How a series that I was apt to disregard stealthily infiltrated my world and converted me into a follower.
My relationship with the Metal Gear series is unique in that for the longest time, I was an interested observer of its games rather than someone who played them. For me, that's the way that it had to be. Because I simply couldn't envision any other available path to fandom.
Surely, I believed, I wasn't going to get to that place by actually playing the games for myself and having personal experiences that would help me to develop deeper feelings of fondness for their radically distinct brand of action, no. Because I was certain that doing such a thing wouldn't work. I felt that way because I remembered my previous interactions with Metal Gear games, all of which were limited to minutes-long samplings from which I came away feeling utterly bewildered.
I just didn't understand what the games were going for.
Still, I found myself drawn to the Metal Gear games. That was happening not because I was interested in how they played, no, but rather because I was enamored with the complex, alluring worlds that they crafted and the fascinating ideas that they explored. And the best part was that I could enjoy those aspects of the games from a safe distance: Thanks to the invention of video-sharing websites like YouTube, I could save myself the frustration of playing the games and instead comfortably experience them by watching other people play through them!
Up until the early 2010s, that was how I consumed Metal Gear. I found great enjoyment in watching skilled Metal Gear fans stealthily advance their way through intriguingly designed compounds, labyrinths, and natural fortifications. Also, I eagerly invested myself in the series' grand narrative: I loved to think about its overarching storyline, however inconsistent and nonsensical it was becoming, and trying to figure out how all of the pieces fit together; and I had fun reading about the games' interesting characters and their histories on Metal Gear Wikis and fan sites.
But the games, themselves, with their seemingly obscure style of action and mode of progression? They didn't do much for me. I simply didn't like playing them.
Or, rather, I'd convinced myself that I didn't like playing them after I sampled them only briefly and promptly dismissed them because I didn't want to make a genuine effort to actually understand how their mechanics worked.
Really, it all goes back to my NES days, when I was entirely bereft of adventurous spirit.
Back then, the original Metal Gear was one from a core group of games that every NES-owner seemed to have. It was usually part of a standard collection that also included Super Mario Bros., The Legend of Zelda, Metroid, Contra, Mike Tyson's Punch-Out!!, Mega Man 2, Ninja Gaiden, Bionic Commando, and one or two other games, with some variance (some owners' collections would round out with, say, Karnov and Commando, while for others it was Double Dragon and Blaster Master).
Of course, as always, I was the odd man out. I was the only one who didn't own a copy of Metal Gear.
That was the case for a typical reason: willing ignorance on my part. I was aware that Metal Gear existed, yes, but I never cared to do any real research on the game. Because what I'd gleaned from Konami's magazine ads was enough for me to determine that the game just wasn't for me.
My thought-process was simple: I didn't need to own another one of those "top-down war-themed shoot-'em-ups!" I already had access to two versions of Commando and the Commodore 64 version of Rambo. And they represented was the limit of my tolerance for games of their types.
So I never sought an opportunity to play Metal Gear, and I happily refrained from asking any of my friends or cousins to showcase it for me. Seeing it in action wasn't necessary, I thought. I'd already made up my mind that it simply wasn't my kind of game.
Eventually I did some real research on Metal Gear and discovered its true nature: It wasn't, as I assumed, a shoot-'em-up, no, but rather a new kind of stealth-based action game. But still I didn't see any appeal in it.
"I mean, you slowly and meticulously plod your way through an enormous enemy base and go out of your way to avoid combat?" I questioned with a puzzled look on my face. "What the hell kind of 'action game' is that?!"
It all sounded so boring to me. "Action that plays out this way can only be considered an exercise in pure tedium!" I thought.
And apparently the game wasn't even that good! The consensus was that it was poorly programmed and flawed in a number of ways, and the only time I'd see its name in print was when a writer or an outlet was snarkily riffing on it and mocking it for its poor localization and sloppily implemented stealth mechanics.
I mean, sure: There were also those who swore that Metal Gear was an absolute classic despite its being wracked with shortcomings, but I found their arguments to be unconvincing, and thus it was me easy for me to write them off as simply having weird tastes.
So it didn't matter to me that the facts had changed, no. I still wasn't interested in playing the game. And that, I was certain, was how it was likely to remain.
