THERE is something cathartic about shooting a human being, something satisfying about seeing his head snap at the moment of impact, a mist of residue wafting into the air.
Which explains the success of “Shoot the Freak,” the best new Coney Island arcade game.
“It’s the only game in New York City where you can shoot at a live human target and he doesn’t shoot back,” Anthony Berlingieri shouted, drawing a crowd to his and Carl Monaco’s “Shoot the Freak” booth on the Boardwalk.
Players rushed to hand Berlingieri cash in exchange for five, 10, 20 or 35 paintball bullets, positioned themselves at air-rifles and fired away at the “freak” in his simulated living room.
And this “freak” was fantastic! Clad like something out of “Road Warrior,” he staggered backward whenever he was hit as if he were part-man, part-Terminator. He didn’t even bother hiding behind the furniture, but kept trying to call for help on a wall phone.
“That’s one good freak,” said spectator Peter Gerbasi.
Perhaps only in America could something so wantonly violent and so unapologetically enjoyable exist. In years to come, French philosophers may cite “Shoot the Freak” as evidence of American perversity and – how do you say? – vulgarity.
Brooklyn novelist Ned Vizzini saw a powerful metaphor for our times.
“When you aim at the freak, you’re really aiming at your own sloth,” said Vizzini. “And why doesn’t the freak have a cordless phone? It’s because he’s a failure. You are shooting at that part of yourself.”
Right. But there’s also the simple thrill of shooting a freak.
“It felt good to blow him away,” said Lane Miccio, all of 10 years old. “He was really annoying me.”
Hearing such talk from the mouth of a babe, I had second thoughts about the social ramifications of “Shoot the Freak.” Berlingieri reassured me that this is really just wholesome entertainment.
“This will be a childhood memory for that kid,” he said. “This is not just some picture you hang on a refrigerator.”
Just to be sure, I checked with forensic psychologist N.G. Berrill, who put my mind – and my itchy trigger finger – at ease.
“Like all animals,” Berrill said, “human beings have a reservoir of aggression just below the surface. It’s an evolutionary endowment.”
Berrill said that “reservoir” makes us lash out from time to time (come to think of it, I do sometimes say sarcastic things to my boss; now I can blame it on evolution).