This all begins with an 11 year old boy huddled behind his grandparent's neighbor's garage and ends with an unsatisfied young man navigating his 20s.
I had the trading cards (though only a few), and didn't land my first pocket monster cartridge till the release of Yellow. The Christmas of 98' saw it fit to bless me with the series' third installment and a magenta GB Color on which to begin my journey. As Pokemon went, those were the best of times, and the worst of times. I caught, I leveled, I conquered. And I traded night and day to get my fix of those rare candies only the Blue and Red folks could collect. Inexperienced and untried though, my team was no match for my veteran cousins and their slew of elite dragon, psychic and ghost types. Foolishly I sat there with my Pidgeot and Rapidash wondering where I'd gone wrong.
All leveled to a hundred, yet so weak in the face of their adversaries. Life went on, time went by, and the games lost their glitter as I got older, flirting here and there, but never allowing the myself to become similarly ensnared by those pint sized creatures.
The summer of 03' gave rise to a one-week-stand wherein, egged on by some adolescent nostalgia, I put down a measly $10 for a used copy of Blue from the nearby EB. That 4th of July has always had an acute presence in my memory, having become the platonic form of all July 4ths. The image of me sitting at my desk as the shaded sun poured through the window and my fingers plucked gently at a colbalt blue SP. But I soon tired of the old favorite and turned my mind to still newer things.
There were only a few run-ins with the franchise after that. I had kept my distance, unsure of the new critters and too short on time to start genetically engineering teams of super Pokemon. That is until the most recent additions, White and Black.
With some extra time and a longing for days gone by, I pre-ordered the game (White), paying in full, and furious with myself for forgetting its unusual Sunday release weeks later. I blazed through at an impressive pace, even as AC: Brotherhood and New Vegas and a slew of other titles sat unattended on my bookcase. I played on morning commutes, during breaks at work, and whatever other moments I could spare. My younger brother would bemoan the newest editions to the Pokemon species, refusing to collect certain ones simply because of their biological absurdity:
But I plowed on, refusing to be discouraged. As time went on I actually took a liking to some of the bizarre and all together more ridiculous ones.
I sped through wanting to get my Pokemon past the level 50 benchmark and beat the main story. Still catching new ones and preparing for the gyms the game went fast in the beginning.
But my endurance was challenged more and more, and my energy began to wane. Leveling began to change from a hard earned reward to a somewhat meaningless necessity as I thought of all the inadequacies of my team, their status deficiencies, ill-planned growth, and unchosen natures. I began to think more about the work ahead in crafting a winning team I could be proud of than present enjoyment. Playing in my room, I started to look around at unfinished books I'd been in the middle of reading, comics I had yet to catch up on, music I had yet to check out. I started to think of friends I hadn't seen in a while, work I could get ahead of, movies I had missed, and the increasing pile of recent masterpieces I was losing out on: Deadspace 2, Killzone 3, AC: Brotherhood, Mass Effect 2 (had to wait for the PS3 version), and Dragon Age.
What was I doing, whittling away my time with these ill formed tumors, many of them closer to zoological monstrosities than adorable Pocket Monsters? It all began holding a third party connector cable between two Gameboys and ended with me feeling quite salty, betrayed even, shattered with the disappointment of coming to find out that this beautiful thing you had once adored and fondly remember was much less than it is even if it is has become more than it was.
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My copy of Pokemon White now sits sealed in a media mail envelope ready to be shipped tomorrow, having just sold within hours of my posting it to Amazon. My brother thinks I'm ridiculous. That I don't understand Pokemon and that I suck at the game, and that some combination of this is leading me into delusion and nonsense. And I say this in all honesty: if you are enjoying the newest installation kudos to you. I wish I could. I wish the old flame could be rekindled to longer lasting avail. I wish I could enjoy the simple structure of the game with its rudimentary growth system and hundreds upon hundreds of abilities and moves. But what can I say, I like Chess more than Checkers. I prefer an engaging game of Risk or Monopoly to Candy Land or Shoots and Ladders.
With fewer hours in my day to devote to mindless level grinding I thought Pokemon White/Black might have found a more mature balance between customization and brute force. Between strategy and genetic engineering. Between diverse horizons and narrow convergence.
Some people like Rock, Paper, Scissors. Some people dream of playing Tic-Tac-Toe. But not I. Is giving each Pokemon 1 move too limiting? Is giving them just 4 any better? By now the reader is probably steaming furiously, going on about how I just don't appreciate the simplicity that is Pokemon. How I just don't understand all of the subtle customization that's been worked into each successive title. How maybe I'm a frakker for buying the game and expecting so much. And you may be right. This isn't about critically inditing the game. It is what it is, and that has its place. But when I think back to its material inception 16 years ago I'm saddened to see the series stagnate while I have grown.
While reading previews of the limited story, and seeing mention of the "liberation of Pokemon," I was intrigued and excited. But I should not have expected anything more than a superficial veneer from Game Freak and Creatures Inc. Rather than deal with the moral dilemma that was fundamental to the series since it began, the problem is paved over. Rather than utilize the sublime conflict between masters and their Pokemon, between the will to power and those who are destroyed and enslaved in the process, the game depicts those who would free the pocket monsters as depraved lunatics, hell bent on enacting some misguided and ultimately fatalistic idealism. What could have been developed into a gripping story, with characters forced to take sides in what is essentially a culture of glorified animal fighting, is instead used as an excuse for one button smashing level grind after another. What could have been developed into a complex system of status bonuses, multiple abilities, and extensive skill(move) trees is instead set aside in favor of a limited framework dressed up in statistical memorization and minimal graphics.
In the decade and a half since I first encountered that lovable collection of misfit creatures I have grown enormously. My outlook on life has broadened, my interests have grown, and my tastes are more refined (if only slightly). I still enjoy spectacle but now also appreciate subtlety. I love simplicity but thrive more from the challenges of complexity and sophistication. The old days were good but so are the new ones, filled with novel experience and the excitement of the exotic and unexplored. Unfortunately the games we grow up with do not always grow up along with us. Some embrace change, push the limits, and flourish. But others do not. They choose not to. Preferring instead to wallow in the confines of their previous success, still bought by millions, and loved by more, but never to realize themselves with the vigor of a new direction and fresh beginning.