Two Cheers for that Other 'N' Company - Nintendo Company Ltd., marketing of Pokemon products - Statistical Data Included

Brandweek, Oct 11, 1999 by Philip Van Munching

SURE, NICKELODEON OUT-DISNEYED DISNEY AT THE BOX OFFICE AND BUILT NIFTY PROMOS AROUND QUALITY PROPERTIES LIKE RUGRATS. BUT NINTENDO DID EVEN BETTER: WITH POKEMON, IT PULLED THAT OFF WITH A LOUSY PRODUCT.

Rugrats? Blue's Clues? Please. In terms of marketing brilliance, Nickelodeon is a distant No. 2 in my book. Oh, sure, I can see what made them Marketer of the Year in Brandweek's editors' eyes: Nick managed to out-Disney Disney at the box office with a nine-figure gross on The Rugrats Movie, and to put together an unprecedented marketing alliance with a carmaker. And yes, Blue's Clues has managed the most impressive blurring of product and property since, well, Winky Dink got us all to trace the television screen.

But all of this--the branding, the strategic partnering, the array of products--pales before the achievement of that other "N" company, Nintendo.

Nickelodeon worked wonders with solid titles, it maximized its return on quality brands. What Nintendo has done is even more impressive: it's forged a multi-billion-dollar business from pure, unmitigated crap.

Let us pause to define crap, shall we? When I use that word (which I'll cease doing now, in the interests of retaining my welcome here at Brandweek), I refer not to the actual content of any given entertainment, but rather the level of effort behind it. You may hate the World Wrestling Federation, but you've got to give them style points for the elaborate show they put on. They're hucksters, but they're hard-working hucksters. What they sell may lack for taste, but certainly not for sophistication.

Like the roller derby before it, today's professional wrestling is a well-crafted, well-planned circus that's popular precisely because of the soap-opera plotting and the sheer unpredictability.

Likewise, the Rugrats gang may not be your thing, but it's your children's thing, because the shows are cleverly written and populated with well-delineated characters. It isn't hard to see why kids are drawn to them, or to Doug, or to any of Nickelodeon's offerings.

But Pokemon?

I defy anyone, young or old, to explain the allure of these poorly drawn, lazily conceived characters. And yet here they are, endlessly. At last count, Pokemon can be found on trading cards, a TV show and videotapes, a Game Boy cartridge, a music CD, Golden Books, T-shirts, most Quaker Cereal boxes, candy and, due at Christmas time, a feature film called Pokemon: The First Movie. See? Even the movie title lacks the tiniest spark of imagination. (Wait, I take that back; if that title is meant as some kind of a threat, it's incredibly effective.)

This contempt for the phenomenon doesn't come lightly. Recognizing that my first impressions of the little Japanese creatures may have been clouded by the fact my 8-year-old spoke incessantly of them, I recently spent a little time immersed in all things Pokemon. I'm expecting my parenting award, along with a prescription for Valium, any day now.

Here's what I found: The world of Pokemon, as seen in the television show, is inhabited by 150 different creatures. They are so badly animated that it looks as if the makers-were too cheap to draw every other frame.

These titular characters are captured and owned by human "trainers"; we'll leave it to future sociologists to comment on the bizarre master/slave thing going on. Somewhat disconcertingly, kids are encouraged to see themselves as trainers on the quest to collect 150 Pokemon. Which is where the game cards--the foundation of the Pokemon empire--come in. Most of the game cards, which are sold in packs of 11 at up to six bucks a pop, have pictures and stats on individual Pokemon. These are used along with "power cards" in a trading game that's only slightly more complicated than the traditional I'll-give-you-a-Ripken-and-a-Jeter-for-your-Sosa method.

Now think about this: There are 150 of the little devils, and the object is to own as many of them as possible. (Let's not even get into the "rare" holographic cards.) To assure your child of even a majority of Pokemon, you'll have to buy dozens of packs. That's hundreds of clams. And for that, you get not one stick of gum. At the end of each episode of the cartoon show, the names of 32 Pokemon are called out, rap style, along with the show's (and products') tagline: "Gotta catch 'em all." A more direct sell I cannot imagine.

The show and the inevitable videos are interesting in that their primary use doesn't seem to be the conveyance of stories featuring the Pokemon. They're used as reference material for the card trading game. It was perfectly fine when I spoke to my daughter and her friend during a recent episode; I didn't get majorly shushed until the rap number at the end. Turns out I'd interrupted research into which ones Anna's friend was missing.

As you've no doubt read, Nintendo is being sued by four parents claiming the company encourages illegal gambling, because the trading of Pokemon cards is allegedly done "in a fanatical way to the point of obsession." (If this suit goes anywhere, The Backstreet Boys better head for the hills.) Brought under the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act, the suit claims that the random insertion of "premium" cards into approximately every 33rd pack necessitates "the purchase of multiple packages of cards." The heightened value of these premium cards, which apparently have a resale value of $70 apiece, makes the act of buying packages with the express hope of finding the cards a form of gambling, the logic goes.