irtual Boy was: a large rectangular hunk of red plastic, outfitted with a black foam visor holding two plastic lenses. The device sat on a stand—you had to peer into the system itself, and play the games using a two-pronged controller plugged into the main unit. Deep inside the system, two tiny screens sent vivid red-on-black images to each of your eyes, causing the illusion of three-dimensional depth.

Initial reaction to the machine was tepid. Sure, the 3D actually worked. But between the red-only graphics and the need to slump your head into a clunky pair of goggles, many were disappointed. Or worse: uncomfortable. Others kept the faith. This was Nintendo, after all—surely the end product would impress.
A Japanese Brochure for the Virtual Boy
A Japanese Brochure for the Virtual Boy

The Virtual Boy released in Japan the following July, and one month later in the U.S. with an MRSP of $179.99. Four titles were available at launch: Mario’s Tennis, the U.S. pack-in; Teleroboxer, a Punch-Out!! clone with giant robots; Red Alarm, a wireframe space shooter; and Galactic Pinball. Hiroshi Yamauchi, president of Nintendo Co., Ltd, said he expected the Virtual Boy to sell over two million units worldwide by the end of that fiscal year. Then people played it.

Besides the small array of mediocre games, the Virtual Boy just wasn’t pleasant to use. Sticking your face in its red plastic goggles made for hunched shoulders and a strained neck. Warnings in each game advised you to pause after 20 minutes. Rumors proliferated that it caused massive headaches. An urban legend spread that one person died after an extended play session. In October 1995, Nintendo lowered the price to $159.99. After a dismal Christmas season, retailers like Toys “R” Us slashed the price to as low as $25. Soon after, Nintendo killed the Virtual Boy, stopping production and cancelling all games in development. Even with the 80-percent price drop, stock of the unwanted system languished on store shelves for six months. Fifteen years later, Time Magazine would list Nintendo’s 3D experiment as one of the 50 worst inventions ever.

Aside from Becker, Ben Wells and Nate Goldschlag were the original members of Reflection Technology. I met Wells at his workplace in Lincoln, Mass. “After the Nintendo thing failed,” Wells told me, “[our] company went into an interesting death spiral.” Now in his sixties, he owns and operates Wells Research, which makes optical testing equipment for products such as gun sights or microscopes. A thin grey beard covers his face. Two things cover the walls in his jumbled office: framed awards, and pictures of disaster.

Above his desk hangs a plaque from PC Magazine touting the Private Eye as a finalist for Technical Achievement in 1990. As he sits down to work, the award is outside his periphery. In his line of vision are two photographs stuck to a cabinet: A Beachcomber airplane, turned upside-down on the tarmac; and a black-and-white picture from 1895 of a train engine