De un foro de edge y a su vez del New York Times. Largo pero muy suculento...
WSJ(3/26) Microsoft Must Woo Japan Game Mfrs For Xbox Titles
By Robert A. Guth and Khanh T.L. Tran
Staff Reporters of The Wall Street Journal
TOKYO -- Pat Ohura built a career at Microsoft Corp. in classic Microsoft fashion: by trouncing his opponents, first in Japanese word-processing programs, then in Web-browsing software.
So he had every reason to expect he'd cruise to victory in his current mission, persuading Japan's video-game-software companies to create games for Microsoft's Xbox machine. Then he met companies such as Tecmo Ltd., the maker of "Dead or Alive," a hand-to-hand fighting game renowned for its scantily clad female characters.
Tecmo's president put Mr. Ohura through agonizing negotiations that were less about money than about gaining reassurance that Microsoft was serious about games. In the end, landing "Dead or Alive" for the Xbox came down to an unusual demand: Mr. Ohura had to promise to "sacrifice his life" to make Tecmo's game a big seller on the Xbox.
"Our Microsoft magic didn't work with the game developers," Mr. Ohura says now. "I've never worked so hard in my life."
As Microsoft enters the global video-game wars, the software giant famous for its pugnacious tactics is having to play a game of finesse in Japan. In negotiations with PC makers, Microsoft often holds all the cards, because it controls the Windows operating system that runs 95% of all PCs. In video games, the shoe is on the other foot. Microsoft is a novice, taking on the established Sony Corp. and Nintendo Co., which together control 98% of the market for TV-game consoles.
For Microsoft, there's more at stake here than video games. Today's game machines sport PC-like features including Web connections and the ability to play DVD movies. Microsoft's fear is that the boundaries are blurring between all the different machines out there, and game players could supplant PCs with their promise of delivering music and movies through the TV. So it views the Xbox as an important beachhead in this battle for the living room.
To get in the game, Microsoft has put itself in the unfamiliar position of being a hardware maker -- and it has had its share of problems making the machines. As in PCs, game-software writers have the hardware guys over a barrel, because consumers will buy a player only if it has enticing titles formatted for the machine.
Japanese game writers churn out many of the most innovative titles, so they get to play kingmakers. At Capcom Co., Microsoft negotiated with a judo expert who wears a purple suit, owns 450 pairs of sneakers and bears a head scar from a beating with a steel pipe. Tecmo's president speaks Burmese and describes himself as the guru of his corporate "cult." The last American game console -- 3DO Co.'s Real, released in 1993 -- failed to wow the Japanese game moguls. It died.
"The most creative game developers in the world are here in Japan, and you have to win their hearts and minds, even for the U.S. or the European markets," says Microsoft Chairman Bill Gates. "You've got to get these guys behind you."
Microsoft brings massive financial power to the game business. Its annual sales of $25 billion eclipse the revenues of the entire video-game industry. Two years ago, it bought Chicago-based Bungie Software Products Corp. for an undisclosed sum to get its hands on "Halo: Combat Evolved," a science-fiction shooter game that has become one of the best-selling titles on the Xbox. It also lent money to cash-strapped Interplay Entertainment Corp., the Irvine, Calif., maker of forthcoming games based on the Keanu Reeves movie "The Matrix."
But in the Japanese game-writing industry, closer in style to Hollywood than Silicon Valley, gut feeling and ego often drive million-dollar decisions. Most of the big Japanese game companies, wary of the risks of investing in games for a new player and worried that mighty Microsoft may take too much control of their industry, have yet to commit their most popular games to the Xbox. Many of them simply dislike Microsoft, which they see as a bully.
"They're the newcomer and have to approach each software maker humbly," says Kazumi Kitaue, who oversees development of console-game software for Konami Corp. Konami is known for such recent hits as "Silent Hill 2," which sets players against a headless four-legged monster, and classics such as "Frogger," which pits a frog against oncoming traffic. "We're the elders," he says. "We know this business."
Japan's dominance in video games traces back to 1983, when Nintendo launched the Famicom, a game machine that quickly sold millions of units and spawned a generation of game-savvy kids. Some became top game writers out of high school, and they created a culture to match: boozing all night and dropping big money on fast cars.
In 1996, Square Co. decided to put its "Final Fantasy" game on Sony's fledgling PlayStation, abandoning long-time partner Nintendo. The deal helped vault Sony past Nintendo as the world's leading game-console maker. It remains No. 1 with some 70% of the market for consoles hooked up to TVs.
