My Crush On Star Fox 64 Explains Why Nintendo Keeps Remaking It

Totemic memories are often fleeting. The most memorable part of the opening cinematic of Star Fox 64 lasts less than thirty seconds. 

Four walkin,’ talkin’ animals sprint down a seemingly interminable hangar corridor toward their fighter jets. A dog dressed as a general said that a planet is under attack and the gang is late to work. An exceptionally strong premise in military fiction. Nobody says a word because the alarm does all the talking, shrieking through the base as boots drum against the floor and our four pilots refuse to look anywhere but straight ahead. 

The game offers exactly one additional detail about these people: their names. Slippy Toad. Peppy Hare. Falco Lombardi. Fox McCloud.

The first time I watched this scene, I knew which character I liked—sorry, like-liked.

I recognized Slippy Toad immediately: the girl in my biology class who borrowed a pencil. Somebody I knew pretty much nothing about but immediately knew that I needed to know more. This is surely one of the more humiliating features of being a person. Every so often your brain selects a favorite and becomes irrationally attached. We all had favorite Power Rangers and starter Pokémon. As an adult, I’ve insisted I have sophisticated reasons for loving certain artists, authors, or the basketball star Joel Embiid, but the truth isn’t so complex. Something catches my eye and inspires affection. The thick explanations come later. To love something is to commit yourself to paying closer attention. 

Before the sprint to the Arwings was over, I loved Slippy Toad. He rented out the same part of my brain reserved for anyone else with that spark. A crush convinces you to begin secretly constructing a future around them. A crush transforms ordinary details into meaningful clues and chance encounters into cherished memories. Surely, before long, I’d be daydreaming about tonguing that frog under the bleachers. 

But a favorite is only the beginning and Star Fox 64 extends far beyond the initial attraction. The game’s campaign, with its alternate routes that branch across the Lylat System, is built around repetition, sending players through entirely different levels depending on their performance. Reaching every planet, seeing every level or piece of content, requires multiple playthroughs. Earning medals demands revisiting twitchy challenges until they become second nature. The structure, if one wants to see the game completely, encourages return.

Nintendo / Mobygames

That return transforms the cast. It might be hard to imagine how these characters survive dozens of playthroughs. Slippy spends much of the campaign screaming for help, Falco bounces between bragging and insulting, and Peppy delivers tutorials like sage advice. At first these interactions register as broad sketches, but familiarity renders them more completely. The result is a kind of intimacy built from repeated encounters; seeing the same people often enough that they begin to feel human. We may not learn much in the way of additional facts about them, but familiarity allows us to perceive more within what was already there. 

The structure of Star Fox 64 is built around this kind of knowing. One playthrough strands Slippy on Titania and sends Fox into the desert looking for him. Another playthrough defeats Spyborg on Sector X quickly enough to prevent Slippy’s crash landing entirely. Slippy occupies different places in your memory depending on where you go and how you perform. Learning what happens to him on every route is not entirely unlike checking the Instagram story of somebody you have a crush on. Neither activity has ever produced a healthy outcome, but each encounter supplies another angle from which to view the same person. 

This is one of life’s great pleasures: the ecstasy of drawing closer to something through repeated encounters, and it is the joy of Star Fox 64. What begins as a simple hallway shooter, something reminiscent of an arcade cabinet featuring a gang of weirdos who escaped from the Hundred Acre Wood, gradually reveals itself as a game about anticipation. The first trip through any level is pure reaction. We’re all familiar with the instinct to shoot everything and dodge whatever appears in front of you. Some players spend bombs carelessly. Others, myself included, finish entire levels wondering what exactly they were saving them for. Repetition erodes that version of who you are and changes your relationship to the game. You begin holding your fire because you know which formations are worth a charge shot and which enemies are moments away from lining themselves up for a perfect bomb strike. Enemies that once inspired twitch shooting reveal themselves as choreographed dancers, prancing through routines and arriving at the same marks every performance. Success becomes more about timing: knowing what an enemy is and where it’s about to be.

The first time through Corneria, those stone arches sticking out of the ocean are just set dressing, but later they are the whole thing. If Falco survives the mission and you fly beneath all seven arches, he’ll peel away from the group and lead you through a waterfall toward Sector Y. Surviving the level is secondary to exerting your knowledge over it. The route map has been sitting in plain sight the entire time, but familiarity changes what it means. Eventually, every level is played with the next one in mind.

Nintendo / Mobygames

In that sense, Star Fox 64 reminds me of a favorite book. The pleasure of rereading Pride and Prejudice isn’t discovering that Jane Austen added new DLC, but finding more within what was already there. Star Fox 64 mechanizes that feeling. A level that appeared to be a straight line eventually reveals itself as a crossroads. Even when players arrive at the same ending, familiarity changes what surfaced along the way. The credits arrive after about an hour and are pretty easy to reach, but the game’s most meaningful rewards could never arrive with a trophy pop.

For years I was convinced that the flashy upcoming remake of Star Fox 64, called simply Star Fox, needed more content, like an open world or 62-player multiplayer. I may have even mentioned wanting a Battle Pass at some point. These sprawling features would be enough to dominate a Nintendo Direct and a few weekends, surely. But what would any of that have taught me about Slippy Toad?

I think this reluctance to accept that Star Fox really is “just” a remake of Star Fox 64 was actually a reluctance to accept the possibility that I had not yet mastered the game in front of me. If a fifth reading of Pride and Prejudice can reveal a fresh reason to despise Mr. Collins, surely Star Fox 64 had not exhausted itself either. 

This is why the complaints surrounding 2026’s Star Fox being yet another remake strike me as a little funny. Yes, Nintendo has returned to the vague outline of Star Fox 64 many times, but its central pleasure has never been in its plot or a singular completion of its levels.

The new version appears to understand this. Mouse controls introduce a new skill to cultivate. I already know the dance. Now I have to learn new steps. Dragging a Joy-Con across my pants and missing easy shots. The cinematics place greater emphasis on performance, body language, and characterization. The sort of details that blossom with repeated viewings. The game is not going to replace my relationship with Star Fox 64, but it may give me another angle from which to view it. Revisiting an old favorite is like getting coffee with an ex. You just find yourself noticing different things, and half the conversation is spent realizing you have been telling the story wrong. 

Before the sprint to the Arwings was over, I loved Slippy Toad. Another run might finally help me understand why.