Through 1982, things look pretty rosy for the video game industry, as game cartridges move into mainstream venues like large music and video cassette retailers. For the year, sales in home video games across the board rise from 950 million dollars the previous year to $3.2 billion. 15 million consoles have been sold overall, along with 65 million cartridges. 25% of US homes have at least one system. By midway through the next year, there will have been over 12 million 2600‘s alone sold by Atari. They are the clear leader in 1982, starting the year with a 70 percent share of the video game market, a company that employs almost 10,000 people in a sprawling system of buildings around Silicon Valley. There are over 200 games available their system, with new batches hitting the market every week. Owned by Warner Communications, Atari makes about 5 times the revenue of Warner’s film division and accounts for over 60 percent of the mother corporation’s profits. There are a million Intellivision’s sold by Mattel, with another million and a half ColecoVision sales for Coleco. Also a leader in advertising dollars, Atari has spent $28.5 million on TV ads for the first nine months of 1982; they spent only $21.1 million throughout the entire year previous. Main competitor Mattel spends $21.1 million advertising its wares. Total network time taken for video game advertising is estimated to reach $100 million for 1982-1983. 1984 even sees Atari named as the official sponsor of home computers, arcade and home video games for the Olympic Summer Games, held in Los Angeles. This entails computers and games for participants in the Olympic Village, an arcade set up at the ABC International Broadcast Center for use by the 1000′s of media personnel, and direct sponsorship of the U.S. Women’s Volleyball team. Atari also contracts with official Olympic broadcaster ABC to air 75 commercials across the Winter and Summer games, ensuring the company has huge exposure during the festivities. What’s not so publicly known is that Atari has already begun stumbling on the playing field. By the end of 1983, it and the rest of the industry was steadily unraveling. By the end of 1984 things come to a crashing halt, with every major videogame system up to that point either being sold to independents or discontinued altogether. A public that had once seemed to possess an insatiable appetite for any new game or console to come down the pike now collectively turns their backs on the game makers. Buyers for retail outlets who went all-in on video games find themselves out on the street, and distributors are left stuck with warehouses full of unwanted cartridges. An industry that had practically sprung up overnight to dominate the entertainment sector misses the rings and falls flat on its face.
Atari, comprising 2/3 of the industry, bears the brunt of the shakeout. The first sign of trouble comes with the 2600 version of Pac-Man, released in late March of 1982. It is designed by Tod Frye, whose previous claim to fame is being the programmer of the Atari 400/800 port of Asteroids. Thanks to the words “Pac-Man” on the box, along with a $15 million advertising blitz, the game sports an amazing one million cartridge advance order from retailers and goes on to become the biggest selling Atari cartridge ever. It becomes rapidly apparent, however, that the quality of the game is awful, bearing only a very passing resemblance to the coin-op.
The graphics in the VCS port are horribly blocky, with the title-character a malformed circle with a bad case of lockjaw; his mouth opens and closes at a painfully slow rate, with the movement more like a mashing than the gobbling of the frantically-paced arcade version. Moving sluggishly around a maze that bears no resemblance to the layout of the coin-op game, the player gums thick dashes called “video wafers” to death instead of dots. The uni-coloured ghosts are a vision of massive flicker, almost invisible as they move around the maze, their eyes rotating meaninglessly. When one of the flashing square “power pills” is swallowed by Pac-Man, the ghosts turn a purple-ish shade of colour indicating their vulnerability to consumption, although the flickering makes it hard to tell the change has occurred. The various-shaped prizes that Pac-Man can gobble up for points in the arcade game are represented here by a two-tone coloured block called a “vitamin” that never changes in appearance. The only redeeming aspect of the game would be plenty of different game variations, but there are only eight, simply changing the speed at which the Pac-Man and the the ghosts move. As for sound, there is a grating three-note starting sound, the incessant clang-clang-clang as the Pac gums the rectangle “dots” to death, and the flat-as-a-pancake death sound. It is painfully apparent that the game is a rush job, in order to quickly recoup the money paid by Atari to Namco for the Pac-Man license. Frye is ensconced in a room by himself to code for the four-month deadline, and upon release of the game is a big hit, eventually hitting nine million cartridges sold. With a 10 cent royalty on every copy sold, his sales-based bonus results in a paycheque approaching a million dollars, which he cockily staples to his office door. Better versions are eventually released for other platforms like Atari’s own 400/800 computers and the 5200 Supersystem, as well as other manufacturers’ game platforms like the Commodore 64. Atari is eventually redeemed with the vastly improved Ms. Pac-Man on 2600, released in February of 1983
The original, however, is an undeniable creative stumble by Atari, and no other game better demonstrates how overwhelmed the 2600 is graphically by emerging systems than Frye’s Pac-Man. Accompanying the game’s release is a massive backlash from critics and users alike, users who have had a cold splash of reality thrown in their face about just how obsolete the VCS has now become. There is a massive amount of returns of the cartridge back to stores by disappointed players, which gives pause to retailers when it comes time to place other game orders from Atari.
