You probably expect your
correspondent to tell you how Cruis'n USA has aged terribly.
In truth, it has aged like fine wine. It's still fun and accessible, with a palpable
sense of speed and precarity. You play on the edge of your seat as
you encounter the constant head-on traffic. There are lots of
crashes, but also lots of lead changes. Some of these derelict
drivers come out of nowhere, swerving all over the road—apparently,
in the vision of Cruis'n USA, the American highways are
replete with drunks. From the west coast to the eastern seaboard,
Cruis'n USA is a nice virtual road-trip through the United
States, chock full of landmarks such as the Golden Gate Bridge, the
Redwoods, and finally Washington DC. Some levels are charmingly
detailed, as is the case in the cornfields of Iowa, where buzzing
bugs incessantly hit your windshield. With other levels, some serious
liberties have been taken: to wit, the "Grand Canyon" level
ends, after a minute and a half of racing, at Mount Rushmore.
Creative license aside, Cruis'n USA is a ludic love-letter to
American geography. It's also an excursion into an abiding American
hetero male fantasy, as Cruis'n USA is all about the women
from start to finish.
Indeed, the only thing
that perhaps hasn't aged so well about Cruis'n USA is the
pixelated bikini girl who’s there to wave the starting flag with
dutiful enthusiasm at the outset of every race. Your correspondent
refers not just to the in-game pixilation or the sag of
this woman’s various appealing parts that has undoubtedly taken place in
the twenty-plus years since the game's release. Rather,
socioculturally speaking, your correspondent is pointing towards the distinctively male
desire—the male gazing—that unmistakably drove the game's
designers to digitize her scantily-clad figure and include it in the
game in the first place. The gazer-cum-player-cum-driver
is undeniably presumed to be a heteronormative, American male.
And all the way through
each and every race, the player is accompanied by an unseen female
who is along for the ride. She serves as your backseat driver, your
guide, and your cheerleader. She tells you to "check it out"
as you pass whatever landmark you're at, adding comments like "Wow,
the Grand Canyon!" Her wonderment is tireless. When you pass
another driver, she tells you to "take it!" She "oohs"
and "awws" constantly. In fact, one of the recurrent
background songs is a techno mix overlaid with rapid-fire samples of
this woman’s "oohs" and "awws"—the whole
thing is obtusely sexual. Apparently, this woman fulfills the fantasy
of touring the USA by sports-car with an enthusiastic female in the
backseat.
Finally,
at the finish line, you are greeted by more pixelated cutouts of
bikini girls, all of them with arms flailing in celebration. There's
also a dude with long hair, jean shorts, and no shirt who’s
credited as "Beefcake Boy" and played by one Sal Divita
(who also did mo-cap for Mortal Kombat). If you win the race,
the image of a thick-thighed girl in a mini-skirt and t-shirt combo
rises up onto the screen and then she shimmies on a short loop with a
trophy held out for your gazing requirements. She’s played by
Anutza Herling, better known by her nom-de-porn, Shyla Foxx.
This is what awaits you at the summit of your all-American automotive
quest.
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| The American Dream presents itself |
Cruis'n USA, then,
is above all about a fundamentally American goal of being constantly
accompanied and encouraged by fawning women. But it is more than
that, and this is where the Beefcake Boy's inclusion is absolutely
crucial. It's not just about the women. Rather, it's about
enthusiastic bikini girls and porn starlets in the majority, and
whooping, shirtless bros in the minority—this is the optimal
proportion in the American calculus of fame. This
is the American dream: impressing women and simpletons—one sector
has intercourse with you, the other pays money to consume the
licensed products wrought from whatever overvalued skill you possess.
These are the people you are vying to impress in the USA. Being a
winner is about exhilarating the easily pleased, satisfying people who
don't wear shirts or pants. This, dear reader, is America at its
fullest.