X-Men vs. Street Fighter: Nostalgia and the Arcade
When I was in my early teens, I would frequent the local mall where my favorite local arcade happened to be located. I remember quite well the times I would venture into the arcade to find the latest game and the newest trends in gaming. I was a fighting game lover myself, and I would see the major Street Fighter and Tekken games, but I would also see cabinets with Neo-Geo games, like those from the Samurai Shodown and The King of Fighters series.
One game I played more times than I can remember is X-Men vs. Street Fighter (Capcom, 1996). Released only five years after the immense success of Street Fighter II, I was ecstatic to put the skills of Cammy and Ryu (from the Street Fighter series) to the test against X-Men, such as Rogue and Cyclops. I recently revisited the game at Kung-Fu Saloon, a trendy vintage-arcade-branded bar in north Austin.
What I want to focus on here is the comparative nostalgia based on experience and memory. Carly Kocurek notes the arcade as a “historical site” that is packaged with “physical and sensory phenomena that create the arcade experience” (6). The way Kung-Fu Saloon is set up is interesting: notably, the bar is the focal point of the entire establishment and is situated at the very center of the floorspace, with patrons lining up to grab drinks and socialize with friends around this space. In contrast, all of the arcade games (there are dozens) are backed against the three walls of the establishment (the front of the establishment leads to the patio), as to put as much space in between the bar and the arcade. There is a distinct separation that is jarring.
Kocurek’s nostalgic reminders of the arcade experience illustrate an arcade experience of a particular time and cultural significance. The lack of interest from patrons along with the inclusion of other non-video games, such as Jenga and checkers, as well as multiple big-screen televisions tuned to sports programming, seemed to oversaturate what would have been an immersive arcade experience. Nonetheless, I grabbed a beer and headed toward the X-Men vs. Street Fighter cabinet. While Kocurek notes that employees would be steadfast in their protection of video game cabinets from potential spilled drinks, all of the cabinets at Kung-Fu Saloon had dedicated pint-holders for each player.
I found myself not remembering a lot of the special moves that were particular to this game, but because my familiarity with Street Fighter games is so strong, I ended up playing fairly well. Like many who casually played in arcades, I mashed buttons in a panicked sense many times. But many other times, I played like I knew what I was doing. Because I was playing somewhat casually and I knew how to play, my mind wandered. I thought about the recent discourse about violent video games allegedly having a dangerous effect on players. This debate has been going on for over forty years, and I was still fascinated with the resonance of this particular topic.
Kocurek notes Death Race (Exidy, 1976) as one of the first (and most prominent) gaming moral panics in video gaming history. While Kocurek pointed to the U.S. car culture that is exaggerated in the film Death Race 2000 (Bartel, 1975), based upon the 1976 game, she also notes how U.S. car culture “is tied to expressions of masculine identity and technological power and mastery” (70). Indeed, in X-Men vs. Street Fighter, I could see parallels of her argument with the way masculinity is portrayed and enabled in fighting games, even those from the 1990s, fighting games heyday. The “scenes of violence [that] present a deliberate excess” in Death Race 2000 are similar to the exaggerated and super punches and kicks delivered in X-Men vs. Street Fighter. And while four of the seventeen playable characters in X-Men vs. Street Fighter are women, the overwhelming majority of the game is based upon the battling of foes (both in the sense of Player 1 vs. Player 2 as well as the X-Men vs. Street Fighter characters) and the use of violence against each other to progress.
And while Kocurek argues that cars have been “a highly visible example of U.S. consumer culture” through the connection of drivers and the cars they drive (70), the martial artists and superheroes of X-Men vs. Street Fighter are also extensions of the players who control them in these types of video games. This prompts the question: what sort of message does it send that superheroes resort to violence so easily and habitually? Outside of video games, superhero films and television has foregrounded this to the point that the extreme violence of superheroes in The Boys (Amazon, 2019-present) has critics and viewers noting the theme that superheroes are dicks.
But is playing X-Men vs. Street Fighter causing me to be violent? Absolutely not. But I will say that there is something rewarding in hearing the words “YOU WIN” after defeating an opponent at a fighting game that gives me great joy. And it is this same joy that I have experienced time and time again playing these games at the arcade which is hard to substitute elsewhere.
