Monster Rally
By Greg Gutfeld, the editorial creative director for Men's Health.
from "TV Guide" October 30, 1999
It was a beautiful late-summer afternoon, perfect for a birthday pool party. Birds chirped, parents chatted, shorts chafed-and the dozen or so young boys in attendance frolicked in the pool. Wait. . . . Scratch that last part. They weren't anywhere near the pool. No, they were huddled over three-ring binders packed with Pokémon cards. "We tried to remind them that this was a birthday party," says Janet, one of the mothers, "but it didn't work." One parent finally told the kids that if water splashed on their cards, they'd be worthless. That worked: The boys packed up the binders, turned to the Pikachu cake and watched the birthday boy open his presents.
If you're a parent, or know parents, or have seen some of them weeping quietly in their driveways-then you know Pokémon. It's the Microsoft of kiddie obsessions, towering darkly over all that came before-from Pog to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles to a quaint activity known as playing outside with something called a ball. What began as a quirky animated Japanese import about cuddly monsters with superpowers has evolved into a real monster. One with legs. To help cope, I've talked to parents, kids and television executives and assembled a special primer for you. Here's what you need to know about Pokémon.
It's a different world. One in which the monsters are cute, the stories are exciting, and the female characters have really nice gams. The main monster, Pikachu, makes gurgling noises, which inspires the same response among viewers. He (or she) looks like a flying marshmallow with adorable black eyes-imagine a baby Rosie O'Donnell. The cartoon landscapes resemble places you travel in your dreams: alluring paradises with magical animals, lush valleys and peppy cheerleaders (again, the legs!). The show combines all the elements necessary for addiction, including, of course, odd disguises. "It's a rich, deep world, and in many ways a world only kids understand," says Donna Friedman, senior vice president for WB's kids' programming. "The show is so rich and deep and multilayered in terms of depth of characters."
You can't get in. Pokémon culture has its own rules and logic and a dazzling menagerie of characters. It's virtually parent-proof. Of course, this makes it even more appealing to the kids. "I don't understand what they're talking about," says Janet, "and I think they do that on purpose." It could be worse-they could be watching something far more disturbing-like, say, Road Rules. For parents, watching Pokémon is like reading about HMOs. You can pretend to understand, but it's all Greek. Let me clear it up for you.
It's war with stuffed animals. The show has a simple but powerful premise: Capture Pokémon and use them to battle and capture other monsters. The monsters are like pets. Fighting pets. In cartoons, this is cute. In real life, this is called cockfighting. Wait, maybe this is cockfighting. One monster, for instance, resembles the San Diego Chicken, but it's also "a living inferno." Much like, I guess, the San Diego Chicken is after a long day on the Astroturf. The main character, Ash Ketchum, a 12-year-old boy, earns badges as he does battle. Just like the Boy Scouts, badges mean something-butyou don't have to put up with nasty cases of rope burn or poison sumac to get them.
What a combo: cute animals and war. You can't beat that with a unicorn-which, by the way, is included. Add the theme music (scarily reminiscent of Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger" theme from "Rocky III"), and it's no wonder this show kicks more butt on Saturdays than a tag team of WWF wrestlers. It's the No. 1-rated morning show for kids aged 2 to 11.
It's not just a show, it's a "multimedia property." Which translates into "Squeeze the parents dry." You've got the show, the toys, the Nintendo games, the cards . . . and now "Pokémon: The First Movie," which opens in more than 2,500 theaters November 12. For cross-promotion, Burger King will hawk 57 different toys, Sears will become Pokémarts, and 140 Warner Brothers stores will transform into Pokémon Headquarters. Plus, each moviegoer gets a limited edition Pokémon card, tempting kids to go back over and over to get the entire set. Add to that the assorted Pokémon baseball jerseys, backpacks, key chains and comic books-and yes, Pokémon fruit roll-ups-and you could say this is a Pokémon world, and we're just paying for it.
It's an addiction. Tom is "9 ˝ years old." (Note: when under 13, the "half" matters.) He just bought 60 cards for $32. Was it his money? "I mostly borrow to pay," he says. Cadging money to get his fix? Oh, he's hooked all right. Tom says he's definitely going to the movie, "if my big brother takes me." He even has an enabler!
It's a lesson in economics! Meanwhile, Janet hops on eBay, the online auction house, to buy cards for her son. "When Catfish Hunter died, his baseball card was going for $1.50. The Pokémon card I was looking for was $70," she says. Her son has three different Pokémon card decks: "One for trading, one for playing games and one to protect the investment." This is a good thing: You've got to know what your Pokémon is worth before you trade it. So you learn not to get suckered. And conversely, you learn how to sucker other people-a valuable lesson if a career in consulting is in the future.
It's an icebreaker. Pokémon gives parents something to talk about. They start their own trading, not of Pokémon, but of Pokémon stories-what they paid for cards, how kids spent their lunch money on them, how much a Charizard card goes for online. Hey, it beats talking about real estate.
It's also a diabolical conspiracy! The Pokémon craze is self-perpetuating: You collect something because it's, well, collectable. But unlike, say, fishing lures or beer caps, there is no inherit worth in these cards. "I know they're not worth anything," says Sara, age 14. "But it's something to do." "They have a book that says what they go for," Eric, age 6, tells me. "You make money if you sell them." It's a win-win situation for Eric. His parents buy the cards, but he keeps the profit when he sells them. (All I had was a lousy paper route.)
There's a message, too. WB's Friedman thinks that's the hidden appeal. "Watching some recent shows, our head of programming said, 'Gosh, this show is really educational!' Every episode really does end with a value!" She's right. In one episode, Ash goes to a land in search of a Pokémon training gym. Instead, he finds nothing but cheap Pokémon bric-a-brac. "It's just a bunch of souvenir stands," he says, where even Pokémon cookies are sold. He laments the crass commercialism, but I wonder, "Where can I buy Pokémon cookies?"
The real message can be found in the theme song. "Gotta catch 'em all!" Pokémon has 150 or so monsters, and as long as more are made, the kids can't miss a show and must collect 'em all. It's like baseball cards, except unlike ballplayers, the stars of these cards don't spit and scratch themselves.
It's okay. It will be over soon. Pokémon is harmless, and I have to say, the show is really engaging. "The sparkly backgrounds are cool," adds Eric. But if it's like Pog, even this monster will wear out its welcome. I ask Tom if he'll ever stop watching Pokémon. "When they're out of style," he says. When's that. "When I collect all the cards. Then they're outdated." And what will you do then? "What I did before. Go outside and play."
