Pac-Man wasn't the first video game or even the best, but he was the clear juggernaut of the arcade's golden age. For whatever reason, be it the simplicity in concept or the ease of recognition, Pac-Man was everywhere, even in places he really had no reason to be.
If you're reading this blog (and you are) you probably already know all of the 'things you don't already know' lists about Pac-Man; you know his original name, the 256th level, and the hidey hole game glitch. So I don't have any of those kinds of tidbits for you. But I do have my own personal childhood intertwined with the heyday of Pac-Man's story, and I think that gives me a bit of a time capsule to blog about.
So welcome to Pac-Land.
The Cherry Voyage
Imagine you're in a situation where you have to explain the concept of Pac-Man to the uninitiated, i.e. someone who literally has never heard of Pac-Man, power pellets or the term 'ghost monsters'. That was my father trying to describe the brand new arcade game that Aladdin's Castle had just introduced to their mall establishment.
Let's reminisce about the arcade. Different time. Parents could abandon their kids at this cave of wonders with its unearthly lights and sounds (the training wheels version of Vegas) without ever blinking their eyes at the thought of abduction. I was there when Jungle King was pulled and replaced with Jungle Hunt. I stood for hours (collectively) watching Dirk the Daring die in innovative ways. And I rocked the hell out of Crazy Climber even if no one else warmed up to the controls.
So it was one impressionable day that my dad came home from work and told me about this new game where you were this lemon. Running around a house with these hamburglars chasing you. If you ate one of these stop signs, you could then eat the hamburglars and they'd run back to base before coming after you again.
I had a very different looking game in my head.
The Strawberry Festival
1980 was a great year for me. I was in second grade, where our report cards still assigned us W's, S's and L's instead of the oppressive self-esteem crushing A B C D and F system. Stress was low, and the 80's was defining itself right out of the gate with colorful movies like Flash Gordon, Xanadu and...um...The Shining. Me and my two best friends Jamie and Nebe were inseparable (Hey guys, sing with me, "Schroeder, Nett and Millimer are members of BFBT..."), and as a result we were full blown into the same things with all the soul and passion elementary schoolchildren could have. In other words, a LOT.
We didn't just connect over Pac-Man, we lived it. We had sleepovers centered around the Saturday morning cartoon, for which we quickly became adept at mimicking the character voices and devising our own fan fictions for each other. Jamie and I both created our personal puppet show versions of the cast, with sets and props. We even introduced a few new ghosts into the lineup, the yellow one named Yinky and the green one named Minky (although my version had Minky as an exceptionally mean character and Yinky as and uncharacteristically benevolent antagonist while their personalities were reversed in his world; that debate never resolved).
Apples and Oranges
Egads, the merchandise! If it involved Pac-Man I wanted it. I had the t-shirts, the lunchbox, the cereal, the repugnant vitamins (only once), and I called the local radio station over and over just to request Pac-Man Fever.
Then came Ms. Pac-Man, which was honestly the first arcade game sequel I remember ever experiencing. I mean, arguably Galaga was a sequel to Galaxian which was a sort of sequel to Space Invaders, but this was different. Ms. Pac-Man took what seemed like an already perfect concept and improved it in every way.
You know, come to think of it let's talk about the female gamer. When video games started out, they were thought of as part of the boys' club, a regrettable stigma that still perpetuates online harassment today. Toru Iwatani created Pac-Man with the intention of appealing to the female demographic (allegedly while eating pizza). Now I was eight years old so gender issues weren't really at the forefront of my priorities, but I distinctly remember that when I laid eyes on Ms. Pac-Man for the first time it was two teen-aged girls who were playing the game. The reason why it stands out was because the moment the pretzel first appeared bouncing around the maze, both girls exclaimed "A pretzel!" and the three of us started laughing. Damn, I miss Showbiz Pizza.
I don't know what order the rest of Pac-Man's relatives started showing up, but the next one I had the luxury of hating was Baby Pac-Man, the arcade/pinball hybrid that failed at both. Pac-Man Jr. was next with its oversized scrolling screen to add a needless complication to the gameplay. Then came Super Pac-Man with some real innovations yet somehow less fun overall. And finally Pac-Man Plus, a return to the basics where the original layout periodically vanishes on you, perhaps a metaphor signifying that nothing lasts forever.
Dynamite magazine once mentioned there was also Professor Pac-Man, but I never came across it.
Melon-choly
I've always assumed that our society's attention span has gotten worse over the years, but by 1981 consumers were already demanding a home port of Pac-Man on the Atari. Their version made it to the shelves a year later, and I'm sure you've heard how awful it was. And it was awful. I can't really place my finger on why it was as bad as it was, but suffice to say Atari really broke some hearts with that one. At least the E.T. game has the excuse of a six week development period by a single designer. Pac-Man had a year to get it right.
But you know who beat them to the punch? The Odyssey 2. If this was before your time, the Odyssey 2 was the equivalent of Snapple in the home console war dominated by Atari and Intellivision. There were some truly great games on that system but the most infamous was K.C. Munchkin, best remembered as Pac-Man in court.
K.C. Munchkin was unquestionably Pac-Man if you were doing everything in your power to pretend it wasn't Pac-Man. Three ghosts (Munchers) instead of four, only twelve dots which moved around the maze, a rotating regenerator that you could actually go inside, and a freaking level editor! It was a ripoff, but it was a damn good one (and for the record, so was Ms. Pac-Man).
Atari took Odyssey to court and lost the case but won the appeal. And while I can't say I blame them for overreacting the way they did, I don't know why they didn't try to claim ownership of the title and release it on the Atari instead of the wafer-fest that wound up killing their system. They should have sued themselves. And K.C. Munchkin is still awesome.
And the Inedibles
Like anything that burns brightly Pac-Man had a limited shelf life. We were all crazy about it, but the effect wore off. It's like a blackjack table that's no longer hot, those moments where you wakka through Inky without dying become commonplace. You get to a point where you realize that Billy Mitchell has already done everything that there is to do in the game. Pac-Man was destined to burn out.
That fever is never going to burn again the way it did for a few special years. It's not meant to. Ever sense our lovable lemon drop took a Pac-seat (Dear God, I swore I wouldn't go there) to Tetris blocks and Doom tournaments we've noted his absence but we haven't felt a loss. Like any A-list star, Pac-Man has become part of our collective culture. Someday the world may forget about Track & Field, Bump 'n Jump, or a short lived black and white classic called Ripoff (which still feels surprisingly original), but our little buddy will always be with us, at least giving our unconscious mind a little smile every time we pull away that first slice of pizza.
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