Metal Gear didn't enter my consciousness again until the late 90s, when NES emulation was starting to take off. One random day, on impulse, I decided to load up the game for the purpose of finally discovering which of the two previous characterizations was correct.
"Is it going to prove itself to be a flawed classic," I wondered, "or an absolute mess?"
That's what I intended to find out.
And it didn't take me longer than, oh, two minutes to determine that it was unquestionably the latter!
I had to cut the experience short because four screens of Metal Gear were just about all I could take. Honestly, I found it remarkable that a development team could stuff so many unpleasant gameplay scenarios into the first 30 seconds of a game!
It started with the "I feel asleep!" guy, whose utterance was apparently signaling to me that it was safe to approach him and take him out. Because he was sleeping, and thus he wouldn't see me coming. Yet any time I'd get anywhere near him, he'd immediately wake up and begin to incessantly collide with me! I'd be half-dead by the time I finally dropped him.
And those dogs. I mean, my God, man: It was impossible to maneuver past them without getting devoured! No matter how I went about attempting to sneak around or between them, they'd always spring to life and then proceed to pounce on me and kill me in seconds. And it just seemed to me that there was no chance in the world that I had the time or the health necessary to endure their onslaught and punch out all three of them. (And who the hell goes around punching dogs, anyway?)
And even when I was able to get past them, I was usually so short on health that the soldiers on the following screens would promptly shoot me dead after inevitably spotting me.
These soldiers, too, were a big problem for me. I simply couldn't figure out how to sneak past them! They seemed to be turning in a predictable pattern (left, down, right, down, up), but as soon as I'd move to within their vicinity, they'd immediately start ignoring their scripting and randomly turn to face me!
And I wasn't sure how, at all, I could be expected to beat this entire game when I couldn't even reliably sneak past the first soldier!
"Screw it," I said after failing to advance multiple times. "Trying to decipher their patterns isn't worth the effort. Why waste the time when instead I could be playing one of the 100-plus superior NES games?"
Metal Gear was indeed a mess of a game. Its controls were clunky, its stealth mechanics were half-baked, its localization was poor, and the amount of health that it supplied you was entirely insufficient.
This was a seriously flawed game, and it was all to quick to advertise that fact to you.
Frankly, I'd seen enough to determine that Metal Gear was a completely unapproachable game.
But you know what? Even then, there were aspects of the game that I found to be really alluring.
To start, I was a fan of its jungle setting. I'd always had a love for wooded video-game environments, and Metal Gear's, though it was small in size (only 9 screens in total) was one of the most memorable I'd ever seen. It was visually appealing, and it did a great job of filling you with the sense that you were traversing a very isolated, highly mysterious jungle that was set somewhere within a fantastical far-off land.
I was particularly enamored with the area's musical theme, which was another in the class of powerfully evocative tunes that compelled you to halt what you were doing, place the controller down at your side, listen for a couple of minutes, and absorb its message.
Thankfully I had the first screen--with its comfy, leafy U-shaped nook and starry night sky--all to myself, so the time was ripe for me to do just that. I listened to the tune for a few minutes and gained an understanding of what it was conveying. And I observed that what this subdued-sounding-yet-quietly intense piece was telling me was that all was silent, yes, but I had to remain alert because danger was potentially lurking around every tree. At the same time, it did very well to generate an atmosphere that inspired you to visualize a scene in which you were stealthily infiltrating a deadly enemy's remote, mysterious hideaway on a warm, placid summer evening.
It was a top-tier 8-bit tune. It did what all of the best of them were apt to do.
That single aspect, alone, had such a profound influence on me that I felt inspired to come back to Metal Gear and mess around with it some more, if just for the purpose of soaking in its alluring atmosphere.
There were times when I'd make a fair amount of progress, yeah, but there were none that were so encouraging to me that I ever considered seriously trying to beat the game. Honestly, I didn't see that as a possibility. Because I saw no future in which I'd ever come to have a firm grasp on Metal Gear's mechanics.
Yet it was important that I persisted, anyway, because doing so helped me to get a broader sense of the game's world, with which I was actually connecting. Even though I didn't particularly enjoy the process of traversing Metal Gear's environments, I was keen to intently observe and wonder about them. Because the fact was that the game was rich with the type of classic "video-game-only" visuals that had the power to get my imagination stirring.
