Monopoly: Parasite-Zombie-Hydra-Vampire-Cannibal

The excellent boardgame blog Yehuda keeps a running total of all known variants of Monopoly. There are currently 1,777 different versions of the game ranging from Alaska’s Iditarod Monopoly to Zalaegerszeg Monopoly, from Ghetto Monopoly (black) to Ghetto Monopoly (handmade during the holocaust). Almost every major world city (and many a minor one) has a version based on its streets and landmarks; there are dozens of versions commemorating the victories of sports teams; there is a version that promotes the Chrysler Town and Country Minivan; there is a gay version (with rainbow money, a “closet” instead of jail and, inexplicably, cellphones instead of playing pieces). Some of the versions on the list are homebrew editions or spoofs, but a huge number are official versions that are (or were) sold or licensed by Hasbro.

It is clear that the multitude of different “skins” for the game are responsible for its enduring success. Nobody I know actually enjoys playing Monopoly. Games tend to go on forever with players getting eliminated one-by-one, making for a tedious and socially awkward gaming experience. And yet everybody owns at least one copy.

In a sense, Monopoly is the ultimate postmodern game. In Postmodernism, or, The Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism, Fredric Jameson identifies the postmodern era with “a new kind of flatness or depthlessness, a new kind of superficiality in the most literal sense [in which] depth is replaced by surface, or by multiple surfaces.” Scratch beneath the surface and we might find that Grateful Dead-opoly is an identical game to Winnie-the-Pooh Monopoly, but to scratch beneath the surface is to misunderstand Monopoly: it is precisely the surface that matters. The point of Winnie-the-Pooh Monopoly is not to provide a new or even enjoyable play experience; the point is to represent Winnie-the-Pooh to us again (or, to put it more cynically, to sell Winnie-the-Pooh to us again). Complaining that all versions of Monopoly are essentially the same is a bit like complaining that all books are just bundles of pages bound between covers.

Imagine a child who has never seen a traditional chess set, but who grew up playing with a Simpsons-themed chess set instead. It might seem obvious that she is playing the same game as any other chess player. She plays by all the same rules, her skills are tested in the same way, she makes the same sorts of strategic decisions, she could even compete in tournaments and achieve an official FIDE ranking. The fact that she uses a Homer Simpson figure instead of a king seems irrelevant to the “true” experience of chess. In Simpsons Monopoly, however, the gameplay mechanics are radically secondary to the fact that the game takes place in Springfield and players can take on the roles of Homer, Bart, Lisa and Maggie. The point of Simpsons Monopoly is to immerse the players a little deeper into the world of the Simpsons, to let them feel they are somehow engaging with the characters and stories of the show.

This does not quite make Monopoly a narrative medium in the same way that, say, the Simpsons comic book spin-offs are. It cannot say anything new about the Simpsons. Monopoly can only operate intertextually and connotatively, leeching its content and meaning from other media, locations, objects or events.

Monopoly is a monster; it is many monsters. It is a shape-shifting parasite, forming brief symbiotic relationships with whatever cultural forces are ascendent and discarding them as soon as they become unprofitable (i.e. the Boston Red Sox 2004 World Series Champions Edition of Monopoly is no longer available). Zombie-like, it feeds on intellectual property to sustain the rotting game-mechanics at its core. It is a hydra with a thousand heads (1,777 to be precise) that could only exist in an advanced capitalist society.

Spoof news site The Onion once ran an article about the release of an “Original Monopoly” version of Monopoly:

“This unique ‘regular’ version of the classic board game will feature faithful reproductions of the Monopoly game board, paper money, and game pieces such as a thimble, top hat, and Scottie dog,” read a Hasbro press release on the new game, which also replaces the iconic, high-valued properties of Mariowalk and Luigi Place with its own fancifully named “Boardwalk” and “Park Place.”

Like so much in The Onion, the article was barely parody at all. In 2005 Hasbro released a 70th Anniversary Edition of Monopoly, commemorating the original 1930s version of the game, with “12 deluxe tokens inspired by your favourites!” and “1930s-inspired graphics” (the original graphics from the real 1930s no longer cutting it). In the postmodern world, Original Monopoly really is a new game that has never been played before, and can be sold (or resold) to us without a hint of cynicism. The modifier “Original” is precisely what makes it new. Monopoly is a vampire that has grown so fat with the blood of other cultural phenomena that it is able to feed cannibalistically on itself. It is a parasite, a zombie, a hydra, a vampire, a cannibal.

It’s still a shitty game though.