An energetic 41-year-old, Mr. Ohura joined Microsoft Japan in 1986 and rose by jumping into new businesses. When Microsoft set out to conquer Japan's PC-software market in the mid-1990s, Mr. Ohura quickly overcame a chief rival and spread Microsoft Word across Japan. When Microsoft announced the Xbox project in early 2000, friends warned him the Xbox job was too risky. He acknowledges that he "didn't know much about the game industry."
But he learned quickly from people he poached from Sony, Square, Nintendo and other top game makers, building a team of 180 in 18 months. Then he set out to meet experts such as Yoshiki Okamoto, chief operating officer of Capcom, maker of "Onimusha," in which players control a samurai who battles ninja and gains strength by capturing undead souls in a glove.
Mr. Okamoto, the sneaker collector and black-belt in judo, has seen his own adventures. A long scar runs down his forehead where he was hit with a steel pipe in a fight as a kid. Mr. Ohura schmoozed him and other executives in drinking sessions after work and rounds of golf on the weekends. At a game-industry conference in Los Angeles, Mr. Ohura rented out a Japanese-style bar, where the drinks are served by women who flirt with the men. He plied top Japanese game makers with so much wine that he says he had to escort them back to their hotels in a stretch limousine.
He soon realized the Japanese were skeptical of Microsoft's plans. Several star creators were cool to the Xbox. Some thought the machine -- which includes a hard drive and runs on an Intel Corp. processor -- was too much like a PC and thus not much fun. One game maker told Mr. Ohura that even if Microsoft offered financial terms as attractive as Sony's, he would refuse to create an Xbox game, because Microsoft isn't Japanese.
To show Microsoft's commitment, Mr. Ohura introduced executives from Japan's leading game makers to Mr. Gates in May 2000 at a Tokyo hotel. Mr. Gates answered questions about the Xbox technology, but the game moguls felt he didn't seem to have a feel for games. "We saw him as a layman when it comes to the game business," remembers Capcom's Mr. Okamoto, who was at the meeting.
Gradually, Microsoft started cracking the fortress. A key was Seamus Blackley, one of the chief architects of the Xbox. A fan of classic Japanese video games, Mr. Blackley started travelling to Tokyo every month, meeting designers and throwing himself into the culture, often bonding with creators deep into the night at strip clubs with names like "Trap" and "Coco Bongo." Early on, he scored points with Tomonobu Itagaki, the pony-tailed producer of Tecmo's "Dead or Alive," by beating him at his own game. "From then on I could trust him," Mr. Itagaki says.
In late 2000, Capcom's Mr. Okamoto and several colleagues dropped by Microsoft's headquarters in Redmond, Wash., for a day of meetings and a night on the town with Xbox managers. After hours of swilling a concoction of vodka and lemon juice, the group tied napkins on their heads bandana-style, and passed pieces of chocolate cake around the table -- from mouth to mouth. The rollicking party helped cement Microsoft's ties with Capcom. "Seattle was a good time," chuckles Capcom's Mr. Okamoto. In time, he agreed to put "Onimusha" on the Xbox.
Back in Tokyo, Mr. Ohura was having a tough time with Sega Corp., the No. 3 console maker and creator of classic game characters such as Sonic the Hedgehog. He reasoned that if a major player such as Sega backed the Xbox, other Japanese might follow.
But by late 1999, Sega was deep in the red and struggling for survival. Its largest shareholder, septuagenarian Isao Okawa, a billionaire computer-industry pioneer, discussed an alliance with Mr. Gates in which Sega would manufacture the Xbox and create new games for it, but the talks broke down.
A year later, Mr. Okawa was battling cancer and handed the reins at Sega to a protege, Tetsu Kayama. In late January 2001, Microsoft executives visited Sega headquarters in Tokyo, where Robbie Bach, the head of Microsoft's Xbox unit, sketched out a proposal on a white board: Microsoft would invest in ailing Sega, in exchange for Sega's creating exclusive Xbox games.
Mr. Kayama says he was secretly planning to get Sega out of the game-player business, but wanted to remain free to write games for Sony and Nintendo. He flatly rejected the Microsoft pitch, baffling the Microsoft team.
But Mr. Ohura sensed Sega still might bite. In February, he asked Mr. Kayama to dinner, and they started meeting regularly. Mr. Okawa, by now bedridden and unable to speak, advised Mr. Kayama by scribbling notes on paper. Mr. Ohura was getting desperate. Mr. Gates was set to deliver a keynote speech at the March Tokyo Game Show. Microsoft wanted some big news to show the progress of the Xbox, but it had none. "We needed something for Bill to present," Mr. Ohura says.
