Turn the Beat Around: RevivingDance Dance Revolution After 25 Years

By 2006, Dance Dance Revolution was a known quantity in North America.

That year, it was a central gag in Nicholaus Goossen’s stoner comedy Grandma’s Boy. The film wasn’t a major theatrical success, but it did garner a significant enough cult audience for some gags to become shorthand knowledge among a specific age group. The DDR showdown is one such scene.

But this is just one example. Series like Gilmore Girls and The Simpsons and films like The Yes Man and Scott Pilgrim are how a majority of Americans were exposed to Dance Dance Revolution. Typically, the game was seen as a novelty or joke in the context of mass culture. One need only see Gabriel Iglesias’ routine on the game from his 2009 special, I’m Not Fat, I’m Fluffy, to get a bead on that reputation.

For people who forged friendships and built reputations around the games, however, Dance Dance Revolution was anything but a punchline.

Filmmaker and actor Jason Trost was one such person. Raised in a “racist, misogynistic town,” Trost and best friend Lee Valmassy found solace on their local cabinet. In an adolescence often marred by ableist bullying directed at his visual impairment, the rhythm game offered something school sports couldn’t: belonging.

“Lee and I knew each other since 6th or 7th grade, I think,” Trost told me via email. “We got along over the years because we liked the same nerdy games, the same ridiculous movies, and we both had pretty strong opinions on the world around us. Lee and I both found DDR separately from each other and it just kind of became something we could both bond over when hanging out at each other’s houses deep in the mountains in the middle of nowhere.”

Trost wasn’t alone in this. At the time, Dance Dance Revolution offered physical participation in something other than jingoistic American school sports. This was crucial during a time when post-Iraq patriotism was in full swing, as it offered an almost counter-culture type of sport that wasn’t, say, Ultimate.

“I started playing at age 9 when Dance Dance Revolution 3rd MIX cabinets started to become imported to the United States,” says longtime Bemani player and collector Mickey Damiano.

Damiano was exposed to the series through channels like G4, then found a cabinet at his local mall. Since then, he’s become a staple fixture in the Bemani community through his continued involvement in both the US and Japan. He emailed me from Japan, on his second trip to play Konami’s Dancerush Stardom with the local community.

In the years since both Trost and Damiano have entered the space, DDR’s cultural star has waned to some extent. While it still has an almost household name brand recognition, it’s far from the popular home gaming pick it once was. Damiano is aware of this.

“It isn’t 2003 anymore,” he told me. “I remember when VH1’s I Love The 2000s featured DDR as just a trend in 2003. That being said, DDR’s popularity has always expanded and contracted […] DDR is no longer the game that you and your general nerd friends stomp on arrows to when at the mall because it is the cool and nerdy thing to do. In North America, at least, it is now the game that you play seriously.

Few can attest to that more than Ranatalus, a long-time competitive player and 2006 DDR USA Champion.

 “From 2002-2007 it felt like you couldn’t throw a rock without hitting an arcade with a DDR machine,” Ranatalus told me via email. “I don’t know that Konami was actively marketing it as much as it was just…such a weird, off the wall thing that people couldn’t help gravitating towards.” 

Today, Ranatalus organizes regional competitions for the hardcore fanbase that remains.

“Myself and several other tournament organizers are actually in the process of creating a ‘so you want to run a tournament’ guide for new folks. The last year has seen some new people run tournaments with some really unique approaches and fresh ideas. Not all of them work out as well as they’d hope, but trial and error is how you move forward.”

The champion says that managing expectations is key to longevity.

“The one thing I think people could learn is that not every event needs to be a huge thing with folks flying from every corner of the country and top notch stream production value. Smaller locals are critical in getting your players engaged, building up interest, and they’re learning experiences for everyone.”

This smaller, dedicated player base stems from Konami’s lack of support following the explosion of Guitar Hero and Rock Band. For many casual American players, the novelty of stepping on arrows in time wore off when they could tap buttons along to Kansas and Kiss. After shaking up the game’s scoring system in Supernova 2, Konami sought an ill-advised home reboot for PS3, 360, and Wii. They also outsourced the American cabinet release of Dance Dance Revolution X to notorious quarter-munching garbage pushers Raw Thrills—a far cry from the solid craftsmanship that had come to define the franchise’s public face.

“The Raw Thrills cabinets were made with non Konami I/O boards that contributed to timing window issues,” says Damiano. “The pads were made of plywood and not metal, so in the arcades, DDR X era was miserable outside of Japan.”

He also believes that the fad demand for home versions dried up.

“From the North American perspective, I think simply the fad died […] I think fads naturally ebb and flow. I also think that with the changing in how DDR is scored, that ‘serious play’ became way more important, and it is hard to emulate that experience at home.”

