This year, I set myself a goal of catching up on some turn-of-the-century classics I missed back in the day. After having tried my hand at the samurai epics Onimusha 1 and 2, I closed perhaps one of the greatest gaps in my console knowledge: Hideo Kojima’s stealth opera Metal Gear Solid. Ever since following the hype cycle leading up to the series’ third Sony outing, Snake Eater, I have been intrigued by the series and its director. Despite the well-documented critical acclaim, I never acted on this captivation. Initially, this hesitation had material causes. I did not own either PlayStation console when these titles were released. In recent years, my reticence stemmed from tales of Kojima’s self-indulgence and lack of restraint in his cinematic ambitions. Though Kojima has claimed overly long, unskippable cutscenes might be necessary to ensure a game’s directorial aspirations, I am not entirely convinced that this has to be the case. Nevertheless, as low-polygon aesthetics are making a comeback (see Crow Country and Easy Delivery Co.) and Kojima’s presence within the industry remains, it seemed a good time to familiarise myself with the man’s work and Solid Snake in particular.

Having now finished Metal Gear Solid, I can at least confirm for myself that Kojima sure delivers an experience, and true to legend, a cinematic experience at that. Yes, the world is built from blocky assets that are now outdated; the score and camera work are impressive enough to suspend disbelief. Kudos then to Kojima: style-wise, this 1998 classic still feels remarkably fresh. Likewise, and maybe I underestimate how far the medium had advanced by 1998, Metal Gear Solid’s experimentation with gameplay, though long since spoiled, still stirs the imagination. Having your tracks in the snow alert guards might be a standard stealth affair today; I can only imagine how bewildered I would have been experiencing this with friends in front of a CRT. Then there are the game’s more quirky mechanics. Though juvenile, when I discovered your cigarette’s smoke could be used to detect infrared lasers, my action-hero fantasies were spoken to. Consuming diazepam steadies your breathing during sniper scenes? Talk about an emancipatory moment for psychological healthcare! Silly as it all sounds, these systems give Metal Gear Solid an undeniable charm.

Articulating my appreciation becomes decidedly trickier, when moving beyond visuals and gameplay into the narrative. Okay, I have not played the game’s MSX predecessors, so I am sure I am missing things. Where do I even start with Metal Gear Solid’s plot? Did anyone ever tell Kojima no during the development of this game? Or, at the minimum, tone it down? Granted, the script carries mature themes. A tale of two brothers marked by genetic manipulation leading to questions of nature versus nurture within a geopolitics of modern warfare characterised by an optimisation logic of projected destruction. Tonally, it is an incoherent mess, where long-winded monologues act as (often unnecessary) exposition. Kojima may have said once that he wants to avoid “tedious scenes where characters are just blabbering“, but his characters do exactly that… And let me tell you, in this sin, almost all characters are repeat offenders—some examples.

In his introduction scene, scientist liaison Hal Emmerich explains his choice for the pseudonym Otacon: “It stands for Otaku Convention. An Otaku is a guy like me who likes Japanimation.” During one pivotal scene, we learn that twin rivals Liquid and Solid Snake are, in fact, a surviving pair from an octuplet experiment. THIS REVELATION IS LUDICROUS. However, in the world of Metal Gear Solid, it carries the emotional gravitas of a deathbed scene. Pardon my hyperbole. Perhaps I would be more forgiving of the script’s frivolities if it were not for the fact that these utterances are made at times when the player is told their infiltration mission is at a critical juncture. One could argue that, rather than taken straight, Metal Gear Solid is best appreciated as Lynchian tongue-in-cheek. Such interpretations are nothing more than academic theatrics retroactively imposed onto our guilty pleasures to make them sound smarter than they actually are.

Whether a master- or disasterpiece, from a consequentialist perspective, it is all the same: in its abundance, Metal Gear Solid is outrageously fun… Except, of course, during all those moments the story decides to go full misogyny. There is no justification for this degree of zooming in on polygonal posteriors, nor for each female character’s fawning over our emotionally distant male lead. Despite the game’s sexist representation of women, one of its strongest characters is female: Kurdish antagonist Sniper Wolf, whose revolutionary ideals are motivated by the world’s lack of care for her people’s suffering. At a time when the medium was predominantly framed and guarded as apolitical, Sniper Wolf’s inclusion, ten years after the Iraqi Anfal Campaign, which, according to human rights experts, constituted a genocide, is a decidedly bold and important political choice. In a 1997 interview, Kojima disclosed that his character backstories range “from the moment they were born to their current situation, but probably only 1/3 of that will make it into the game.” Apparently, then, Kojima can say no. In the case of Sniper Wolf, I wish her character received even greater representational force.