The creature-collector genre is a space first and foremost dominated by Pokemon, then filled out with many games inspired by it. Lots of kids who grew up on the massively popular IP via the card game, anime, and its many video games are today developers looking to add their own spin on the format–some of them to modest or better acclaim, like TemTem, Cassette Beasts, and Palworld. I enjoy such games, but most of them tend to be uninterested in achieving a vision of a game I’ve had in my head for years–to no fault of their own, of course. It’s my vision, not necessarily theirs. Beastieball, a new creature collector from Wishes Unlimited–the team behind heartfelt indie darlings Chicory: A Colorful Tale and Wandersong–seems serendipitously built from the ground up as though its studio read my mind. Finally, there’s a Pokemon-style game that consciously washes its hands of some of the genre’s more uncomfortable implications of animals.
I’ve written about the intersection of animal rights and gaming before, and many readers who previously overloaded my articles with negative comments were, from one perspective, right on the money. Where one may be concerned with animal rights, they need not extend their concern to virtual animals, since these are not living beings. To that, I both previously offered and once more render a resounding duh. But it’s never been my point to argue for the liberation of Pokemon, Pals, or, in this case, Beasties.
Rather, my focus remains on portrayals of animals in games. How we present ideas through our media often affects how we view similar subjects in the real world, even if we can’t always sense the changes taking shape. If I watch a lot of movies, read a lot of books, or listen to a lot of podcasts, all espousing a particular point of view, how long will it be until I start to believe it’s true in real life? One needs only to look at how YouTube algorithms or the “manosphere” have, in many cases, Roganized a generation of (usually) white guys. My concern with how we gamify animal exploitation is not centered on freeing virtual animals from their imaginary shackles; it’s about hoping to promote portrayals that reject the tropes we so often see in games–where animals are little more than crafting resources, transportation vessels, and supply chains. If we reconsider how animals are portrayed in games, it would have a knock-on effect in real life for some number of players. That’s how progress happens, and Beastieball is a sure sign of it.
The simple change from dogfighting to volleyball erases a lot of the genre’s typical, more awkward implications.
So as to not bury the lede here, I’d enjoy Beastieball for much of what it does, even if it did those things the way Pokemon or any other major creature collector game does them. But by making a concerted effort to harmonize its story universe and its gameplay mechanics, it’s revealed an exciting new, animal-friendly path ahead for games like it. None of this means you should feel bad for liking Pokemon. At the same time, it feels really good to like Beastieball.
Pokemon’s central mechanic is its turn-based combat system, which has been around for so long that it can be easy to overlook that it’s essentially in-universe dogfighting, a practice few would endorse in real life. There’s long been debate about whether or not the creatures actually like fighting each other the way they’re made to when captured by human trainers. Some say they enjoy it, and only resist capture so that the trainers can prove their worth. This doesn’t seem to be in the text, but even if we accept it as true for the sake of discussion, the fact that a mistreated creature can’t choose to leave their trainer suggests these creatures are closer to indentured servants than companions.
Pokemon does gift some of its prominent creatures with personalities–Ash’s Pikachu most of all, of course. But for the most part, the series’ lovable monsters are defined only by their breed. The story is naturally focused on Ash and his entourage of Pokemon trainers. It’s a story of human triumph in which the creatures are tools to achieve a goal. Beastieball goes to great lengths to ditch all of these notions and more.
Beasties form bonds and unlock additional moves during their volleyball matches.
For one, its turn-based combat system is recontextualized as volleyball. It’s said that the Beasties adore the sport, and they’ll actively seek out trainers with whom they can tag along to meet other Beasties and play volleyball–called beastieball in-universe. There’s no hint of Beasties causing harm to one another. Such a simple reimagining of the genre’s key mechanic can help players of all ages, but especially younger, often more impressionable players, experience a creature collector that doesn’t require the cognitive dissonance of believing you both love your creatures and eagerly send them into street fights.
Given how Pikachu is both Ash’s companion animal and fiercest soldier, this depiction breaks down quickly. Pokemon asks us to accept that this is just how its world behaves. Fair enough, I suppose–the series has never been too concerned with self-reflection–but even better is not asking that of players, which is what Beastieball does.
Beastieball goes beyond just that, though. The entire world of the game exists in harmony with this example; it’s clear that slight alterations in the genre’s tropes were consciously made to get away from them. Beasties who play together a lot can become close friends and teach each other moves, and this process is depicted with the pair gleefully meeting for an epic celebration that expresses love and appreciation. Rather than force a Beastie into a Poke Ball-like object, they can be recruited via you discovering their unique recruitment conditions, like winning a game in a certain way or performing specific moves. And the Beasties you recruit trail behind and beside you, freely joining in on your adventure, like dogs on a walk rather than pets locked in a crate.
As you fill out your Pokedex-like Beastiepedia, details are filled in that often have nothing to do with gameplay mechanics. These short biographies feel heartfelt, as though their writers mean to celebrate the animals for their traits and personalities the way a museum would. It’s not all there to help you dominate your competition and beat the game. A lot of it is pure enrichment via lore that sees its starring critters as unique beings.
Townsfolk view their Beasties as companions, not belongings.
Even people around the open world will remark on their Beasties in such a sweet way. A woman I met early in my travels went on about how she feels her bird-like Beastie is unique from others in their family, and explained how that is. Beasties aren’t merely tools or even breeds. They’re individuals, each of them spoken of not as “it,” like a chair or a doorknob, but “he,” “she,” or “they,” like beings with their own wants and needs.
Despite such similar story structure and gameplay mechanics to Pokemon, Wishes Unlimited’s game disposes of the parts that require mental gymnastics. Though you still want to be the very best (like no one ever was), to catch them is not your real quest. Its story is actually about saving a Beastie habitat from closure, and the adventure you go on is all in service of returning to your town with the resources to save a space that means so much to the local people and Beasties. This is not a tale of conquest; it’s a story about community.
This has long been a genre where we often, consciously or not, ignore the uncomfortable implications of a story’s universe. But Beastieball proves you can have it both ways. In the broader sense–the one that will ultimately determine the game’s staying power–it’s an awesome creature collector that will surely scratch the Pokemon itch so many never quite satisfy. But by bringing the studio’s now-trademark air of emotional sincerity and attentive kindness to a genre where it’s often lacking, Beastieball is the creature collector I always wanted but wasn’t sure I’d ever get.