I mean, where else but in games could I go to see incredible scenes like trucks, jeeps and tanks lined up within enclosed rooms that clearly lack the adequately sized exit points necessary for hauling out vehicles of their size? Where else could I find wondrously designed buildings that have on-rails cameras, electrified floors, and giant rolling pins of death?
If you want to understand what I'm talking about, then simply take a look at the two screenshots directly above this text.
What you see in these two images is everything that I love about video-game worlds--everything that causes my imagination to ignite. Whenever I examine them, I can't help but attempt to visualize a world in which their spaces' particular design features are at all normal or practical.
Oh how I wish they were! Because I'd love to know that there are, somewhere in the world, rooms in which you can find inexplicably positioned partitions that seem to have been installed solely for the benefit of intruders who might not want to be seen seen by the soldiers who are assigned to patrol around them. I'd love to be able to visit and observe rooms whose interiors are formed by narrowly carved recesses and L-shaped nooks and guarded by oddly stationed protectors who are forced to repeatedly investigate these niches, which, as far as I can tell, have no obvious reason for existing.
These were the types of visuals that could stir the imagination of any kid who ever dreamed about finding the perfect place to play a game of hide-and-seek or manhunt. They form that perfect place: a multi-story building filled with the kinds of inconspicuous alcoves and quiet corners in which the group's most clever members could safely move between and hide within forever.
If only such a place existed!
I wonder, though: If it did, would it convey the same sense of atmosphere and possess the same wonderfully mysterious vibe as the one depicted in these images?
I would hope so! I'd be disappointed if they didn't!
"Who built this place?" I'd always wonder as I traversed compounds like Big Boss'. "Were its architects a bunch of nutcases?"
Apparently they were, and for that I was grateful.
But even Metal Gear's strong visual appeal wasn't powerful enough to mask the feelings of arcanity and haphazardness that otherwise pervaded the game. The fact remained that I had no idea what I was meant to be doing, and there were certain aspects of the game that continued to make no sense to me.
"Where the hell am I supposed to be going?" I repeatedly questioned as I re-traversed each level of the compound and desperately tried to find a way to advance. "And how can I be expected to 'sneak' past enemies that spot me the moment I enter the room?!"
And when I reached a point in which I could no longer make any meaningful progress, I decided that I'd had enough and that it was best for me to give up on the game and move on.
"I'm just never going to figure this game out," I thought.
I mean, I wanted to like Metal Gear as a game--really, I did--but it simply wouldn't let me do that. I endeavored to locate its "fun" core, which I believed to exist, but my doing so sadly turned into an exercise in futility. I just couldn't find it.
I left Metal Gear behind, yes, but I didn't totally abandon it, like I had in the past. This time, rather, it remained in my consciousness, and in the years that followed, I occasionally reflected on the time that I spent with it. I did so not with resentment for the pain that it inflicted upon me, no, but instead with appreciation for how it inspired me to imagine.
That was a testament to its rich visual qualities, which rendered a world that I found to be so very alluring. Their resonance was significant enough to make me feel excited whenever any of my favorite YouTube personalities announced that he was going to be doing a Let's Play of Metal Gear. I saw each of those video series as an opportunity to revisit the game's alluring world without having to struggle my way through it.
I enjoyed watching other people play Metal Gear. It's how I came to develop a deeper fondness for it. It's how I learned the important lesson that you could have a strong appreciation for a game even if you didn't necessarily enjoy playing it.
It's how I evolved as an enthusiast.
But over the course of time, as I continued watching YouTubers play through both the NES version of Metal Gear and the MSX original, I started to gain a better understanding of stealth-based games. And at one point, suddenly, it occurred to me that I'd become, well, sort of a fan of the genre.
I realized that I did like this sort of game. I actually loved the idea of hiding behind boxes and quietly surveying surrounding dangers and studying enemies' movements and planning out routes that would allow me to cleanly sneak past them.
"What a great idea for a game!" I thought, the light bulb having finally gone off in my head.
So I decided that it was time for me to jump in and make a sincere effort to fully grasp the concept. And considering the circumstances, it seemed appropriate to start with the genre's most influential game: Metal Gear for the MSX!
