ike every other kid in the world, Ash Ketchum wants to become a world-class trainer of Pokemon, a wildly diverse species that's hard to capture but subsequently easy to command. Any child with a Pokemon license and training is given a starter Pokemon, and can subsequently drop out of school and go on a quest to find and catch other Pokemon inside portable containment devices called Pokeballs. Captured Pokemon can be trained to attack wild Pokemon, exhausting them so that they can be captured in turn--so the more Pokemon a trainer has, the more s/he can get. Eventually, a good trainer enters his or her Pokemon in professional sporting battles and becomes famous.
But Ash's Pokemon Master career gets off to a bad start when he oversleeps on his first day. By the time he arrives to pick up his starter Pokemon, the only one left is a Pikachu--a sort of fat electric mouse that doesn't like him and won't cooperate in his hunt. In addition to winning it over, Ash has to learn to take care of it, and learn when and how to command its impressive powers.
Naturally, Ash and Pikachu (simultaneously the creature's name, species and entire vocabulary) eventually become friends and start questing together. It's a dangerous occupation for a 10-year-old: Ash has to learn to outwit dangerous Pokemon, protect Pikachu from Pokemon thieves (and their Pokemon partners), and even deal with (gasp) a girl, all while hunting down enough Pokemon to surpass an obnoxious local rival.
Gotta buy 'em all
Cartoons as program-length commercials are nothing new to America, or to either Hasbro or Nintendo, two of the partners in crime behind this particular import. But few cartoons have as much sheer chutzpah as Pokemon, which actually centers around the idea that the best way to become cool is to grab up more of the 150 different models of Pokemon (a.k.a. "Pocket Monsters") than anyone else. The trademark line "Gotta catch 'em all" appears prominently on virtually everything associated with this marketing phenomenon--toys, videos, comics, games, etc.
The entire premise of the show is so baldly materialistic--it's somewhat akin to a Beanie Babies TV series starring a collector who will be considered a world hero if only he attends enough obscure trade shows to buy one of each Beanie Baby--that it's hard to see this as anything but a wholly cynical pyramid scheme for kids. It doesn't help that the animation is often stiff, the storyline drags needlessly, and most of the characters are downright annoying. In particular, the way each Pokemon gratingly repeats its name over and over, as if to remind kids what to ask for at the store, rapidly becomes incredibly aggravating.
There are a few interesting concepts in these episodes, mostly revolving around the development of Pokemon-hunting strategies and the need for responsible and intelligent behavior. But mostly this is a bald and artless attempt to move a highly lucrative Japanese fad into a new overseas market. Which already has all the furbys, beanies and other such silly addictions that it needs.
