Animal Crossing for the GameCube was released fifteen years ago. Since then, we’ve seen three main title releases – one for each major Nintendo console release up to the 3DS – and two spin-off titles. A modest collection, then, but for an initially experimental game entitled a “communication game” by its makers, its popularity has grown rapidly over time, eventually peaking with Animal Crossing: New Leaf, which, by the end of 2015, had sold nearly 10 million units worldwide. To coincide with its anniversary, I take a look back and reflect on some of my own personal experiences with the series.
I have over 520 hours logged on my copy of Animal Crossing: New Leaf, probably more than any game I’ve ever owned.
It was a joint effort, to be fair. Upon purchasing the game, my sister and I, despite being happy to disagree on most things, drew up an unofficial treaty so as to make the gameplay experience mutually beneficial for both of us. Among other things, some of the most significant agreements were that: we would not tamper with each other’s accounts, we would not steal or blackmail, and we would respect each other’s play times and do our best to share the game equally. It was a testament to our love for the game that for the year and a half in which we both played regularly, these unofficial rules were ironclad all the way up until the very end, where we finally made the decision to restart the game and move on.
Allowing ourselves to accept that it just wasn’t as fun as it used to be was somewhat of an uncomfortable truth to deal with. It’s a feeling most of us would have felt at some point or another – despite our situation, after having invested countless hours fishing, shopping, bug catching, hoarding furniture and building friendships with villagers, it was difficult to let go. Games just have a habit of doing that.
It was an inevitable decision, in retrospect; the final nail in what had been a long and drawn-out process of waning interest and increasing apathy towards the game. It had gotten to the point that, for the first time since I’d picked it up, days would go by without me even giving my file a single thought. I’d log on from time to time to check my mail, peruse around the shops and chat with a couple of villagers, but it always felt pretty perfunctory. Looking back on it now, it wasn’t surprising that after a year and half of intense investment in this game, nature would eventually take its course. It’s just the way things go; ashes to ashes, dust to dust, all things must pass, my heart will go on, and so on and so forth.
The emotional aftermath of the deletion was something of a conflict between cold, logical indifference (“It was getting boring anyway,” we’d say in a vain attempt at emotional detachment) and the dull pangs of regret not unlike the comedown after having wolfed down an entire tub of cookie dough ice cream in a vicious moment of wanton self-loathing. The novelty of experimenting with new files after The End (our aptly named town) was fun for a short time, but it just got a bit depressing after a while. Every new town the game produced only seemed to exacerbate the feelings of nostalgia and loss we felt towards our old file. We realise that our old town felt more like home than we’d ever given it credit for.
It was quickly evident that neither of us really intended to commit fully to a new town – the mere thought of doing so, of building absolutely everything again from the ground up, was nothing short of exhausting. Thus, the cartridge was soon relegated back into its box and put back on the shelf, before eventually being flogged off on eBay (as a teenager with little money, this was where most of the games I owned eventually ended up), and that was the last we ever saw of it.
Endings are difficult to get right. In my experience, they come at the risk of becoming unnecessarily painful and maudlin for the parties involved, resulting in a slightly more unpleasant experience than is strictly necessary – conversely, the detachment and emotional sterility of clean breaks can often be harsher than the situation warrants. In other (read: most) cases, though, they’re simply not significant enough to justify thinking about them very much at all. The question is, then, what exactly happened with the game in the time leading up to the point of farewell that would even warrant such an ending in the first place?
First off, despite having previously played Wild World when I was younger, New Leaf brought with it hitherto unknown wells of untapped potential that I had not considered before. Additions and enhancements in the gameplay aside, it was the enticing promise of escapism, and also exerting complete control over a small, enclosed universe that renewed my interest in the series – evidently, this is something that younger me failed to see the value of in games like Wild World.
The idea of escapism might be one of the reasons why the series has done as well as it has. While the idea of using games as a means of escape from reality is far from an original one, it is still relevant today and holds up just as well as it always has. Life-sim games are, of course, quite well known for this, but Animal Crossing especially has a unique particular kind of charm about it that has set it apart from the rest; it manages to be twee without being saccharine; relaxing without being inane; all while still maintaining a feeling that it doesn’t take itself too seriously on the surface, despite being incredibly well-designed. It’s all too easy to get sucked into the game’s world and just while away the day by occupying yourself with some undemanding, stress-free task, while listening to the cheerful and easy-going soundtrack in the background.
In my own case, the feeling of escapism came about in a big way when New Leaf was released. School was the usual painful process it is for many teenagers, and it was definitely comforting to know that I had my own pocket-sized world I could retreat into whenever I wished. New Leaf was one of the first games I played with the conscious knowledge that I was using it to escape from the slightly less appealing aspects of real life, and it was also the first time I realised how effective games could be as both a stress reliever and as a mood booster. These are two particular qualities that can be said to define the series – there’s no grand hidden meaning or depth behind the games themselves; it really is just uncomplicated, straightforward relaxation and charm that makes it so appealing.
Conversely, perhaps another reason why the game had such an impact on me when it did was that it was my first taste of true obsession while playing games. Fishing, my favourite activity in the game, very quickly went from a quiet hobby to an impassioned mission to catch every variety. The excitement of catching a rare fish for the first time was incomparable, especially when I only had a few left to complete my catalogue and had, by then, seen enough sea basses to last me several lifetimes. Even the fact that the process was largely at the mercy of the random number generator didn’t detract from the unbridled sense of pride and achievement that came with having reeled in a rare one.
Many days and nights were also devoted to the soulless and vacuous pursuit of money. While it is an important mechanic in the series, it’s still perfectly possible to enjoy the game without ever becoming very wealthy (though, of course, money does bring with it slightly more options available). Though I am usually, without fail, in bed and asleep by half past ten, I would often play far past that and late into the night, poaching beetles and fish from Tortimer Island to flog them off at Re-Tail the next day. There was no real rhyme or reason for doing so, other than the fact that it was simply nice to have a lot of money in the bank. In such an open-ended game as Animal Crossing, it’s kind of necessary for you to make your own goals to keep the game going.
It could be said that all those hours spent playing the game were for nought. After all, what exactly do I have to show for all of it? Surely my time would have been better spent studying or writing or doing something else productive that would actually have tangible, real-world benefits? If the process of deleting my old file showed me anything, however, it was that time spent enjoying something is not time wasted at all – and honestly, without this in mind, why would any of us even bother picking up video games in the first place?
I like to think that Animal Crossing allows for a greater scope than other game series for people to take away whatever they want to get out of the game. Much like how visiting a friend’s town can feel disorienting and unfamiliar, one person’s personal relationship with the game might just be alien to another’s. My experiences with the series aren’t unique, nor are they the first or the last, but they’re still undeniably mine. Perhaps that explains a little why letting go was such a bewilderingly sad experience in the end; the degree of individuality and personality the player can exercise on the game might in turn have a – however small – effect on the player. In the end, rarely do you go through an important phase of your life with something like a game, an album, an object or a person by your side and not be left with a lasting impression of the experience.
Looking to the future, it’s difficult to know where Nintendo will take the series next. New Leaf retained much of the core elements of previous entries, instead building on the established formula and adding new features to make for what is probably the most definitive Animal Crossing game there is. Whether or not we’ll see the series being taken down the same route remains to be seen, but here’s hoping that whatever we have to look forward to, the series continues to grow and expand in fresh and innovative ways (let’s not count Happy Home Designer and Amiibo Festival). For now, though, I’m fine just waiting out the time until the next release with the memories of my old save file. There are a lot of them. Thank god New Leaf came with a screenshot feature.