It’s during this window that Trost and Valmassy began work on their love letter to Dance Dance Revolution: the 2011 film The FP. A post-apocalyptic comedy set in rural Frazer Park, it follows underground Beat Beat Revelation player J-Tro (Trost) as he avenges the murder of his brother B-Tro. He squares off against L Dubba E (Valmassy), a deep-fried Southern gangster with mutton chops and an axe to grind. The initial film—a tightly-wound satire of impoverished white malaise—spawned three unique, contrasting sequels.

“I wanted to bring a DDR movie to life because I hadn’t seen one yet,” Trost says. “I loved it, and it seemed like a no-brainer to me that this movie needed to be made. It’s essentially the same process I go through when I make every movie. I ask myself the following questions: Have I seen this movie before? No. Is this a movie only I can make? Yes. Do I love this movie? Yes. The FP fulfilled the criteria so I had to make it!”

By the time of The FP’s 2012 limited release, its gritty, underground take on the esport felt appropriate. DDR as mass culture was already in the rearview, especially in a post-Just Dance world. Trost managed to capture the intensity and intimacy of playing the game in a small space with a motley throng cheering you on from the side. Playing Extreme and Supernova in the cramped, dingy Challenges at North DeKalb Mall in Decatur, Ga., felt strangely akin to the high-stakes games here—and with just as many slurs thrown around by shithead white kids. (One may have written this piece.)

Konami, however, met the project with radio silence.

“Konami full stop never responded to us,” says Trost, “and to my knowledge is completely unaware of the existence of these movies. They don’t seem too interested in much beyond making pachinko machines and questionable ports of their old classic games at this point. I could be wrong, maybe they love The FP saga, but if so, I’ve never heard anything.”

He notes, however, that the fan response was a warm one.

“The DDR community I’ve heard from seems to really embrace the movies […] I don’t think we’d have four of these movies without their love and support. There is truly an amazing group of peeps inside that community.” 

As artists like Trost reckoned with and celebrated their attachment to DDR, players like Ranatalus were trying to keep the competitive scene alive—also with limited support.

“There was some reorganization going on at Konami during this era, and they definitely stopped looking at the US after the DDR X/X2 disasters,” Ranatalus says. “Couple that with the last US console releases in 2011, and it was pretty easy to assume that we were no longer a part of their strategy. There’s a lot of reasons that it made sense (no local distribution partner, region licensing, language barrier) but it still stung. For a while I was pretty confident we’d never see an official US release again.”

Additionally, the shrunken community and increased focus on high level play stymied accessibility for many—both in America and Japan.

“For the casual crowd, I think in North America, the serious crowd made the game a bit more off-putting and difficult to approach,” said Damiano.

Damiano elaborated on  the alienation that has built up for casual players—especially in America.

“In America, it is almost like ‘what’s the point of playing’ if you aren’t grinding for MFC’s (Marvelous Full Combo) on the highest difficulties you can do,” he says. “And honestly, I find that this mindset has led to a lack of diversity of thought and play. While […] DDR has had an insane impact on my life, I no longer feel connected to the North American scene of the game because it is only for serious players now in North America.”

Konami—as a corporate body—has only complicated matters with their own handling of the series. Guided by nostalgia on both sides of the Pacific, the company tends to focus on resurrecting and preserving the past with DDR as some of their newer games—like Sound Voltex and Dancerush Stardom—continue to only grow in popularity. There’s a bit of a paradox there—Konami cares about preserving DDR as a legacy IP, but their perspective on it can feel stuck in that initial boom.

“Konami has a soft spot for their older IPs,” Damiano says. “The longer an IP has been around, the less likely they are to give up on it.”

But it’s grown harder to play the game in North America in general. Old Extreme and Supernova cabinets have begun to dry up in American arcades. Newer entries—like A20—rely on constant online connectivity and restrictive networking to stay functional. Complicating matters further, until recently only two chains—Round1 and Dave & Buster’s—had access to Konami’s eAmusement system.

This year, however, support for the latter was cut. This means that if one doesn’t have a Round1 in their area, there is no reliable way to play the most current version of the game. With 50-60 locations split across 27 states, that stymies accessibility perhaps more than anything else prior. Independent arcade owners—what few remain—cannot simply purchase an offline cabinet and have it be a reliable moneymaker anymore. It’s an uphill battle most aren’t willing to fight thanks to a diminished Western presence.

This is where organizers like Ranatalus come in.

“At this point I’ve built up the connections and experience and notoriety to run big events, but it was a journey. The hardest parts in the past were 1. convincing arcades that it’s actually a good thing for them, since all they really see is ‘we have to set this game to free play all day,’ and 2. that you are a trustworthy person who wasn’t trying to scam them or make them look bad.”

In Japan, however, a more modern Konami has tried to keep the competitive scene alive to an extent. Like any good doomed gaming media venture, the publisher has leaned into esports.