I added it to my "Memory Bank" list with the plan of playing it in proximity to the production of this piece.
And I have to say that I'm really impressed with this version of the game! Going in, I already knew that it was superior to the NES port, but I didn't yet have a true sense of how solidly designed it was and how smoothly its action progressed in comparison.
Now that I do, you can count me among the believers!
I very much enjoyed the two days that I spent with Metal Gear. The experience was engrossing from beginning to end.
What helped to make it so was my effort to create what I felt was the perfect environment in which to play an old-school Metal Gear game: Each day, I waited until around 6 p.m., when the darkness would begin to encroach, and then I turned off all of the lights, popped open all of the windows, and pushed aside all of my troubles and unhinderedly immersed myself in the game's world. And as I played, I let the sounds of nature envelop me and establish themselves as the sole ambiance.
And, man: It felt just like old times!
I'm glad that I was able to add some nostalgic flavor by playing the game in a setting that was reminiscent of those from my past.
You know: It's amazing how two games can look identical on the surface yet play so differently and generate such strikingly contrasting atmospheres.
While I have the chance, I'd like to count the ways in which the MSX original differs from the NES version.
It makes sense to start with its graphics, since they're the first to meet the senses.
Right away the differences become apparent: While in reality the two versions share much in common in terms of texturing and sprite design, you probably won't immediately realize such because this version just appears to have a visually slicker presentation. You can credit that to the MSX2's much-larger palette and the designers' superior color-scheme choices.
Mainly the game's use of darker colors--darker shades of green, brown and gray--works to render objects and environments that are cleaner- and sharper-looking than the NES version's. And it works to convince you that the MSX version's have more color depth and detail.
They don't, in actuality. It just appears that way. But you probably won't know that unless you zoom in real close and do a direct comparison.
That's the measure of how well this version presents its visuals.
I'm partial to the MSX original's color-schemes because they create a more earthy-feeling atmosphere and make me feel as though the enemy's compound is partly born from the surrounding jungle. I imagine that its roof is open and that its interior is taking much of its tint from overhanging trees and foliage.
The NES version, in contrast, uses much-brighter colors, which create the type of fluorescence that you associate more with coldly metallic environments. And those simply aren't as interesting or as imagination-stirring.
So the MSX original reigns supreme in this area.
Oh, I absolutely miss the NES version's atmosphere-setting jungle scenes, which don't exist in the MSX version (in this one, Snake instead infiltrates the compound via the surrounding moat, and he does so without player input), but I feel that the MSX version's visual presentation still does well to stir your imagination and make wonder about what its exterior areas are comprised of. It's just that it does so in a more allusive way: It gives you enough information to fill in the blanks for yourself. It invites you to look inward and visualize an unseen exterior that's formed from vast woodland and soil-rich environments.
The game's more elegantly designed HUD, which displays both item images and an actual energy gauge (rather than a simple white line whose maximum length is unknown), also goes a long way toward rendering this version a cut above the NES version in terms of presentation.
This version features a notably unique main theme: Theme of Tara, whose title, oddly, derives from the phonetic spelling of the tune's recurring bass notes, which Hideo Kojima interpreted as "Ta-rah."
Its slower tempo, higher pitch, sustained notes, and deeper reverberance work to generate a rather distinctive tone. Whereas the NES version's rhythmic, energetic main theme creates a sense of urgency and encourages hurried movement, this version's creates a more investigative feel, and its caution-inducing vibe fills you with the sense that you need to slow down and think hard about what you're doing. It has the power to evoke feelings of unease and keep you in a constant alert state, and those are weights that an infiltrator should have to bear.
Really, this is the type of music that I expect to hear in a computer game. Because, after all, slower-tempoed, more-mysterious-sounding music has always been a hallmark of computer platforms.
Here it's a great fit.
Honestly, I like both games' soundtracks, so I don't really care to choose one over the other. Each one does a different job in a game that exhibits its own disparate values, and each one performs very well in its respective role.
That's all I'll say.
It becomes immediately apparent, also, that this version is much more polished, particularly where designer foresight is concerned.
Take, for instance, enemy positioning: In the NES version, the soldiers' starting locations are fixed, which often leads to scenarios in which you enter a room from, say, the left side and are promptly spotted by a soldier whose first frame of animation has him facing that direction. And you're guaranteed to face this dilemma a handful of times because there are instances in which getting spotting is absolutely unavoidable.
