“Were they good?”
“No,” Kalinske replied. “They were fantastic.”
Fantastic was an understatement. Of the top ten videogames sold in March 1994, eight of them were for the Genesis (and four of them were published directly by Sega):
1. NBA Jam (Genesis)
2. NBA Jam (SNES)
3. Sonic 3 (Genesis)
4. Mortal Kombat (Genesis)
5. Aladdin (Genesis)
6. Ken Griffey Jr. Baseball (SNES)
7. NHL ’94 (Genesis)
8. NBA Showdown ’94 (Genesis)
9. World Series Baseball (Genesis)
10. Sonic Spinball (Genesis)
“That’s terrific, Tom,” Fischer declared. “You should be proud!”
“We should be proud,” Kalinske corrected, “but that’s the point I’m trying to make. When I look at those figures I should be overjoyed. And part of me is, believe me, but another part can’t help but fast-forward to a couple of years from now and wonder if Sega will even have one game in the top ten. Have you seen the Saturn?”
“I’m sure the developers are still getting used to the environment,” Fischer explained. “Besides, concerns like that are normal. We all occasionally suffer from fear of success. It’s human.”
“That’s what I thought at first,” Kalinske replied. “But what if it’s not actually fear of success, and actually fear of something lurking beneath that success? Almost like it’s a perfect day at the beach, the sun is shining and the water is warm, but right there beneath the surface there’s a very hungry shark.”
“Interesting,” Fischer said, bobbing his head side to side. “Well, if that were the case, and I don’t think it is, then you have two choices: enjoy it while it lasts, or learn how to outswim the shark.”
What if it’s already too late, Kalinske wanted to ask. He looked around the office, taking great pride in having built such a powerful team. Eight out of ten titles in the top ten. Outstanding, but what if it really was already too late? Instead of asking this, however, Kalinske showed Fischer to his new office and officially welcomed him to Sega of America.
“Huh?” Minoru Arakawa quietly murmured when his key card did not work. He tried it once more, but again was denied, and it slowly dawned on Arakawa that he had not been granted access to the third-floor office space that Tony Harman had taken to calling the treehouse. “Tony!” Arakawa playfully shouted, while gently knocking on the door and laughing to himself. “Tony!”
Finally, Harman poked his head out the door. “Mr. A.? What are you doing here?”
“I heard you have something special to show me,” Arakawa replied. “But first I must ask why my keycard does not work.”
“Oh, that,” Harman said with a sheepish grin. “I never thought you’d want to come in. But since you’re here, let me show you around.”
Physically, Nintendo’s “treehouse” did not quite live up to its name. It was a nearly 2,000-square-foot area with a few four-foot-high cubicles, a small conference room, and an L-shaped bench in the back of the office. But a closer look revealed that, philosophically, it was everything an adult treehouse should be. Beside those cubicles there were some old arcade cabinets, hanging in the conference room were storyboards of games-to-be, and piled on that bench in the back was a pyramid of hardware systems. It was a fun place to work no doubt, but there was lots of work to be done. This new space was where NOA now localized NCL’s Japanese games, reviewed third-party titles, and, for Tony Harman (as well as his external producers Ken Lobb and Brian Ullrich), it was a place to develop games without constantly being asked “Whatcha working on?”
After a quick tour of the treehouse, Harman showed Arakawa what he had come to see: the game that Rare had been working on. It was still about ten to twelve months from completion and didn’t even have a name (its codename was “Country,” because Rare’s studio was located on the English countryside) but the Stamper brothers had been doing such an incredible job with the game that Harman wanted his boss to have a look. When Arakawa finally sat down and watched a demo of the game, he looked like he had seen a ghost. And in many ways he had. Because what Arakawa saw was the hulking body of an old friend, one who had been defeated by Mario so many years earlier. Thirteen years ago, this character had rescued Nintendo of America from obscurity, and now he was back again to haunt the competition. After all these years the wonderful beast had returned: Donkey Kong.
