![]() “I hope you enjoy cleaning up this mess later.” “You’re so funny-looking, zookeepers keep thinking you’re a flamingo.” “You’re so funny clowns look at you when they want to laugh.” Imagine the following scenario as the two participants are flinging rubber duckies, stethoscopes, faucets, coals, and necklaces at each other: To bolster this claim, here’s an argument that broke out between my avatar and Thumbnal (a female resident I created whose face looked like a thumb). The drama in Tomodachi Life is never all that high-stakes, and that also seems to suggest that none of our problems on this world-if you can afford a Nintendo handheld and a videogame-are really all that bad. We have our three or four things we like to do, and we really just want someone to listen to us gripe about our problems and drama. We may extol individuality, but the game paints a grim reality, in which we’re all pretty much the same. Nobody ever is really all that interested in anybody else’s business we’re all just waiting our turn in conversation to say our piece and go about our lives.īy using technology to emulate humanity, it reminds me of Seaman, which also commented on how increasingly mechanical we are becoming as humans. And, again, here’s futility: I could only tell Finster one of three or four pre-selected responses. “You must live such an interesting life.”įinster (a female avatar I created with a ponytail and a Cro-Magnon brow) gave me $6 and set me back on my way. “Have you done anything interesting lately?” One of the creepiest exchanges I had went like this: From time to time, they ask about me, but not with much depth. In an added wrinkle to any reading of the game, you also exist in the game’s world: I am referred to by my residents as “David’s look-alike.” They think I am a copy of my avatar. Helping someone make friends with someone else (telling them what demeanor they should have) gets you $30.īut even within this cosmos, there is very little value placed on your actual relationship with the Miis.Teaching someone what to say when they’re happy nets you about $12.Judging someone’s funny face earns you $9.But the only thing Tomodachi Life values above money and gifts are relationships-evidenced by the sheer amount of cash you’ll earn when you do things that aid friendship, marriage, or ending disputes between Miis.īy way of proof, consider the following figures: It is a world where you earn money by doing things that makes other people happy, only to spend that money to make them happier. What they needed help with doesn’t matter-it could be a break-up or a celebration dinner. Perhaps it’s a meal at your favorite Indian place. Someone pings you, you come to their rescue, and they give you a trinket as thanks. To cry into because you lost? Or to cry because you realize many of our relationships in life are no deeper than these exchanges? For example, as thanks for you playing and then losing a game of Concentration, you’ll be given a box of Kleenex. ![]() Sometimes there are little nods to the game fucking with you. These are only to be used to give to someone else. In addition to money, the items they give you are the game’s other form of currency. They give you something after you did something for them. ![]() Your residents tell you this after you do something for them. Sbaitso– circa-1992-quality voice acting, your residents will tell you over and over again, “Here. It’s a world of transactional relationships, whose only respites are adjourning to buy miscellaneous necessities like hats or groceries.īut the transactions go both ways. You never learn what the fights are about you are just counted on for menial tasks and to keep each characters’ happiness meter from dipping to become a dreadful blue sadness meter. So what, then, is the player’s role in all of this? You are a glorified godlike babysitter, needed only when your Miis are having life crises ranging from hunger and needing to sneeze all the way up to wanting to ask someone else out for a date or advice on how to patch up fights with other residents. This is not an original criticism to make, and would feel unfair to levy elsewhere, but Tomodachi Life seems to be intentionally wagging this in your face: Your characters are literally stuck on an island, only have a handful of activities (go to the café, visit an amusement park, check out the concert hall, etc.), and the big twist is that they don’t really need you to do any of them. The above quote comes from the game’s press release, and the “anything” that can happen is predetermined, of course, by whatever Nintendo has programmed into it to allow your residents to do. Where others will see bobble-headed Miis and welcome Christina Aguilera into their island’s apartment building willy-nilly, I see the most vibrant futility simulator this side of the Mississippi. ![]() It’s entirely possible I am projecting onto Tomodachi Life. The most vibrant futility simulator this side of the Mississippi. ![]()
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