In this version, however, we find that the designers actually take into consideration the different points of entry the soldiers' proximity to them. Thus their numbers, starting locations, and patrol routes change depending upon the direction from which you enter a room! So you're almost never likely to trigger an alert merely by transitioning to an adjacent screen.
The polish shows in other areas, too: You can open a door without immediately passing through it and consequently take a moment to prepare yourself for what lies ahead. Cameras will spot you if you stand right in front of them, so you actually have to make an effort to avoid entering into their sightlines (which is to say that you can't freely pass beneath them by simply sidling against the wall). And you can't cheaply respawn items by quickly activating and deactivating your transceiver; rather, you have to put in the actual legwork if you wish to procure additional rations and ammo boxes.
The game does have some of the same issues as the NES version, sure: You can't escape through a gas-filled room's locked door without first removing your gas mask and switching to the required card key, which guarantees that your health meter will take a small hit. You have to constantly switch between key cards, which is a tedious exercise even if you know which cards open which doors. And you can cheaply take out most bosses by moving directly to their sides or right behind them and rapidly firing away.
But still, for a myriad of reasons, none of its issues are quite as pronounced as the NES version's.
One of the reasons for that is that you can instantly access any of your submenus and do so without having to rely on unintuitive button inputs. If you want to access your weapon, equipment or transceiver menus, all you have to do is tap a specially designated keyboard key (F2, F3 or F4). And you can even switch directly from one menu to another! That's such a desirable alternative to having to press a Select button and then either A or B and then whichever button cancels out of the menu (I can never remember).
I mean, you still have to constantly switch between card keys, yes, but in this game, you can do so at a much faster rate and without needing to fumble around a controller as you desperately try to recall the correct button-combinations.
So this is another way in which Meta Gear benefits greatly from running on a computer platform.
Also, there's a clear air of coherency to this version: Buildings connect in obvious ways, and the game's structural design does a much better job of hinting at what your next destination should be. The compound is somewhat labyrinthine, sure, but it's unlikely that you'll ever arrive at a place that you're not supposed to be. And, thankfully, there are no instances in which you have to navigate a maze in a very specific pattern, Lost Woods-style, like you're required to do in the NES version.
There's a natural flow to the game's progression: You clean out a section of the map, beat a boss, and then take an elevator to another floor. Then you rinse and repeat.
It's usually true that items and card keys are placed in proximity to the sections in which their use is necessary. And save for a few instances in which backtracking or detouring (going down and back up a trollishly long elevator shaft) is required, you'll almost never have to go far to find the item that you're currently looking for.
And, most importantly, you actually encounter a Metal Gear! This shouldn't be noteworthy, but it winds up being so because the most popular version of Metal Gear--the one that the majority of people played--doesn't have a single Metal Gear in it!
I mean, seriously: How in the world did the guys who developed the NES port forget to include one of the original game's most vital elements?! You know: the giant bipedal tank from which the game derives its name?! The machine around which the entire game is supposed to be based?!
What, exactly, made them decide to replace the Metal Gear with a nonthreatening "supercomputer"?! What reason could there be for doing something so inexplicable?!
It's just stupid! It's like if Nintendo ported Metroid from the Famicom Disk System over to NES and replaced the Metroids with specially placed pinup notes detailing the space pirates' plans to clone them!
It doesn't make any sense!
No, really: What possible "limitation" could have led to Metal Gear's removal? No one seems to know.
Even Google can't give me a logical-sounding answer!
It was kinda surreal to be experiencing the Metal Gear battle for myself after watching so many other people tackle it. Here I was, finally. Simply by entering the machine's containing chamber, I could now count myself among the brave few who were able to discover the secret of a lost world and walk upon its largely untraveled sacred ground!
That's how I always feel when I'm playing through a highly-regarded-but-sadly-obscure video game. Because the game's having a "lost" quality imbues it with an intensified, almost mystical air of wonder and makes me feel as though I'm traversing a holy land upon which only a very small number of people have ever set eyes.
Because I'm weird like that.