“This is incredible!” Arakawa declared. “The 64-bit games will look this good?”
“What do you mean?” Harman asked.
“Do you expect many of the games will appear in this quality on Ultra 64?”
“Oh!” Harman said, pleasantly taken aback. “No, Mr. A. This game is for the Super Nintendo.”
The look on Arakawa’s face was equal to incredible multiplied by impossible. This game, which would later be called Donkey Kong Country, was only 16-bits? Summer CES 1994 was only six weeks away, but Arakawa was convinced that it was worth undoing everything to feature this and only this. Don James, who designed Nintendo’s fantastical display, would later be asked to make this change and somehow, in only a matter of weeks, create a 30,000-square-foot booth with a volcanic island flaming in the middle. Thousands would come to marvel at this amazing game, the one that would extend the lifespan of the SNES and prove that Nintendo could rise back to the top without needing to rely on violence, name-calling, or flashy marketing. Make no mistake, there would be tons of marketing for the game: Peter Main, George Harrison, and Perrin Kaplan would be allowed to go to town. The difference was just that unlike their competitor, there would be substance behind the style.
Normally, Arakawa’s initial order for a game that Nintendo deemed to be an A+ title was one million units, but for Donkey Kong Country he ordered four million right off the bat. This is what Nintendo had been waiting for after all, and it was finally time for the tortoise to open the war chest and strap on a jetpack. Did it take longer than Arakawa expected for Nintendo to make their big move? Maybe, but he was not at all surprised that the time had finally arrived. The only thing that surprised him in the end was that inside of the tortoiseshell there was a gorilla hidden inside.
“Tony?”
“Yes?”
“You did good,”
“Thank you, Mr. A. Any time.”
60.
KINGS OF THE JUNGLE
In a continued effort to reclaim the fun, and in honor of what Nintendo hoped would be a game-changing surprise, the guys in Redmond decided to do something a little different for the 1994 summer CES. Instead of just writing a straightforward speech for Peter Main or Howard Lincoln, Don Varyu scripted an elaborate skit to perform in front of developers, distributors, and retailers on June 23, 1994. And to finally usher Nintendo out of its dark ages, the performance fittingly began in complete and utter darkness.
BRUCE DONALDSON
Randy, how much further do we have to go?
RANDY PERETZMAN
Relax, Bruce, the map says we’re almost there.
A tiny halo of light appears, and then another, so small it’s hard to determine the source until Nintendo’s Bruce Donaldson and Randy Peretzman move through the audience on their way toward the stage.
BRUCE DONALDSON
You hear them say these marketing guys are pretty far out and out of touch with reality, but this is really far out. We’re in the middle of no place.
RANDY PERETZMAN
Nope, no place at all.
Some lights turn on, still dim but with a bright auburn hue, and the intrepid explorers Donaldson and Peretzman are revealed to be dressed in full safari gear.
BRUCE DONALDSON
You know, I bet there’s not a dry martini within a thousand miles of this place.
RANDY PERETZMAN
Shhh, there’s the tent right over there.
The stage becomes fully lit, revealing an elaborate campsite in the middle of nowhere. And then from the tent emerges Peter Main, a cig
ar dangling between his lips with just the right amount of nonchalance.
PETER MAIN
Hey hey, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.
George Harrison steps out of the tent next, and then Nintendo’s powers all shake hands.
BRUCE DONALDSON
Dr. Livingwell, I presume.
PETER MAIN
Life has its ups and downs. Whoever said you couldn’t make the best of a bad deal? Come here and sit down for a minute.
GEORGE HARRISON
You know, Randy, we have almost everything we need here. And anything that we want to hear from the States, we have all this equipment.
Harrison tilts his head toward electrical thingamajigs and a large television screen.
PETER MAIN
George has been working on this for five or six months, but the only problem is that we don’t get any sports news. So Bruce, tell me: the Sonics really did go all the way, didn’t they?
