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Press Release
Time, Mag (5/04/99) - As
video games go, Pokemon is a far cry from Doom. Rather than annihilating
demons with an arsenal of firepower, kids manipulate a group of cloyingly
cute critters whose primary form of battle is a glorified version of rock,
paper, scissors. There are no guns, no blood--no one even dies. Players
choose a starter Pokemon (short for pocket monster), then nurture and
train it to battle other monsters using such "weapons" as water,
fire and electricity. After defeating a foe, the original monster becomes
more powerful. The aim is to become a "master trainer" by
vanquishing all 150 challengers.
With its benevolent characters and empowering ethic of "whatever
doesn't kill you makes you stronger," Pokemon is unlikely to spur
kids to purchase assault weapons. But it has inspired the kind of
obsessive acquisitiveness not seen since--well, the Beanie Baby. When
Pokemon was introduced in Japan in 1996, the characters immediately
captivated the preteen set, particularly young boys. Pokemon creatures
such as Pikachu (a yellow catlike mite) and Poliwhirl (a disk with bulging
eyes) were soon presiding over a media juggernaut, including an animated
TV show and trading cards, and appearing on everything from cell phones to
hot-dog packages.
Now the fever has spread to the U.S. Within a month of its debut last
September, the TV series--less a cartoon than a half-hour exercise in
Pokemon product placement--became the highest-rated children's show in the
U.S., first in syndication and now on the WB network. Nintendo has sold
2.5 million Pokemon Game Boy cartridges in seven months, making it the
fastest-selling product in company history. Since January, 850,000 Pokemon
trading-card sets have been sold in the U.S., and kids flock to malls to
participate in official trading bazaars. So preoccupied are kids with the
trading cards, some schools have banned them.
For most parents, Pokemon seems a relatively benign, if exasperating
fad. But could it be a gateway to more dangerous obsessions? David Walsh,
a child psychologist and founder of the National Institute on Media and
the Family, thinks it's possible. The technology behind most video games,
he explains, is based on a psychological principle called "operant
conditioning"--essentially, stimulus-response-reward. "Research
has shown that operant conditioning is a powerful shaper and influencer of
behavior," says Walsh. "The obsession is not about violence;
it's about how engrossing the game becomes."
Walsh stresses the need to balance children's activities, which is not
so easy when it comes to Pokemon. "I play it whenever I can get my
hands on it," says eight-year-old Chad Boecke of Kenosha, Wis. Joshua
Tunis, also 8, of New York City, would play every waking moment if his
parents didn't set a kitchen timer to signal the game's end. Like most
fads, Pokemania will undoubtedly fade. But there are no signs of that yet:
the Pokemon movie is due out around Thanksgiving.
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