Feature: How Dragon Quest IX ruled Japan
Posted by PlayDevil.com Staff on Oct 29, 2009 11:25
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Written by: Alex
Dragon Quest IX: Japanese Gaming
I remember when I was young hearing rumors of big release days in Japan. Kids skipping school to pick up new titles and salerimen calling in sick for the release of the latest hot new title to hit store shelves in this fad prone country.
Often these stories came courtesy of gadgets like the Tamagotchi that spawned playground tales of company presidents employing extra assistants to ensure their electronic pet stayed healthy. But foremost among all of these exotic tales of pop-culture gone wild were those of the Dragon Quests and Final Fantasys (Fantasies?)
Without access to the Internet print media was still what people relied on for their gaming news, so with no contradicting voice to their hyperbole filled articles these stories grew to the point of legend.
I remember hearing about the release of Dragon Quest 3. A game so popular the country ground to a halt, inspiring the Japanese Diet (government) to ban the release of any Dragon Quest title on a working day such was the disruption it caused, all of this over a game that at the time I had never even heard of. These stories reached me in the playground and conjured images of a gaming Utopia.
After a five-month delay, July 11th finally marked the release of Dragon Quest 9 (DQ9) in Japan (note that the 11th was a Saturday).
It had sat as the most anticipated game in Japan’s weekly Famitsu magazine for nigh on a year (alternating occasionally with FFXIII). I expected big things, but more from the event that the game itself. I was left feeling a little disappointed. I was half hoping to see queues outside my window from the game store around the corner but all of this was just an exaggerated echo of nineteen-year-old memories. I knew I would have to visit the store to truly see the event.
By the time I had dragged myself to the store all was quiet. A few (display?) copies remained, solitary, in the vast area that was for one day dedicated to all things Dragon Quest. To keep these few cases company some Dragon Quest toys and PS1 games lay scattered. The store, usually busy on a Saturday was eerily quiet. A few people were browsing the CDs, but the game area was deserted. The other thing that struck me was the feeling from the staff that they didn’t want to rebuild the ransacked Square-Enix area, didn’t want to work. They too wanted to be playing.
After that I half forgot about it. Square-Enix seemed to had done a good job keeping up with demand, obviously aware of how their game would sell regardless of quality (though it did receive full marks from Famitsu) and their advertising continued unabated. So it was that I continued about my daily life, happy to have at least half witnessed the event.
Then something strange happened.
If you read my last post about "
Japanese gaming" you will notice how I talked about the exaggeration in Western media of Japan’s broad acceptance of gaming. I stand what I said there, but there are exceptions to every rule, such as
Monster Hunter on PSP, which managed to draw teenaged boys in to four man gangs dotted around the streets and in parks.
DQ9 managed to achieve the same thing, but with a far wider demographic. Suddenly on trains, in cafes, everywhere people had their DS’s out, clutched to close the their chests. Don’t misunderstand me, it isn’t that everybody is playing, but every time you go out you will see somebody with a DS and he or she will be playing DQ9.
I feel left out. I have a DS but can’t follow the Kanji heavy text; even the menu screen proves impossible. So when I start to play Grand Theft Auto on my DS on the subway I am met by inquisitive glances from people around me, all of who seem a little disappointed and confused by the fact I am not playing Dragon Quest.
The prevalence of individuals and couples scattered everywhere playing DQ9 are an oddity but they are nothing compared to designated DQ9 areas. McDonalds would be the easiest reference to make. Here flyers are distributed in every branch of the hamburger chain promoting it as a place to meet and connect.
While the McDonald’s push is a clear attempt to ensure children continue trying to drag their families to the restaurant, ensuring brisk trade there, are less exploitative places to meet. For me the local Yodabashi Camera in Umeda (Osaka) is the most significant. In the center of the business district, sat next to the commutation hub of Japans second city, stands this huge electronics retailer. Here there is a DQ9 hub. Come during the morning to see mothers and children, in the evening to see businessmen, it attracts people from all walks of life. There are always people there, eyes locked, transfixed on their tiny screens.
Lets put this in perspective a little. When Halo was released in America it was hailed as the most successful game launch ever. It made millions in the first week and in the first month achieved sales of 3.3 million units (in the US alone). Placed against the population of the USA that is close to 1% of the country. In the first Month Square managed to sell 3.5 million units in Japan. That means 3% of the total population had already bought just four weeks after release, and it remains at number one in the sales charts some eight weeks later (though it has been knocked off the top spot a few times).
I will concede that the install base of the DS no doubt helped with these figures, but think about the significance of 3% of the population owning the game. That translates (theoretically) to around 12% of households owning a copy, in a month. I am sure lifetime sales will hold Wii Sports (not bundled with the Wii in Japan) exceeds this, but the sheer speed at which the DQ9 sold is mind-boggling.
Also there is the fact that DQ9 is on a handheld platform so can be played everywhere making its impact all the more visible. I have never seen anything like it before. The community it has instigated is wonderful to behold. It is just a shame that no one is looking at anyone else, or even talking, while they are involved in it.