The audience breaks out in laughter.
BRUCE DONALDSON
Man, you’re completely out of touch with reality. It must be the heat out here.
GEORGE HARRISON
Heat? Try running the marketing department. You get a second-degree burn these days just answering the phone.
The audience breaks out in laughter again, genuine this time.
PETER MAIN
That’s why we left. The guys in Japan were screaming, the guys in Redmond were screaming, the reps were raising hell; man, it was time to clear out and go to ground.
BRUCE DONALDSON
So this is the solution? To run away from it all?
PETER MAIN
Brucey, running away? You gotta understand, we’re not running away from anything. We just decided to come out here on a little hunting trip. As a matter of fact, there’s some of those little suckers again.
Main grabs a shotgun and fires twice, and suddenly a bloodied image of Sonic The Hedgehog appears on the large TV. The crowd loves it—this is so precisely their humor—and Peter Main picks up a nearby martini as he basks in the adoration.
BRUCE DONALDSON
And that’s what you’re after? Flying hedgehogs?
PETER MAIN
Only in a manner of speaking, my good man. That’s just the small stuff. Let me put it this way. You remember it was about ten years ago when Nintendo took its first trip out here to the videogame jungle, looking for that beast that would put us back on the map. What we came up with ten years ago was that big ape called Donkey Kong, who took us from a single coin-op machine to a company doing over a hundred million dollars in just a couple of months. Well, we’re on the same kind of hunt again. And we’re going to find that next group of eight-hundred-pound gorillas, and I mean big, hairy, muscular games. And I gotta tell you, this expedition is right on track. It’s leading us back to where we belong as undisputed king of the jungle.
Peter Main smiles, nods, and slides the cigar back into his mouth.
BRUCE DONALDSON
Yeah, I heard that before, but I gotta tell you, Peter: a lot of people back in the States think that Nintendo and this whole business is going right down the river. I mean, we all knew it was going to be a transition year, but nobody thought we were going to see numbers like this.
PETER MAIN
Well, no question it’s become a real jungle. The competition’s out there like a bunch of drunken headshrinkers. I mean, there’s a whole group out there saying every day that the current technology is tired and over. But let’s not lose sight of the big picture, guys. First of all, this videogame industry ain’t small potatoes . . .
A graphic appears on the television, indicating the industry has grown to $15 billion worldwide ($6 billion in the United States).
PETER MAIN
And secondly, yeah, Nintendo had a bad year. I mean, what the heck? Sales dropped, profits dropped, but we still made a half a billion dollars in profit, which was about five times what that other guy made, because as he ran around the world trying to buy market share, he gave it all away and ended up barely breaking even.
It dawns on the audience, almost all at once, that this is more than just a silly skit: it’s a satire about the war between Sega and Nintendo.
PETER MAIN
And finally, I gotta tell you the future’s going to be bright. I mean, look at all those big strategic thinkers who are standing in line: AT&T, Sony, Panasonic, JVC, even that guy Schpielberg over there in Hollywood, all waiting to get into this business. It can’t be so bad.
BRUCE DONALDSON
You guys look awfully calm for the predicament you’re in.
Peter Main suavely removes the cigar from his mouth. And at that point, it must also dawn on the audience that Main should never be without a cigar. It just fits him so well.
PETER MAIN
Well, Bruce, old buddy, you’re right. Twenty points ain’t exactly chopped liver. But you gotta be patient. Be patient a little bit. First of all, this is June, and we still got over two-thirds of the business year ahead of us. And I gotta tell you, we’re going to make some really big things happen over these next six months. So why don’t you just cool your jets a little bit. I mean sit back, relax, have a drink. We’ve got some real reason for optimism. And to start out with, I want to have my good man George of the Jungle here fill you in on a couple of discoveries he’s made since we’re out here. And believe me, it’s going to help you relax.
With a spear in hand, Harrison proudly talks about an amazing discovery he made one day while wandering through the outback.
