Not unlike the over 140 million other Angry Birds players, I’ve found the game to be both calmly exhilarating and g-d-damn maddening. It’s got that special combination of clear, beautifully drawn graphics, a simple and very sensitive set of tools, and a quick reward system that is probably not that different from smoking rainbow crack.
I’ve gotten quite good at the game. I don’t aim to gain all three stars on every level. Nor do I expect to find every banana, pineapple, or cheeseball hidden in the various untagged boxes and ungainly brush. It’s a democratic game, if anything–nearly anyone can afford a few dollars and a few moments of time will find the investment well worthwhile.
At the same time, I can’t help but think that Angry Birds represents some kind of collective reaction against those who flew their planes into Western civilization on 9/11. We, the birds, take out a little bit of vengeance upon those sitting, useless, imprisoned animals by flying ourselves into them. A little bit of daring-do and control and those little birds take care of the evil pigs and monkeys that have done us so much harm.
What happens to those birds after being flung to their peril, regardless of where they land on the stage? They die, too.