This place is called Mellowmede. It was destroyed a long time ago, by the bad and bestial arts of the rinotaurs , until it is what it is today, a sad daedalus of ramshackle houses joined by chipped bridges that seem to promise the clueless walking knight an icy and rather wet death.

There is a very specific place in Mellowmede that dazzles the fool who visits it. It is a water vortex, surrounded by a ring of walkways that communicate with three most surprising mechanical devices. If the traveler activates the three, metal spawn crowned by a colored crystal, the vortex would freeze its waters and turn into a freezing slide into the bowels of the forgotten Mellowmede.

This instant, which I now remember as a bad shake from Cervantes, marked my adolescence. I counted fourteen years when I went through the fifteenth level of ‘Medievil’ , a game that someone, with infinite generosity, seemed to have given birth just for me. He focused, with phenomenal boldness, on two of my obsessions at the time: the sensual gothic of Tim Burton, who conceived death and monsters as a much more interesting and fun alternative to the world of the living, and the devilish odyssey of a knight called Artur who had to travel (twice!) some places full of danger to rescue his beloved princess; I mean, of course, the unforgettable trilogy of Capcom: ‘Ghost & Goblins’, ‘Ghost & Ghouls’ and ‘Super Ghost & Ghouls’

The moment with which I head this article occurs exactly in the 1 that marks this map, a great effort to visualize the intricate layouts of ‘Medievil’ made by one StartFighter76 in Gamefaqs .


When completing the puzzles of the three machines that surrounded the lake, it froze in a wonderful moment. But notice the difference between that moment (gods!) 21 years ago and that moment now, in the remake that was released a few days ago on PlayStation 4.

Notice also the difference between what one was under water and what one is now.

My argument for this article is that this complaint , widespread and based, that we live in the pop culture of the present, that the remake and nostalgia are murderers of new stories and conceal the inability of the creators of the present to create works to the height of those of yesteryear, takes on the tenth art very different nuances . Because of the peculiarities and precariousness that the videogame carries, and because of the intimate relationship it lives with technology, the remake is, in addition to a great source of income for the companies that undertake them, a happy necessity for the players.

We who have children understand it very well. It is the parents’ mania to try to present to their children those works that moved them in their past; sometimes, with happy success; Sometimes, with resounding failure. But in that desire to transmit the cultural legacy there is nothing but the oldest in the history of our species: the precisely bequeath what we know and experience about the world.

That complaint, widespread and fundamental, that we live in the pop culture of the present, that the remake and nostalgia are murderers of the new stories and conceal the inability of the creators of the present to create works at the height of those of yesteryear, charges in the tenth art very different nuances.

Video game was an art

The video game was an art, until recently, much more expired than cinema , because its ability to evoke and transmit what its creators dreamed collided with the technological wall. At least, in its most mainstream. The pixel-art survives decade after decade; My son (three years old) loves the ‘Probotector: Hard Cops’ as much or more than his beloved ‘Monster Hunter World’. But 3D graphics, I repeat, until recently, have had a much greater expiration (and aesthetic limitations), to the point of breaking the immersion of those who face them again.

So, the following epigraphs, understood as an approach to remake as a celebration of the art of video games and also as a warning to navigators of those plots still to be built from this cultural industry that still lives in the mystery of wanting or not wanting to be such a thing .

And also understand that in video games something diametrically different happens than in the cinema. Recycling and makeup of old ideas. Nor are we in interactive art at a time of absolutist domination equivalent to that experienced by the cinema with superheroes (although the obligation to match AAA to sandbox seems too much). Videogames have been in an exaggerated proportion of dazzling masterpieces of all genres, budgets and aesthetics for three years in a row (at least three).

So the remakes in this context, leaving the commercial aside, are almost more a confirmation of the maturity of the medium than a symptom of creative weakness. Cory Barlog, the creator of the latest ‘God of War’ (itself a remake ), commented on Twitter how he enjoyed his trip to Japan to see his design idols , people like Kojima, Ueda or Mikami. The taste of the players and the desire of the creators seems to align with this emotion. A collective recognition of the greatness of the environment in recovering and polishing his best works.

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