I mean, sure: The Metal Gear, itself, isn't much of a threat. It just kinda stands there while the horizontally moving laser-firing cameras do all of the work. But that's not what's meant to capture our attention here, no. What's intended to do so, rather, is the nature of the battle, which requires you to bomb the machine's legs a number of times in a very specific order. It's that aspect of the encounter that shapes your lasting memory of it. It's what reminds you that the game's creators were eager to joyfully defy convention and let their creative spirit run wild and determined to use outside-the-box thinking as a tool for producing a game that was wonderfully quirky and amazingly unique.
Now it all makes sense to me. Now I fully understand what they were going for. And honestly, it's such a shame that it took me this long to see it!
If only this had been the "Metal Gear" that I'd played originally! Had I done so, I might have become a fan of the series and stealth games in general two decades earlier!
The good news is that it's never too late to get on board with a series, and that's exactly what I did after I played MSX Metal Gear: I started playing Metal Gear games!
In truth, I was already partway there thanks to my experiences with the awesome Metal Gear Solid III: Snake Eater, which played a huge role in acclimating me to the genre. It did just as much to inspire me to seek out and play Metal Gear 2: Solid Snake (which I wrote about on this blog), Snake's Revenge, Metal Gear Solid, and Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty.
Now it's all a matter of seeking out and playing the rest of the Metal Gear games and the stealth genre's other great works.
I hope to do that soon.
I've played many ports and conversions in my day, but I can't remember an instance in which a few seemingly minor mechanical differences created such a huge gap in quality between two versions of a game. MSX Metal Gear is, for the reasons I've listed here, is vastly superior to NES Metal Gear. It's the true form of a classic game that we never should have missed.
I'm happy that I got the chance the play it.
And I'll definitely continue to return to it on a regular basis, as I've been doing in the eight years since I first played it!
Epilogue
But let me be clear that I still have a certain degree of fondness for NES Metal Gear. I play it on occasion and generally have a fun time with it (though, parts of it, like the pit-trap segments, do frustrate me immensely). So I can say with certainty that both versions will continue to find a place in my life going forward.
There's no reason why they wouldn't. Because, really, they represent everything that I adore about 8-bit games!
I'm simply in love with the unforgettable world that they've created and especially the wondrous setting that they've rendered. The images that form it never fail to delight me and get my imagination stirring. I liken it to Metroid's in how it evokes glorious visualizations of an exotic land that's hidden away in some unknown pocket of the globe.
Whenever I think about the original Metal Gear's world, I can't help but excitedly recall my personal framing of its events: Somewhere in a well-concealed, uncharted region of Africa or South America, I imagine, a secret war has been waged, and only a handful of people know about it. The world is at stake, yet the gravity of the situation will fail to produce a single observable ripple, and only the parties involved will bear the burden. For everyone else, it's just another typical day of birds chirping and The Price is Right at 11 a.m.
Solid Snake is out there, somewhere, facing ridiculous odds as he attempts to sneak his way into the heart of a near-impenetrable compound, and meanwhile, the world around him is continuing to function as if nothing is happening. And in the end, the war will be fought and resolved without anyone ever finding out about it.
I'll always remember one line of dialogue in particular. For me, it was a line that perfectly encapsulated everything that I typed above. It, alone, provided me the fuel that I needed to fervently form my framing of the game's backdrop and surrounding events. It's the line that's triggered when Snake attempts to contact Diane, a resistance fighter, for the first time. The transmission is received by her Husband, Steve, who regrets to inform Snake that she's "out shopping and hasn't come back yet."
It's amazing, really, how one little bit of information can have such a powerful world-building quality and do so well to fill you with wonder.
But that's what the original Metal Gear is all about. It immerses and enchants you by showing you a small part of the world and allowing you to take what it's displaying and infer from it what the surrounding world is like.
It invites you to imagine and fill in the blanks for yourself.
This is a far cry from the direction that's been taken in the Metal Gear Solid series, which has pushed everything right out in the open and zealously sought to purge all traces of mystery.
Frankly, I believe that the Solid series has gone completely off the rails with its wide-scale, all-encompassing story of a digital Illuminati that aims to control all aspects of human life and its introduction of vampires, ghosts, supernatural beings, and other out-of-place freaks whose inclusion has shifted the series' tone way too far in the direction of absurd fantasy. I miss the simpler times, when the games were more grounded and bosses were just a bunch of quirky guys with special abilities and of the variety who were apt to challenge you by saying nothing more than, "Hey, pal! I'm Super Fast Runny Man! Please come and get me!"
