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The secret world of Pokémon | page 1, 2
"Pokémon" is of the "Speed Racer"/"Sailor Moon" school of Japanese anime: Characters have big Keane-children eyes, flickering backgrounds give the illusion of movement and little girls have freakishly long legs and disturbingly short skirts. The hero of the TV show, 10-year-old Ash Ketchum, is undergoing the rite of passage prescribed for all 10-year-olds in Pokémon World -- he journeys the countryside without parental supervision, hunting Pokémon, battling worthy opponents and earning merit badges. As rites of passage go, this one looks pretty grueling. Why not just have a Bar Mitzvah or a confirmation? The presents are better and you don't have to live in the woods without television or Slurpees for months on end. Anyway, on the morning of his 10th birthday, Ash goes to see Professor Oak, the kindly Pokémonologist, to select his first Pokémon and receive his Pokédex, a Palm Pilot-type gizmo that contains everything he needs to know for his quest. But Ash oversleeps and gets to Professor Oak's lab too late to get a decent Pokémon, so he has to settle for Pikachu, an adorable yellow electricity-spewing rat with behavioral problems. Pikachu in tow, Ash sets out to become The Greatest Pokémon Master of All Time. As a toy tie-in kiddie show, "Pokémon" (currently the highest-rated kids' program in syndication and the highest rated Saturday morning cartoon for boys aged 6-12) is surprisingly not terrible. It's funny, it stresses friendship, good sportsmanship and kindness to animals and there's no killing -- Pokémon who lose matches don't die, they pass out. Then they're sent off for rehab at the Pokémon equivalent of the Betty Ford Center. The villains of the show, Team Rocket, are bumbling lightweights, an effete, extravagantly coiffed boy and girl who look like they should be performing on a British New Romantics bill, circa 1982, with Spandau Ballet and Duran Duran. "Pokémon" is no "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood," but it's far from the worst thing a kid could watch. Indeed, the whole Pokémon phenomenon couldn't be more perfectly attuned to the emotional wavelength of pre-adolescence. As Benjamin Spock wrote in "Dr. Spock's Baby and Child Care," age 6 to 11 is the time for "starting collections, whether it's stamps or cards or stones. The pleasure of collecting is in achieving orderliness and completeness." Gotta catch 'em all! But what would the good Dr. Spock have made of Pokémon's puberty subtext? In the games and the TV show, the Pokémon start out as cuddly yet ferocious (when provoked) baby creatures -- they're the ideal fantasy objects for second-graders who act tough but still sleep with Teddy bears. After the immature Pokémon win a few matches, they evolve into bigger, more powerful Pokémon. Did I mention that the Japanese translation of "Pokémon" is "pocket monsters"? Charmander, the cute little lizard with flames shooting from the tip of its tail, becomes the winged fire-belching dragon Charizard. Squirtle the turtle becomes Blastoise, whose shell contains two high-pressure water cannons to blast opponents (thus embodying every kid's dream of owning the biggest Super Soaker on the block). But, no matter how big and angry the Pokémon get, trainers can still command them to shrink and return to their Pokéballs, the small red-and-white spheres where they live when they're not fighting. When Ash needs a Pokémon, he takes a Poké ball out of his pocket, hurls it at his opponent and the Pokémon bursts out, ready to rock and roll. So, to review: Boy rubs ball, pocket monster pops out. Do I have to draw you a picture? Nascent sexuality aside, Pokémon is also thick with corporate metaphors. On the show, Ash and the other trainers assemble a corps of Pokémon employees, demand their loyalty, coop them up in undersized quarters and send them out to fight their battles. The trainer's ascent up the "Pokémon League" ladder depends entirely on the performance of his employees. "Pokémon" may be a cartoon, but it's one of the best management-training films you'll ever see. If it inspires a generation of American kids to embark on a quest to be The Greatest Middle Manager of All Time, so be it -- especially if it makes them do their math homework. I suppose it's a sign of how screwy things are for families these days that, despite its profound strangeness, parents have welcomed the bloodless and strategy-emphasizing Pokémon with open arms. And I agree: Better your pre-adolescent son should be obsessing over non-threatening characters named Jigglypuff and Caterpie than dressing in combat fatigues and terrorizing the neighborhood pets. But, as with all fads that feed on stuff-lust, Pokémon has its Darwinian side. The reason many schools have banned the trading cards is because savvier kids were suckering naive ones into bad trades, like a rare holographic Raichu (evolved Pikachu) for a worthless Diglett (underachieving mole). And it was the parents who complained. Aw, come on, moms and dads -- getting suckered is a fact of life. It's an Arcanine eat Arcanine world out there. Ask any kid.
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