that she always appreciated the “layers of meaning” in my posters.
My string of blue-ribbon wins earned me a reputation among the other kids at school. Fellow students began to come to me, quietly asking for critiques of their posters before the contest. I’d fold my arms and take in their mostly pathetic efforts. Then I’d offer my expert advice, saying things like, “I really love what you’ve done here, especially with the man whose hair is on fire,” or, “That’s good enough…for third-place,” or, “This boy has just burned the family’s barn to the ground and taken away the family’s sole source of income; how does he really feel about what he has done? Well, then I need to see that mournfulness inside the circle area that you’ve designated as his face.”
Time for us to sample the delights of stage 7-12, people. Welcome to the final stage of the ICEBERG portion of the game. Are you ready to have your Donkey Kong skills pushed to the extreme today? If so, you’ve come to the wrong place. (Though, from what I’ve been hearing, our skills will indeed be tested in the coming days.) Today’s stage happens to be a total piece of cake. In fact, tell your Donkey Kong skills to take the rest of the day off, maybe head out to Chili’s for an early lunch and enjoy a Triple Dipper and the two-for-one margarita special, because you won’t be needing them today.
This is yet another showdown stage with Donkey Kong, and it’s identical to almost all of the previous showdown-with-Donkey-Kong stages. In other words, does D.K. hurl barrels? He does. Do I collect the hurled barrels? I do. Then, do I hurl the hurled barrels back at D.K.? You got it. There are, however, a couple of small exceptions worth noting.
Exception 1: Every surface in level 7-12 is slick with ice, which means that Mario involuntarily keeps moving for a little while after he’s stopped running.
Exception 2: There are four icicles hanging from the ceiling of the stage. As with all icicles in the game, whenever Mario stands directly underneath one, the icicle will start to fall. Don’t overly concern yourself with the icicles. They fall at such a slow rate of speed that they’re easily avoided.
And that brings us to the of the notable-exceptions portion of today’s program. Otherwise, employ the same strategy that you’ve employed in every other stage of this nature, i.e. find a platform below D.K., jump, let go of the barrel at the apex of his jump, etc. and before you know it, D.K. will assume a yoga position called “Defeated Ape,” and the very last ICEBERG stage will be behind you.
Final totals for this section of the game:
Stage 7-9: 161 seconds
Stage 7-10: 70 seconds
Stage 7-11: 135 seconds
Stage 7-12: 110 seconds
Grand total: 476 seconds. Number of Marios remaining in the Mario Tank: 30.
At the end of the stage, you’ll be treated to the “Between-Venues Interstitial Animation.” D.K., still carrying Pauline over his shoulder like a sack of onions, is riding on a tiny iceberg across the screen. Mario, also riding on an iceberg, is directly behind them. D.K. and Pauline reach land, then bound off. Mario gives chase. So where are we going? All I can see in the animation is a rock formation, like Alcatraz Island, with what appears to be a lighthouse on top of it. What exactly is this place? The subsequent map screen informs me that this new section of the game is called ROCKY VALLEY. We’ll strike out into ROCKY VALLEY tomorrow. Stay tuned.
One more thing before we part ways for the day: We haven’t seen Donkey Kong Jr. in quite awhile. No doubt that little diaper-wearing bastard is up to something.