A character like Gray Fox, for instance, was far more interesting and more suited to the Metal Gear universe when he was simply a mysterious top dog in a legendary special-forces unit rather than a cyborg ninja who used to be Blanka. Now he's just a silly, soulless sci-fi character who looks as though he's been ripped directly from your average futuristic mecha-themed anime.
Kojima and his pals effectively Lucasized the series. They developed an obsessive-compulsive need to fill in all of the gaps and connect every dot, and resultantly they overelaborated on the saga's story to such an insane degree that it no longer leaves anything to the imagination. They just couldn't leave it alone. They couldn't stop tampering with the series' history. So now we find ourselves in a place in which MSX Metal Gear's 40-year-old story is forced to take on a far different meaning than the one it originally intended to have.
Its original script worked just fine. It didn't need to be retroactively changed in any way.
Quite simply, the evolution of Big Boss' character should have been left to our interpretation.
I don't want to get too deep into this subject right now because this really isn't the place to do so. I'll save the rest of my thoughts for Metal Gear Solid-related pieces.
The only series game that I haven't liked is the non-canonical Snake's Revenge. I came away from my first real play-through of it feeling aggravating and deeply annoyed.
For the longest time, it was a game that I completely ignored. I did so not because I wasn't interested in playing it, no, but because I didn't know that it was related to Metal Gear. I took one look at its title and immediately assumed that it was somehow connected to Snake, Rattle 'n' Roll, and then I ran away from it as fast as I could (because I really don't like isometric games).
Then I played it. And, like I said, I had a poor experience with it. I took issue with many of its design choices and particularly with how it wouldn't give me the chance to settle in and get acclimated to its mechanics. I mean, those damn spotlights would detect me every time no matter how stealthy I was!
Really, my experience with it paralleled the one that I initially had with NES Metal Gear in that I could rarely endure the jungle segment and reach the first building. And even when I did manage to make it there, I'd struggle to advance past the first four or five screens. Then I'd quit.
But then, like I did with NES Metal Gear, I returned to it years later and finally completed it--or, more accurately, I endured it.
All I can say is that it's an obnoxiously designed, extremely frustrating game, and it's definitely not among those that I plan to revisit in the future.
It has a great soundtrack, though! I occasionally listen to it on YouTube. And when I do so, I lament the fact that it's not attached to a better game. It certainly deserves to be!
Otherwise, I have great interest in playing the PSP Metal Gears and Metal Gear: Ghost Babel, which looks to be one of the most ambitious 8-bit games ever made. I looked forward to tearing into them as soon as I get convenient access to them!
Until then, I'll continue to extract a ton of enjoyment from the original Metal Gear, which I consider to be a quintessential 8-bit game. I sincerely hope that Konami continues to let it stand as the true representation of the series' origin story and resists the temptation to remake it.
Because after all: The values that make Metal Gear what it is are inextricably linked to the era in which it was released. Updating it for the modern era will only serve to strip it of its unique character and give it a homogenous look and thus make it indistinguishable from the existing 3D Metal Gear games. And I'd hate to see that happen to a classic.
What I'd like to see Konami do, instead, is alter its trajectory and look into producing new Metal Gear games that focus not on overly complex systems and all-encompassing narratives but instead simple, back-to-basics stealth action. In doing so, I feel, the company can simultaneously ground the series and give it a fresh new start.
Is that something that's likely to happen? Probably not. But one can certainly dream!
And you know what, folks? This is the perfect time for me to bring the first phase of this mission to a close. With my embracing of the Metal Gear series, which was at one time the personification of the types of games to which I was militantly averse, I've completed a 180-degree turn, and I'm far removed from being the the unadventurous little kid who dismissed any game that didn't fit within his extremely narrow range of interest.
Thanks to the amazing evolution that I've undergone over the past 10 to 15 years, I'm now the opposite of who I once was. I'm now a passionate, open-minded enthusiast who can't wait to begin expanding his horizons.
In fact, I think I'm going to start doing that right now! And I invite you, dear reader, to follow me along on this next mission.
Just don't forget to bring your cardboard box.
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