GEORGE HARRISON
It was the “Lost Temple of Pac-Man.” Apparently, it was a sacred cave that had been accidentally covered over when the natives started building condos. But even so, I found a way inside, and there before me was the secret to the lost civilizations of videogames. There before me were the carcasses of Atari and Coleco. And there stood a magic cauldron, still at a full boil. Once I looked at it, I knew exactly what it was. A native crystal ball with all the secrets of the videogame industry.
RANDY PERETZMAN
What were you smoking in there?
GEORGE HARRISON
What the cauldron said was exactly what we’ve been hearing for months in our own market research. I asked the cauldron what the players want, and every few seconds, not surprisingly, the answer was “good games.” But then came a group of answers that probably in hindsight shouldn’t have surprised us. They not only wanted great games, but also wanted to be associated with a system that makes them feel cool. They want to be associated with hardware that’s advanced and up to date. In short, they wanted fun and they wanted image. So I asked, what does all this mean for the Super NES? And the cauldron boiled for a while and it got cloudy. It was clear there was work to be done.
PETER MAIN
That’s right, and that was all the information we needed to get started in a whole new direction.
GEORGE HARRISON
The first thing we did was to set out to try and find a stronger Nintendo message and even stronger delivery. Our TV campaigns have to be outrageous, and they have to be seen in more places than ever before. Places that even your reps might see them. And at the same time, you’re going to see an explosion of Nintendo ads in the gaming magazines. We decided once and for all to break our competitor’s lock on that key media.
Harrison then goes on to talk about everything that the new, postdenial Nintendo has in store for the months ahead: bigger events, better communication, and a recommitment to the fun that made Nintendo a household name.
GEORGE HARRISON
I know this is a real change of attitude, but we can’t afford to miss out anymore.
And just like that, Nintendo awakens and finds a balance between the tortoise and the hare; slow and deliberate, friendly and flashy . . .
GEORGE HARRISON
Finally, we decided to get some street smarts on the whole violence issue. Is there a market out there for more sophisticated games? Of course. So we’ll
accept the ability of a ratings system to allow the consumers to make informed choices. From now on, we’ll see no repeats of the Mortal Kombat incident, where we saw customers buy what they thought was a more attractive product from our competitor. Those days are behind us. We’ve modified the internal guidelines, and I can tell you now that Mortal Kombat 2 will be the same whether it’s on our platform or anyone else’s.
. . . and cunning, always cunning. With the newly created ratings board, Nintendo now had a built-in bunker in which it could duck for cover.
PETER MAIN
Hey, isn’t that all right? I mean, thanks, George. All of that good stuff, now that’s quite a start.
Thunderous applause takes hold of the room.
To his left and to his right, everyone applauded except for him. Al Nilsen was impressed by the performance, which exuded an almost Sonic-worthy level of cleverness, but he knew all too well that words were only that. Had Nintendo really learned from its mistakes? Had they finally awoken? Would they really be able to merge that long-term, stay-the-course attitude with the short-term shifts of this post-Sega world?
Nilsen was skeptical, but less so about ten minutes later when Don Coyner, Nintendo’s director of advertising, appeared onstage to discuss the company’s new marketing campaign. “Look who I found thrashing around the swamp,” George Harrison said, introducing the cameo. “It’s Don Coyner, and he said he had a revelation out there.”
“Don, I didn’t know you were out here,” Donaldson added. “What are you doing in the middle of the jungle?”
“Well,” Coyner began, with a long overdue twinkle in his eye, “I got so tired of all those retailers and sales reps complaining about Nintendo’s advertising that I decided to come out here and fix it for myself.”
Finally, Coyner thought, as he finally had the opportunity to speak these words. Finally, finally, finally. After spending a large, stressful portion of the past few years trying to convince Arakawa, Lincoln, and Main to let Nintendo to take off the gloves—tastefully, of course—they were finally willing to do something different.
Console Wars Page 59