Of course, not every game released by the company of this era is a turkey, as shown by the marvelous Yars’ Revenge, released in May of 1982. The game is originally conceived as a port of Cinematronics’ hit vector arcade game Star Castle until the licensing deal falls through. The designer of Atari’s version is Howard Scott Warshaw, creator of some of the more complicated 2600 games, including Raiders of the Lost Ark and The A-Team, a game which itself had started out being called called Saboteur until the graphics are altered and the name of the hit early 80′s Mr. T vehicle is slapped on the cartridge. Warshaw juggles the play mechanics of the now-license-less Star Castle port around a bit, and Yars’ Revenge becomes one of the most original and involving games in the 2600 library. The title character’s name is taken from Atari president Ray Kassar, to show his triumph over the failed license deal.
To herald the release of Yar, as well as promote 2600 games Asteroids and Star Raiders, Atari commissions an impressive two-minute commercial, titled “The Fly”, featuring state-of-the-art CGI by Robert Abel and Associates, who also do CGI work on the groundbreaking Disney film Tron, released the same year. Made to run in theatres over the summer of 1982, the ad features actor Rod Davidson sitting in an office chair with his back to the audience, posing as an Atari game designer brainstorming ideas, which manifest themselves as computerized images zooming and swirling around him. Designer-director Clark Anderson and co-director and technical expert John Hughes of Abel first design the commercial as an animatic on an Evans and Sutherland Picture System II computer graphics terminal, the animatic being a B&W wireframe version that is the equivalent of the pencil test in traditional animation. The wireframe design is then filled in with tightly-packed smaller lines, and filters are used between the output video screen and the 35mm camera recording it to film to colour fill the images. Davidson is filmed in front of a blue screen, acting against the animatic hidden on a video screen in front of him. Computerized lighting cues expose the actor to the various lighting effects synced to the colourful video game elements; there are 80 different lighting events over the two-minute commercial. Live action, CGI and other VFX elements are then matted together, to make an ad that startles movie goers in 1982.
Atari’s next big fumble is E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial. Warner chairman Steve Ross negotiates a 21 million dollar deal with his friend Steven Spielberg and Amblin Entertainment for the exclusive worldwide coin-op and home game rights to the film, and Atari expects their game to match the success of the movie, at the time the highest-grossing ever made. So it demonstrates a special kind of chutzpah when giving a preview of the game’s development to Spielberg and a cadre of movie execs at the 2600 game development lab, designer Howard Scott Warshaw starts off with this bold prediction: “This is the game that will make the movie famous!” The company announces publically that Spielberg is directly involved in the game’s development, with Atari Consumer Division vice-president of marketing Ron Stringari stating that the movie director meets with the game’s designer about its development on a weekly basis. Spielberg himself tells the press that he’s helping to make E.T. “the first emotionally oriented video game ever produced.” It’s hard to figure out just when Warshaw would be able to find the time to consult with Spielberg, as the game designer has accepted a breakneck six-week deadline to get the 2600 E.T. game out for December 1982. The resulting product nets Warshaw a $200,000 payment, but it is torture for gamers, featuring frustrating control over the lost alien, along with endlessly confusing gameplay. Expecting a windfall of sales, Atari manufactures around five million cartridges, but only one million are eventually purchased. Even though wary retailers had scaled back their orders on the game, many are still left with unsold product as they struggle to move E.T. off the shelves after an initial Thanksgiving rush. Even a lavish TV commercial, produced by Spielberg who has handpicked its director, utilizing the cinematographer and camera operator from the film, doesn’t help dig E.T. the video game out of its hole. Bob Abbate, president of the Sounds Alive chain of music stores of Conneticut, would put it succinctly: “E.T. is a bomb”. Having been complacent in the boom years when nearly every new video game quickly sold out, grumblings now begin about formal return policies for surplus product from video game companies, a process known in the industry as “stock balancing”. Atari is left with a large inventory of unsold or returned cartridges as E.T. becomes one of the greatest video game flops in history, creating a noticeable drag on company sales figures. An E.T. coin-op game, as well as a computer version, are slated for release, although only the computer product makes it to stores. A similar yet different version of the console game, E.T. Phone Home! is released the next year by Atari for its 8-bit computer systems. Along with improved graphics comes a role reversal, with Elliott on the run looking for the scattered phone parts, while E.T. hides at home offering telepathic clues to their locations. The game also benefits from a group approach to its development, with game designers, graphic artists, sound engineers and programmers teaming up to produce it.
The Big Dump
With unsold inventory piling up, under cover of night sometime in late 1983 a convoy of 14 dump trucks lines up at Atari’s El Paso, TX. manufacturing plant, previously rendered defunct with its operations off-loaded to factories in Puerto Rico, as well as Taiwan and other points in the Far East. There the trucks are loaded with millions of unsold Pac-Man, E.T., and other surplus cartridges such as fellow movie adaptation flop Raiders of the Lost Ark, released in November of 1982. Also designed by Warshaw, the obtuse gameplay of Raiders makes the control of E.T. seem clear and concise. Joining these unwanted games are various hardware prototypes and limited production runs littering what now serves mostly as an inventory storehouse. The filled trucks are driven north to the Alamogordo municipal landfill in New Mexico, home of another big bomb; nearby was the site of the 1945 Trinity test, the first explosion of a nuclear device. The contents are dumped and covered with a layer of concrete, in order to deter looters. Atari later insists the sudden burial was done to dispose of “defective” inventory. If only they could bury the lack of confidence the abject failure of games like E.T. fosters in shareholders, retailers and consumers alike as easily. They’re not the only culprit, however, as both Mattel and Coleco overproduce cartridges in a market becoming less and less able to support them.