If The Godfather had debuted in 2008 rather than 1972, it almost certainly would have received reviews that were just as rave as those it earned 35 years ago. But what if Super Mario Bros. had been released today rather than 1985? Would it still have become the phenomenon that it was 23 years ago? I don't think so.

We still have fun with Super Mario Bros., but that's partially because we see the game through a nostalgic lens, remembering the good times we had with it as kids. It's also because we have context; we know what was expected of games at the time it was originally released and marvel at how greatly this particular game exceeded those expectations. Evaluated based on the expectations we have of games today it still does fairly well—it provides a welcome sense of discovery and requires no small amount of skill. But, released in 2008, it would be deemed too small in scope, basic in control, and simple in narrative to be declared a truly great game.

The reason why games don't—and, perhaps, may never—have the same sort of agelessness as other forms of artistic entertainment is that they aren't judged (at least not primarily) on anything as enduring as characters, plot, or writing. Rather, they are evaluated based on elements that are constantly evolving within the medium, such as game design, play mechanics, and, to a lesser degree, graphics.

In order to be considered timeless, a work of art must necessarily affect its audience in a similar way and to a similar degree, regardless of when it happens to be viewed. Will the person who views The Godfather for the first time today enjoy it as much as its original 1972 audience? Probably. Hence, it is timeless, at least insofar as it appeals equally to at least two or three generations of moviegoers.

Super Mario Bros. fails the test of timelessness because those who play it for the first time today have experienced more modern games that significantly expand upon and outdo Nintendo's archetypal platformer. Everything Super Mario Bros. does well—its run-and-jump action, its hidden levels, its rewarding coin collection system—has since been improved upon by countless other games. We rightfully acknowledge and respect that it served as inspiration for later games, but we also understand that many of these games have inarguably surpassed their original muse.

Super Mario Bros. makes for an easy case—the advancements in video game design and technology that have taken place in the decades since the game first appeared are strikingly obvious. Let's look at a less apparent example: The Halo games.

The original Halo was rightly considered one of the greatest shooters ever made when it was first released. However it simply doesn't compare with the series' latest incarnation, Halo 3, which has undeniably improved upon the franchise's formula by offering a deeper multiplayer experience, a greater variety of game possibilities (by virtue of its new and more refined enemies, weapons, and vehicles), and a more cinematic presentation.

Of course, it can be difficult to get past our rosy recollections. My memories of playing Halo outstrip those I have of playing either of its sequels. But that matters little in the matter of timelessness. The question is whether players who are new to an older game will be affected by it in the same way and to the same degree as those who played it when it was first released. Will Halo or either of its sequels be as compelling to players who encounter it for the first time 15 or 20 years from now as it was for us? I have my doubts.

Each new game is driven by a need to exceed what was accomplished by its predecessors, and only the ones that manage this difficult feat are recognized as masterpieces. But the fact that a primary criterion in our evaluation of a game is the extent to which it innovates and improves upon existing game design dooms these masterpieces to quickly become dated, and, eventually, perhaps even irrelevant.

Video games must overcome this great hurdle should they ever endeavour to earn recognition as an enduring art form.

Sadly, I'm not sure that they ever will.