Remembering the Power Player Super Joy III

Exploring the trials, tribulations, and triumphs of bootleg "Famiclones"

The opening screen of a popular Famiclone multicart that was marketed under a variety of names. While the titles available on each cartridge varied significantly, each version featured a pair of gulls flying across the menu screen while the popular 1955 hit “Unchained Melody” played in an endless loop.

Growing up in the early 00s, my brother and I would head up to Albany, NY for a week each summer to spend time with our grandparents and younger cousins. Many of my memories of those visits bleed together. We’d visit a now-defunct water park aptly named Water Slide World, gawk at the mastodon skeleton and mineral collection housed at the New York State Museum, eat pancakes wrapped in brown sugar and syrup. It was the sort of fun that I could accurately forecast, which even at a young age I deeply appreciated.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the consistency of these trips makes it easy for me to recall an event that I could not have anticipated – my first encounter with the Power Player Super Joy III.

My aunt was in charge of all the kids one afternoon, and for whatever reason, she took us to the nearby Clifton County Mall. One of the rotating kiosks situated in the center of the main hall housed a few dozen brightly-colored packages and a screen advertising a variety of 8-bit games. Falling somewhere between the ages of 9 and 11, I was old enough at the time to enjoy playing video games. However, I was also still young enough to not fully recognize (or care about) the quality of the content or hardware at hand.

Instinctually, I wanted this thing. But I didn’t expect to actually get it.

But, by the grace of God, I was with my aunt that particular day. Not my mother, seemingly impervious to the allure of an impulse buy. Not my grandparents, who still functioned under the half-belief that too much television would liquify a child’s brain. In an act of unprovoked generosity, my beautiful selfless aunt forked over $49.99 or so to whatever pushy seller was running the kiosk.

The Power Player Super Joy III in its original packaging. While box designs varied, many prominently featured a composite image sourced from Star Wars Episode I - The Phantom Menace despite having absolutely no connection to the Star Wars franchise whatsoever.

What I’m positive that my aunt did not realize was that the Power Player Super Joy III she had purchased was illegally manufactured abroad, and would soon become the center of a series of anti-piracy crackdowns led by Nintendo. As it turns out, the mall management’s approval of the kiosk did not reflect the actual legitimacy of the kiosk’s operation. While the actual purchase of counterfeit merchandise isn’t a crime in the US, I doubt my aunt would have wanted to participate in any sort of transaction she deemed nefarious.

But luckily for prepubescent me, my aunt decided that any of the weirdness radiating from the booth or the vendor or the toy itself was outweighed by the notion of pleasing (or at least shutting up) her niece and nephew. So entered one of the most mysterious and bizarre mainstays of my adolescent years.

One of the strangest things about the Power Player Super Joy III is that no one I know personally¹ seems to know or remember the Power Player Super Joy III. So, I’m going to take a few moments to explain to you what exactly this device was.

The Super Joy III is one of many Famiclones – an electronic device designed to replicate and/or support games initially designed for NES and Famicom devices². Famiclones have been floating around since the late 1980s, when demand for the NES was at its peak. There’s a wide gamut among Famiclones in terms of hardware quality and overall performance, but nevertheless, they’ve managed to find a way into homes and hearts worldwide.

In particular, Famiclones thrived in regions where official Nintendo hardware was virtually unavailable and not considered significant in the grand scheme of the emerging gaming market. For instance, the Dendy home video game console (which was itself a clone of a Taiwanese Famiclone called the Micro Genius) became synonymous with 8-bit gaming in Post-Soviet Russia. At the start of the 90s, NES and Famicom consoles simply weren’t sold in the region, so the Dendy filled the gap that Nintendo felt wasn’t worth being filled. Because there were few laws protecting intellectual property in Russia at the time of Dendy’s release, the counterfeit operation was more or less allowed to continue on a mainstream scale so long as it stayed out of Nintendo’s target markets.

Countries across Eastern Europe, East Asia, Latin America, and Africa all adopted their own favorite Famiclones and embraced whatever bootleg game cartridges floated their way. And for the most part, not a whole lot was done to stop the practice. The vast Famiclone products were manufactured in China, where relatively few IP protections are in place and violations generally don’t result in grievous punishment or financial ruin.

As a general rule, even the most successful Famiclones never made their way to North America or Western Europe. In part, this was out of fear of repercussions from big gaming corporations with deep pockets. But aside from that, Famiclones couldn’t really stand up against their real counterparts. Most used cheaper materials for consoles and cartridges, making counterfeits more likely to break prematurely. What measures were taken to avoid copyright infringement, like removing branding from game data or fiddling with hardware configuration, often made play physically uncomfortable and sometimes left games completely unusable. The only real advantage the Famiclones uniformly had was a lower price tag. But in countries where many families had the disposable income to buy the legitimate item outright, the rewards did not justify the risks.

Even the ultra-popular Dendy console had some of the design issues commonplace among Famiclone models. If you’re interested in learning more, you might want to check out the surprisingly informative Youtube documentary “Проклятие серого слонёнка (The Curse of the Grey Elephant)”, which includes English subtitles.