Two weeks before the show, Mr. Okawa died, throwing Sega's future deeper into question. But a day before the game show, Mr. Kayama met Mr. Gates at a Tokyo hotel. He agreed to bring Sega games to the Xbox. And he had a final demand: Mr. Gates must rework his show speech to include comments eulogizing Mr. Okawa as an industry giant. Mr. Gates made the changes.
Meanwhile, Mr. Ohura had stepped up his attempts to get Tecmo to release an Xbox version of "Dead or Alive," the racy fighting game. The title is Tecmo's best-selling PlayStation 2 title, so committing to an unproven player was a financial risk. Tecmo's voluble president, Arihiro Nakamura, says he needed to "feel" that Microsoft "loves" the game. So he subjected Mr. Ohura to repeated lectures on the game business. In one climactic meeting, he shouted at Mr. Ohura: "Are you willing to sacrifice your life for our game?" Mr. Ohura nodded.
Mr. Ohura says he understands the tough tactics. "It was a big risk, and they needed to make sure that it was the right gamble." In March 2001, Tecmo agreed to make a version of "Dead or Alive" exclusively for the Xbox.
Other challenges mounted. Konami had said it would release an Xbox version of "Metal Gear Solid," a blockbuster title in which gamers guide a spy named Snake on antiterrorist missions. But in May 2001, at a game-industry conference in Los Angeles, Microsoft's Mr. Bach and Mr. Ohura were surprised to see Konami's Mr. Kitaue arrive at their booth.
The chain-smoking executive began bombarding the Microsoft men with complaints, some specific -- such as Microsoft game-writing software tools that didn't work -- and all stemming from what he saw as Microsoft pushing risk on Konami. "Konami is spending its own money" on developing Xbox games, Mr. Kitaue says. "We're taking risks. Microsoft isn't taking risks."
Tempers flared, but Mr. Bach ended the meeting by promising, "We'll make sure we accommodate you," according to people there. That night, Mr. Ohura caught up with Mr. Kitaue at a party to try to patch things up, but hopes dimmed for getting "Metal Gear Solid" on the Xbox. "There was a disconnect," Mr. Ohura says. Mr. Bach says Microsoft continues to work on building its relationship with Konami and other Japanese game makers. It was the start of a rough summer. Mr. Ohura sacrificed weekends with his daughters to play more golf with game executives. The long hours caused him to gain 15 pounds. To inspire his troops, he had a friend make 200 rings imprinted with the Xbox logo. He started wearing his every day. For extra confidence during crucial meetings, he also wore a pair of yellow boxer shorts one of his daughters gave him for Father's Day.
Back in the U.S., Microsoft was having trouble ramping up production of the Xbox because of problems making a key chip. For that and other reasons, Microsoft decided to push back the Japan launch by three months to February 2002, meaning game creators would miss the crucial year-end shopping season. In August, Mr. Ohura, wearing his lucky yellow boxers, broke the news of the delay to a room of hundreds of game developers. When he called Konami, Mr. Kitaue was livid. "You stupid idiot!" Mr. Kitaue recalls yelling into the phone.
Mr. Ohura says he was shaken but didn't have time to dwell on it. Another prospect was slipping away. Microsoft had spent countless hours wooing Square Co., maker of "Final Fantasy," a hit game that plunges players into a futuristic world that can take 40 hours or more to explore. Square had spent $130 million to make a movie version of "Final Fantasy." After the film flopped last summer, Square needed cash and seemed open to an alliance. But Microsoft was caught off guard when Sony announced in October that it would invest $124 million to become Square's second-largest shareholder. Mr. Ohura says he felt the door to Square "narrow." Indeed, Square hasn't committed any games to the Xbox.
Gradually, Mr. Ohura lined up a respectable list of titles. Konami shipped "Air Force Delta," a fighter-plane title, and Capcom shipped "Onimusha," the samurai game. Mr. Ohura remains confident of landing bestsellers such as "Metal Gear Solid" and Square's "Final Fantasy."
Microsoft has already faced some glitches in Japan. Earlier this month, it said it would repair or replace defective versions of the Xbox following complaints that the machine can damage game disks.
Many game makers say Mr. Ohura has at last won their trust, but they're still keeping him on his toes. He recently stopped by Tecmo to report that the Xbox was flying off U.S. store shelves. Mr. Nakamura, the Tecmo head, says he snapped back: "Your ship just set sail. There's still a vast ocean ahead."
(END) Dow Jones Newswires
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