this before, with VHS and Betamax, and before that tape versus videodisc. Eight-track versus cassette, record versus reel-to-reel, FM versus AM. Laserdisc, in 1983, was trying (and failing) to supplant videotape. But these format battles were usually two-party affairs. Retailers would stock both modestly, and allocate more and more shelf space to whoever was winning. But this rhododendron hell of a dozen different video game companies all trying to put the others out of business would bring everyone down—as well as any retailer foolish enough to try to stock a little bit of everything.
All through 1982 retailers had seen their groaning partitioned shelves grow dusty. Even for the Christmas season, consumers didn’t want to commit to any one console, any one computer. Now, in 1983, store owners drew a line. They started pushing back unsold products. They demanded refunds, and refused to stock any new games or consoles. Time to get out of this cloud-cuckoo land, this nine-person game of Joust .
But the game manufacturers had no cash on hand to return to the stores, since neither their new games nor the existing inventory were being sold. One company, US Games, went bankrupt. Another, Games By Apollo, followed. Private companies that had entered gaming to rack up a quick IPO shuttered their doors. Public companies like Atari’s Warner Brothers saw their stock prices plummet. System after system ended up being marked for clearance prices. What used to cost $300 was ratcheted down in $50 installments until it was being given away for less than it cost to manufacture. Forty-dollar games went for $10, then for $5—anything to get them out of the store. Like maggots on a corpse, a new crop of game manufacturers appeared, selling cheapo games already priced at $5.
The gaming retailers adopted the motto of the video-game-playing computer WOPR from 1983’s Wargames : The only way to win . . . is not to play. They hesitated to stock any more video games. They absolutely refused to stock any more video game consoles. The glut of bad games had salted the earth of Sears and poisoned the well of Toys “R” Us. Kids would still be able to buy their GI Joes, Cabbage Patch Kids, and My Little Ponys. Toy stores, like arcades, would survive. But they’d never let another video game system pass through their receiving bays again.
PART 2
SUPER 8
5 – MARIO’S ISLAND
JAPAN AND THE FAMICON
T imes were tough for U.S. game makers: Coleco collapsed. Milton Bradley, weakened from the Vectrex, was gobbled up by Hasbro, which didn’t have any skin in video games. Mattel lost millions from its Intellivision flop, and stuck to selling Barbies and Hot Wheels. Warner sold the Atari business for parts, as documented in Scott Cohen’s book Zap . The Commodore 64 and Apple II stayed strong, and became the home gaming systems of choice. Companies like EA, Epyx, and MicroProse vied to be to the computer what Atari was to the home console. Filling the void, VCR sales skyrocketed.
The American video game crash did not affect Japan at all. Or rather, it benefited Japan. Its retailers, shaking their heads from across the Pacific, had only stocked a negligible amount of most of the American video game systems. And those Colecos and Vectrexes that had made the trip were mere curiosities, no more a threat than wasabi peas are to Doritos in the States. The video game crash-and-burn gave Nintendo an unparalleled opportunity: the chance to enter a billion-dollar market where the others had just forced themselves out in a Mexican standoff gone wrong.
President Hiroshi Yamauchi had had engineers working on a game-playing home computer for years, since before he asked Shigeru Miyamoto to refurbish Radar Scope . (He briefly considered buying and branding the ColecoVision, but they wanted Nintendo to pay wholesale for it: no-sankyu .) He based it on Atari’s wonderful 2600, which used a lesser version of Motorola’s 650 chip, the 6507, to generate its
All through 1982 retailers had seen their groaning partitioned shelves grow dusty. Even for the Christmas season, consumers didn’t want to commit to any one console, any one computer. Now, in 1983, store owners drew a line. They started pushing back unsold products. They demanded refunds, and refused to stock any new games or consoles. Time to get out of this cloud-cuckoo land, this nine-person game of Joust .
But the game manufacturers had no cash on hand to return to the stores, since neither their new games nor the existing inventory were being sold. One company, US Games, went bankrupt. Another, Games By Apollo, followed. Private companies that had entered gaming to rack up a quick IPO shuttered their doors. Public companies like Atari’s Warner Brothers saw their stock prices plummet. System after system ended up being marked for clearance prices. What used to cost $300 was ratcheted down in $50 installments until it was being given away for less than it cost to manufacture. Forty-dollar games went for $10, then for $5—anything to get them out of the store. Like maggots on a corpse, a new crop of game manufacturers appeared, selling cheapo games already priced at $5.
The gaming retailers adopted the motto of the video-game-playing computer WOPR from 1983’s Wargames : The only way to win . . . is not to play. They hesitated to stock any more video games. They absolutely refused to stock any more video game consoles. The glut of bad games had salted the earth of Sears and poisoned the well of Toys “R” Us. Kids would still be able to buy their GI Joes, Cabbage Patch Kids, and My Little Ponys. Toy stores, like arcades, would survive. But they’d never let another video game system pass through their receiving bays again.
PART 2
SUPER 8
5 – MARIO’S ISLAND
JAPAN AND THE FAMICON
T imes were tough for U.S. game makers: Coleco collapsed. Milton Bradley, weakened from the Vectrex, was gobbled up by Hasbro, which didn’t have any skin in video games. Mattel lost millions from its Intellivision flop, and stuck to selling Barbies and Hot Wheels. Warner sold the Atari business for parts, as documented in Scott Cohen’s book Zap . The Commodore 64 and Apple II stayed strong, and became the home gaming systems of choice. Companies like EA, Epyx, and MicroProse vied to be to the computer what Atari was to the home console. Filling the void, VCR sales skyrocketed.
The American video game crash did not affect Japan at all. Or rather, it benefited Japan. Its retailers, shaking their heads from across the Pacific, had only stocked a negligible amount of most of the American video game systems. And those Colecos and Vectrexes that had made the trip were mere curiosities, no more a threat than wasabi peas are to Doritos in the States. The video game crash-and-burn gave Nintendo an unparalleled opportunity: the chance to enter a billion-dollar market where the others had just forced themselves out in a Mexican standoff gone wrong.
President Hiroshi Yamauchi had had engineers working on a game-playing home computer for years, since before he asked Shigeru Miyamoto to refurbish Radar Scope . (He briefly considered buying and branding the ColecoVision, but they wanted Nintendo to pay wholesale for it: no-sankyu .) He based it on Atari’s wonderful 2600, which used a lesser version of Motorola’s 650 chip, the 6507, to generate its
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