However, by the 1990s, technology had progressed to such a degree that emulating and storing now-primitive NES games became incredibly cheap and accessible. As a result, a new wave of Famiclones emerged at the start of the millennium, one of which was the Power Player Super Joy III. Disregarding obvious legal risks, the strange little machine crossed oceans to reach the United States.

Obviously, the contraband could not be sold at well-known retail chains. So, a few lucky opportunists adopted less restrictive avenues to peddle the wares. Because the SJIII itself existed in a legal grey area, most distributors sold directly to other resellers instead of to end-users. Thus, the Super Joy III began to appear at underregulated venues including flea markets and mall kiosks. I even stumbled upon a mother trying to ship and sell some of them for $30 each (plus shipping and handling) on a long-abandoned gaming message board.

As you might suspect, the Super Joy III was far from being a state-of-the-art gaming console. In fact, it wasn’t a true console at all. Instead, it was what’s sometimes referred to as an “NES on a chip”. At the core of the chunky plastic controller was a small integrated circuit, which appropriately delivered video and audio signals via RCA connectors. Aside from cutting materials costs, many Famiclones began to utilize this sort of technology because it eliminated the need to produce bulky game cartridges. Instead, games were stored directly inside of an internal memory chip.

Speaking of games, perhaps the greatest selling point for the SJ III was the sheer volume of games it claimed to offer in a single solitary device. 76000-in-1, to be precise. As unbelievable as that sounds, technically it wasn’t a lie. There were only 76 unique games available for play, but each one of those 76 games was copied onto the SJIII 1000 times. Some of the selections were popular classics, like Super Mario Brothers, Tetris, and Contra. Others were a bit more obscure, like Bird Week (an endless loop of a game that involves feeding butterflies to helpless hatchlings) and Magic Carpet 1001 (sourced straight from a bootleg Taiwanese multicart). A handful of the games were not translated into English, and at least half of the titles listed were misspelled or renamed entirely (for instance, Donkey Kong Jr. Math became “CALCULATOR”).

Though the Nintendo 64 was phased out in the early 00s in favor of the newly released GameCube, the makers behind the SJIII evidently hoped that the N64’s former widespread popularity might aid in selling a few units. At a glance, the vessel that holds the guts of the Super Joy is nearly identical to the familiar three-pronged controllers you’d normally associate with the N64. However, the moment you set your hands on the lookalike, it immediately becomes clear that you’re holding a product that Nintendo would never ever sanction.

For starters, the joystick on the Super Joy III is a vestigial structure, purely there for aesthetic purposes. This is a stark contrast to the N64 controller, in which the joystick almost always plays a vital role in moving avatars. Instead, the SJIII relies on the D-pad to navigate gameplay. While this might sound like a minor gripe, it actually forces players to hold the controller in an unnatural position.

Unfortunately I only currently own a Nintendo 64 controller, but I wanted to show the difference in hand position. The left image demonstrates how one would generally hold an N64 controller during normal play (notice how the thumbs naturally drape over the joystick and the A/B buttons). The right image demonstrates how button mapping would require you to hold an SJIII controller, the mere sight of which makes my hands begin to cramp.

In fact, all of the buttons on Super Joy III are mapped in a configuration entirely different from the one used for the N64. Getting the hang of the SJIII actually involved rewiring your brain a little bit. Here’s a quick diagram I drew up illustrating some key differences:

Standard Nintendo 64 controller (left) in comparison to the Power Player Super Joy III controller (right)

The buttons weren’t smooth and rounded, and you always had to exert a bit more pressure than you should have needed to when pressing a command. All of the plastic pieces seemed as though they were slightly misaligned, if only by a millimeter or two. A few well-placed (if a bit off-kilter) screws seemed to be all that was holding the components together. On the underside was a 60 pin connector, but I’m almost positive that the plastic molding around the slot was designed in a way that no game cartridge could actually fit in place.

Even more confusing than the primary controller was the secondary controller. Don’t get me wrong – I very much appreciated having the option of playing a game with someone else. But it absolutely did not resemble the main controller in appearance or functionality.

Since there wasn’t any actual console component to the SJIII, player two would have to plug directly into player one’s controller. Instead of replicating the design used for the primary controller, it bore a resemblance to the controller packaged with the Sega Genesis³. Interestingly, the center of the D-pad had a small opening that could be used to screw a small plastic piece into place and, in turn, create a makeshift joystick. I’m still not really sure why they didn’t attach this piece in-factory, or why they didn’t include a similar opening for the first player’s controller.

Rounding out the set was a light gun. I think only two or three games on the SJIII used the gun (Hogan’s Alley and Duck Hunt, maybe?) But what kid doesn’t want to play with a gun? While the manufacturers behind this product seemed to be working with a shoestring budget, someone must have determined that the selling point of including a little pistol outweighed the costs of producing a mostly useless gun.

