Metal Gear Solid
KCEJ
Konami
PS1
I was rather late getting into the videogame scene. Despite time spent at friends’ houses playing Sonic and Donkey Kong Country on their Mega Drive and SNES, it wasn’t until much later – when the PlayStation was well and truly established – that I finally got on board. Games like Crash Bandicoot and Tomb Raider were great fun, and helped reinforce the all-important playground notion that twelve-year-old-me had picked the ‘right’ console (‘N64 still uses cartridges and can’t get proper FMV!’ we chanted).
But soon a game would arrive that changed things. It showed that games could be more than just colourful platformers or sporting events, that they could have adult stories and serious messages, and that we didn’t need to settle for Resident Evil-dialogue. I’m talking, of course, about Metal Gear Solid.
From the moment our sneaking-suited savior Solid Snake is launched from a submarine deep in Alaska’s Fox Archipelago, it’s clear that we’re not in Racoon City anymore. Guiding Snake through Shadow Moses on what seemed a simple mission – eliminate the ‘next-generation special forces’ that had commandeered the all-singing, all-dancing, nuclear-launching Metal Gear Rex – slowly revealed a far more complicated plot, populated with an array of memorable characters.
Revolver Ocelot, Psycho Mantis, Grey Fox – these were outlandish and brilliantly realized foes with fully fleshed-out backstories and motivations, far elevated above the usual video game fodder. In today’s world of Heavy Rain and Silent Hill 2, it’s important to remember that smartly written stories and characters were rarely found outside the realm of the point-and-click adventure. Here, we had discussions on nuclear disarmament, on the nature of war, on love. We had characters – both good and bad – who lied to each other and to themselves, who fought their inner demons and who came away changed. It was the first time I’d ever played a game that was adult in its narrative and its characters, that didn’t treat me as a child playing with a childish toy. It was a glimpse of things to come.
The music, too, was a step above the usual fare. Sweeping orchestral cues framed the action beats perfectly, whilst the slower-paced moments – Meryl’s shooting, for instance, or Hal’s final goodbye to Sniper Wolf – were overlaid with sorrowful strings or mournful piano.
Plus, it was smart; little touches like Psycho Mantis reading your memory card and telling you what games you liked to play, or moving your controller across the floor through vibration, were neat fourth-wall breaking moments. I’ll never forget my numerous attempts to survive the torture scene – and my sister’s impatient stabbing of the ‘submit’ button. Of course, this lead to the death of Meryl, and necessitated a replay to get the good ending; not that I needed an excuse to play it again.
I must have completed Metal Gear Solid at least four times back in the day, each time trying to unlock every little secret – the camera, the bandana, the stealth suit. I remember the glee at seeing Snake remove his sneaking suit in the elevator at the start of the game to reveal a tuxedo (unlocked on the third playthrough). When Silicon Knights released their Twin Snakes remake on the Gamecube a number of years later, complete with all-new game engine, cutscenes and voice-recording (with the same actors, bizarrely) I played through it all again. And once more on the Vita when it was added to the PSN store – bus journeys were far improved with a dash of tactical espionage action.
Later games in the series would up the ante in characters and storylines, but this was to their detriment, as they became more and more silly and outlandish. Metal Gear Solid kept it neat and simple – relatively, anyway – and was all the better for it. The wonderful fourth act of Guns of the Patriots may have seen an aged Snake return to a decrepit Shadow Moses, but for me, I’d never really left.