“I feel that Konami is really trying to hone in on the esports fad, so you see things like Bemani Pro League now,” says Damiano. “And honestly, I am seeing that as a benefit to the games’ popularity here in Japan. I am also in Japan right now during a very weird time where Covid restrictions have been lifted, so overall, I am seeing crowds and stuff that match what was going on in 2019.”

He notes that the game’s popularity—among both casual and competitive players—seems to have ticked back up in recent years.

“The other night at Sennichimae Round1, I was lucky enough to meet a Konami Arcade Championship top ranker, as well as a Bemani Pro League player,” he says. “Their names are Oshima (04MA) and Shizu. This type of play is expanding in Japan in ways that I never saw before […] During my days in Sennichimae and also the Phoedra Taito Station in Nagoya, I saw all sorts of play. And the important thing is, I saw most of the cabinets taken up during peak hours. I saw everything from people grinding for MFC’s on expert singles and doubles, to people playing for choreographed performance. I saw people who seriously played with the bar. I saw people who play no bar seriously. In Japan, I see the entire gamut of skill levels. In America, I don’t see this.”

Ranatalus has some hope, however, in “new blood” that’s entered the American space over the past few years.

“I recognize there’s some challenges to breaking into that space, but they’re not insurmountable. Things were humming along really well until the pandemic started, and we’re just now starting to get back to where we were in terms of hype. There’s actually been quite a bit of new blood getting into it lately and I haven’t exactly figured out why (TikTok maybe?) but I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

Trost, meanwhile, has shifted gears and expanded his filmmaking focus. 

“I see The FP as finished… for now,” he says. “The arc started in the first movie is complete for that thrillogy. I’ve had an idea for years for what a sequel thrillogy would be, and I’d love to get to that someday. But I’m having a lot of fun experimenting with other worlds and stories first before I feel like I’m ready to take on the next chapter of the FP saga.”

Aside from The FP, Trost has also directed and starred in post-apocalyptic horror fable How To Save Us and reality show satire Wet and Reckless. Currently, he’s hard at work on The Waves of Madness—a monochrome horror film shot entirely in the style of a side-scroller. He hopes to have it released by next year. 

 DDR, however, isn’t too far from his mind—even if it isn’t his main muse these days.

“I’m still tempted from time to time to hop on the pads when I see them in an arcade. I’m by no means at my prime on the pads any more, my knees don’t absorb the shock as well, but it’s still the most fun cardio on the planet.”

In some ways, Dance Dance Revolution is in the exact same position as many other legacy Konami IPs, such as Metal Gear and Silent Hill. These are proven and bankable, and so long as they can drum up a baseline recognition from most audiences, there will always be some attempt to keep the series alive. Like those aforementioned series, those attempts can hit or miss. 

But this is where fan dedication, word of mouth, and hard work can pick up the slack. Even as prior fans move on to other games—many players migrated to Stepmania and “never looked back,” according to Ranatalus—there is still a demand for the name-brand series. In the face of draconian online restrictions and limited accessibility outside of select markets, that demand still drives continued efforts. 

Both Damiano and Ranatalus believe in that dedication. 

“Round1 opening up in the US was a glimmer of hope, and when both they and Dave & Busters started getting cabinets that were on the same network (and WORKED) I think we all collectively breathed a sigh of relief,” says Ranatalus. “I think the US scene would still be alive without all that, but it certainly wouldn’t look the same, and I doubt we’d have seen so much of a rebirth, or the type of attention we’ve gotten like with rhythm games making multiple appearances on GDQ in the last several years.”

(Ranatalus has actually done couch commentary for the event.)

While Damiano pines for casual play that defined much of the game’s early reputation here, his confidence in the series remains.

“I miss casual DDR scenes,” he says. “I miss people who play for fun or who play for exercise. In North America the game is taken far too seriously for my tastes, and I think that has aided in the esports aspect of the game, but has been a detriment to the overall casual fun of ArrowSteppy.”

He continues. “Thanks to the esports trend, and also the historical pride of DDR, I am seeing DDR have its own renaissance now. I was at the Sennichimae Round1 in Osaka over the last few days, and they now have four DDR cabinets. Before, they used to only have two. That being said, there are less than 380 arcades in Japan that have Dance Dance Revolution. There are around 250 in Japan that have Dancerush. There are nearly 800 that have beatmaniaIIDX.”

While the future of the game may be uncertain, there clearly is still a future. Dance Dance Revolution is not a thing stuck in the past, nor a thing that’s been left to die. It has a trajectory—a synthesis of history and newfound enthusiasm. It’s a future whose steps are being taken on well-loved dance pads around the world. Steps that—for the people who took them—carried players further than they ever imagined.

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Madeline Blondeau is a Georgia-born, PNW-based editor, writer and podcaster. Her words can be found on Anime Feminist, Anime News Network, Screen Queens, and Lost In Cult. She’s also the creator of Cinema Cauldron—a long-form audio essay series on film. You can follow her on Letterboxd @VHSVVitch.