Knowing exactly how many of these devices – and where they ended up – is a bit difficult to decipher. Outside of a few user-supported Famiclone wiki articles, it seems that all information on SJIII manufacturer, NrTrade, has been scrubbed from the web. Allegedly, the console was produced in NTSC, SECAM, and PAL formats, meaning that the SJIII theoretically might have been sold just about anywhere on Earth. That said, the sole piece of surviving media I’ve found that might be considered a legitimate commercial and confirmation of SJIII sales is an Italian infomercial, in which they were advertised at €69.99 per unit. Incidentally, the infomercial seems to have become something of a meme among nostalgic Italians longing for the days of plug-and-play entertainment:

The clearest information we have regarding the Super Joy III revolves around its demise. When Nintendo discovered the full extent of knock-off sales in 2004, they took swift, decisive action to put it to an end. By the end of the year, over 1.5 million counterfeit Nintendo products were seized across 30 countries. On December 16, 2004 – coincidentally, my 12th birthday – the FBI raided two Mall of America kiosks and a storage facility rented by Perfect Deals LLC owner Yonatan Cohen. After authorities confiscated 1.8k Super Joys, Cohen plead guilty to selling pirated materials and was sentenced to five years in prison. In addition, he was required to pay for an anti-piracy PSA as part of his restitution, which was subsequently published in the March 2006 issue of Electronic Gaming Magazine.

The March 2006 issue of Electronic Gaming Magazine alongside the anti-piracy advert paid for by Yonatan Cohen

Less than two weeks after Cohen’s plead guilty⁴, undercover agents posing as toy distributors arrested four Chinese nationals who revealed the location of warehouses in Queens, Brooklyn, and (surprisingly) Maple Shade, NJ. Authorities claimed that the suspects had imported more than 280k units across 27 cargo carriers in a four-month span. Around this time, NrTrade evidently ceased production of the Super Joy⁵, and those mall kiosks stocked with brightly-colored packages disappeared into the ether just as quickly as they came.

And yet, glimmers of the elusive Power Player Super Joy III still continue to pop up every now and then, if you know where to look.

Retro gaming spaces will occasionally reminisce on the flaws and the fun the unusual little novelty once brought to their lives. Occasionally, someone will post a photo of the N64 knockoff controller dangling by a wire in a thrift store, selling for just a couple of dollars. I can’t help but hope that someday maybe I’ll find one waiting for me at some secondhand shop I’ve yet to visit. Even if there is a non-zero chance that it might begin to smolder or shock me upon activation.

In retrospect, it’s easy to understand all that is wrong with the SJIII and other Famiclone products. They were mostly made by greedy people looking to make easy profits with little consideration for customers on the receiving end of things. Blatant theft was always the lifeblood of the operation. The sketchy pop-up market vendors with big bold “No Refund” signs and the college kids manning kiosks just to make ends meet probably weren’t overly concerned with the morality of it all.

And yet…there’s this beautiful collective experience that rises above the arguably criminal intention and execution.

One of the most pleasurable things about playing games – for me and for a lot of people, I think – is being able to share an experience. Sitting down in front of the TV and challenging your older brother to a virtual fight is a bonding experience, as is discussing your opinion of an exciting new release with an equally-invested friend. The simple act of participating in a game is enjoyable, but there’s also something precious in one’s memory of the experience, in sharing the worlds a game can transport you to.

What Famiclones offered wasn’t flashy – they lacked the fleshed-out plots, superior graphics, and innovative technological features we’ve come to expect from consoles and titles. Instead, Famiclones made the root joys that stem from playing a game accessible to people worldwide. There is something wonderful in knowing that even the most disparate of people also spent hours of their lives wiggling delicate cables in hopes of getting a familiar “FUN TIME” greeting to flicker across their television screen. And while few may remember the SJIII specifically, the Famiclone craze as a whole has made it possible to transport long-grown gamers of every background to a safe and simple space with just a few chimes of the right 8-bit jingle.

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Do you remember the Power Player Super Joy III? Grow up with some sketchy bootleg games of your own? Let me know in the comments – I’d love to hear about your memories and experiences!

1. With the obvious exception of my brother, perhaps a few of my cousins, and my childhood friend Josh, who fondly remembered the Super Joy III being “fucking awesome”.

2. The Nintendo Entertainment System (NES) was first released as the Family Computer (shortened to Famicom) in Japan. While the Famicom underwent a few minor tweaks before being introduced to North Americans as the NES, in this context the terms are essentially interchangeable.

3. This is kind of an especially funny pairing because a) the lifespan of the Sega Genesis just barely overlapped with that of the N64 and b) before Sega ceased manufacturing consoles in 2001, it was infamously Nintendo’s corporate archnemesis.

4. It’s unclear what happened to Yonatan Cohen after he served jail time. However, there is a “Perfect Deals LLC” Amazon storefront (which may or may not be related to Cohen’s original Perfect Deals LLC enterprise) that appears to sell NETGEAR modems and dreidels.

5. Power Player Super Joy III wiki entries claim that a Guangdong-based company called Eittek may still manufacture the product. While Eittek did in fact produce counterfeit game consoles at one point, I couldn’t find definite evidence that the SJIII was one of them. As of April 2022, Eittek’s homepage was inaccessible as it has failed to make an ICP filing.