Step into any big-box retailer lately, and you’ll find yourself submerged in the “Grinch industrial complex.” From knock-off tumblers to questionable seasonal apparel, Dr. Seuss’s holiday curmudgeon is currently ubiquitous. Yet, the most unsettling relic of this branding blitz isn’t found on a store shelf—it’s the year 2000 video game tie-in, featuring a conclusion that borders on the hallucinogenic.
Launched to coincide with Jim Carrey’s live-action portrayal, The Grinch arrived on PlayStation, Dreamcast, and PC via Konami. The premise is standard fare: after misplacing the blueprints for his grand heist, the green anti-hero embarks on a G-rated rampage across Whoville, sabotaging festivities and reclaiming his lost schematics. It is, for all intents and purposes, basic Grinchery rendered in early 3D.
Commercially, the title was a dud, moving a meager 20,000 units. Critics weren’t any kinder; GamePro dismissed it as a blend of tedium and frustration. With mediocre scores across the board, the game faded into obscurity, leaving its bizarre finale unseen by most—until social media recently unearthed the footage.
The finale features a jarring emotional shift. Delivering a vocal performance that sounds like a frantic caricature of Carrey, the Grinch suddenly embraces the Christmas spirit. He descends from his mountaintop lair to return the stolen loot, scattering gifts across the town square while begging the Whos for a clean slate.
This is where the aesthetic of early gaming becomes truly nightmare-inducing. Cindy Lou Who, rendered with haunting low-poly geometry, invites him to join the festivities while her limbs move with unsettling, jellyfish-like fluidity. A choir of children then belts out a carol, their facial textures remaining frozen in a silent, static stare as the music plays. It is a Lynchian fever dream of holiday cheer.
However, there is more for the dedicated (or masochistic). As highlighted by Twitter user Blake ™, achieving 100% completion unlocks a secret: a motorcycle racing minigame set within Whoville that feels entirely disconnected from the source material.
While completing this game to its fullest extent is a feat few should actually attempt, the footage serves as a fascinating time capsule of licensed gaming oddities. Thanks to the internet, we can all witness this digital chaos without ever having to endure the actual gameplay. Happy holidays to everyone, even the low-poly Whos.
Source: Polygon
