Welcome our special guest today—none other than the nefarious castle-dweller who has given Mario and Luigi no end of grief in Super Mario Bros. Let’s hear it for anonymous-villain. Thank you for joining us!
Ah, a warm welcome, I must say. Far more than that inferno I call home. Let’s not waste any time, shall we? Fire away.
First off, why kidnap Princess Peach? What’s your beef with the Mushroom Kingdom?
Why kidnap Peach? Because overthrowing an entire kingdom is so passé. Kidnapping the ruler? That’s where the fun begins. As for my “beef,” I find the incessant cheeriness of the Mushroom Kingdom thoroughly infuriating. All singing and dancing, like one never-ending musical. I simply brought a little… shall we say, darkness. Mwahahaha!
capture my genius in action
You’ve been a thorn in Mario and Luigi’s sides from the start. What do you think of them as adversaries?
Oh, those two plumbers? Picture this: one wears red, the other green. They jump around like caffeinated kangaroos, all while spouting such riveting dialogue as It’s-a-me, Mario! If I didn’t have a kingdom to terrorize, I might even find them endearing. They do keep one on one’s toes, but really, they fall into every pitfall like it’s a national pastime.
Speaking of pitfalls, what do you think of the power-ups? They seem to help Mario and Luigi quite a bit.
Bah! Those power-ups! The Super Mushroom makes Mario look like he overdosed on protein shakes. The Fire Flower? It turns him into a pyromaniac. And that Starman? Pure invincibility is nothing short of cheating! Levels are designed to be a delicate balance of frustration and challenge. Then, in come the power-ups to spoil my carefully orchestrated chaos. Pity, really.
Goombas, Koopas, and Piranha Plants are placed with precision to trip them up at every turn
Some players have uncovered secrets like warp zones and hidden 1-Ups. What’s your take on these?
Secrets, dear interviewer, are the spice of life! They were my own little Easter eggs of doom. Warp zones were designed with the intent of making overconfident players dive headfirst into higher levels they’re unprepared for. As for the 1-Ups, finding those is akin to winning the lottery. If you find them, congratulations—you’ll need them. If not, I still get to chuckle darkly as you plummet into a pit for the nth time.
Some might say the game’s difficulty can be unfair. What would you say to those players?
Unfair, you say? Life is unfair. Have you ever seen a turtle mounted with a spiked shell? That’s daily life for me. If players believe a few bottomless pits and strategic Goombas are harsh, they should try being me, constantly thwarted by two moustachioed meddlers. Here’s a tip: If it’s too hard, maybe try your hand at knitting.
the room full of coins isn’t a reward; it’s a distraction
All right, cheekiness aside, what about players who actually manage to defeat you?
Oh, they are a special breed, aren’t they? Persistent, tenacious, and perhaps a bit masochistic. Anyone who endures and outsmarts my traps deserves accolades—and perhaps a slightly less crispy version of well done. If you’ve managed it, hats off. But don’t get too comfortable; I’ll be back with even more devious plans.
What can you tell us about some of the strategies you use in setting up the levels?
Ah, the art of diabolical design! My philosophy revolves around anticipation and misdirection. Platforms are strategically spaced to tempt hasty jumps. Enemies are placed where players seldom look. And don’t get me started on the castles—each built with more traps and fireballs than anyone could imagine. Think of it as a beautifully orchestrated symphony of doom. Not a single Goomba is placed without purpose.
Encounter the flagpole, thinking they’ve achieved victory. Little do they know, I’m waiting at the next castle with even more deadly surprises.
Do you have any quirky insights or trivia about the game’s development that shaped your evil ways?
Indeed, I do. For instance, the idea of underwater levels came from a particularly frustrating swim I once took in my lava moat. The designers clearly thought, Why not make players suffer like anonymous-villain? Also, the flagpoles were initially my invention to mark the boundaries of my empire. Who knew they’d become a measure of a player’s skill (or my daily humiliation)?
Any final thoughts for the players of Super Mario Bros.?
Oh, just a parting whisper: I may be vanquished for now, but villains never truly retire. My return is inevitable, and the next time, no amount of Fire Flowers, Starmen, or warp zones will save you. Until then, keep those joysticks warm. Mwahahaha!
Thank you for your time, anonymous-villain. That was quite enlightening, and certainly entertaining. We’ll be on the lookout for your return!
Stay vigilant, and may your nightmares be filled with Koopas and lava. Until we meet again!
You can also read the Classic conversation of Super Mario Bros. here!
