This is the fifth entry in my ongoing series chronicling my mission to play every Kojima game, dubbed “Operation H.I.D.E.O.” You can read Part 4 here.
Well, well, well…here we are again. It’s been awhile, almost a year, and I’ve had little to say about Operation H.I.D.E.O. and the many games contained within this bizarre little examination of gaming history. The explanations for this are twofold; Reason Number One, I’ve found myself performing a similar deep-dive into the Final Fantasy series, playing games VII, IX, X, XII, XV, and VII Remake, but also because, Reason Number Two, I just haven’t been in the mood for more Metal Gear Solid.
In fact, I attempted to play the next game on the list last November. I made it just past the opening credits before giving up. I wasn’t in the mood for a thoughtful reflection on political secrecy and perverted patriotism, especially at a time when my country was tearing itself up over unfounded conspiracy theories and baseless allegations. The nation was being torn asunder by confirmation bias and post-truth tribesmanship…exactly the way Hideo Kojima described at the end of Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty. I just wasn’t in the right headspace for…more of that.
(I played Dark Souls instead!)
Alas, May 2021 arrived a brought with it a long weekend, one where I’d have the apartment to myself and nothing big on the agenda. I ordered enough Chinese takeout to last me a few days and, after breezing through the tutorial mission, was rewarded with Cynthia Harrell’s bombastic vocals welcoming me back to Russia, 1964. At long last, I was playing Metal Gear Solid 3: Snake Eater.
Much like its predecessor, Snake Eater’s tutorial does quite a bit of heavy lifting, story-wise. This mission has us entering Russia in an attempt to rescuing a Soviet scientist, Dr. Sokolov, who built a tank capable of launching nuclear missiles. Though this scientist defected to the U.S. in 1962, he was returned to the U.S.S.R. as part of a prison exchange and was forced to continue his work on the weapon, nicknamed “Shagohod.” Playing as Naked Snake, we successfully free Sokolov from the ramshackle prison in which he was being kept, but the extraction fails when our former commanding officer, The Boss, turns on us and leaves us for dead. Working for a rogue special unit called Cobra, The Boss escapes with Sokolov and the Shagohod. The unit then bombs the facility for good measure.
After Snake is recovered, the aftermath of this failure comes into view. A Soviet facility was bombed? Right after two American soldiers, Snake and The Boss, make their escape? With a scientist who had recently defected? Surely this whole thing was the bedeviling of the U.S. government. It is here where Operation Snake Eater begins. Our mission is at hand: clear the United States of wrongdoing by destroying the Shagohod and eliminating Cobra…that includes our former mentor, The Boss. There’s no time to waste, Snake. Back to Russia we go.
The player is immediately dropped, under cover of night, into the jungle…presumably the South Siberian Rainforest. It is here where some of the major gameplay innovations become clear to the player. While the previous Metal Gear Solid games took place in the narrow, winding corridors of massive industrial complexes, Snake Eater is stealth au naturale. Trees, rocks, and dirt pepper the wide open fields in which we find ourselves. Enemy soldiers and indifferent wildlife alike surround us and, as a result, the player is given the ultimate tool: a free camera.
Metal Gear Solid forced players to have a top-down view of the Shadow Moses Island complex. This meant that, while the twenty-foot radius surrounding Solid Snake was always in view, it was impossible to see what was beyond that perimeter without actually approaching it. This meant that the player was constantly walking towards danger due to their inability to actually detect it. Sons of Liberty introduced a first-person option to ameliorate this problem, and while it did reduce the number of accidental encounters, constantly pressing buttons to switch between viewpoints grew tiresome.
With Snake Eater’s free camera, the right analog joystick rotates the camera around Snake as much or as little as one would like. It’s smooth, it’s simple, and it gives the player the freedom to look anywhere they want and any given time. There’s a reason this control scheme became the default for many games…it just plain works.
The second major overhaul isn’t likely noticed by the player until after their first combat encounter. Any injuries sustained in the fight, naturally, deplete Snake’s health and our instinct is to heal our protagonist. However, HP management is far more complex than simply pulling a medkit out of our inventory and “using it.” For one, the HP bar will naturally refill over time as Snake walks off his lesser wounds. This replenishment, however, comes at the cost of stamina depletion. A weary Snake will not recover as quickly or effectively if his tired and hungry. Grabbing a quick snack, whether it’s a shrink-wrapped standard-issue ration or some wildlife killed behind a tree, consumption is our long-term way to keep Snake alive. Yes, you can truly be a Snake Eater.
It doesn’t stop there, however. More serious injuries require proper medical attention. Stab wounds and burns, for example, need to be cleaned and dressed using the correct combination of remedial lotions and chemicals. If left unattended, the regenerating HP will hit a ceiling. The player cannot recover to 100% until these wounds are addressed.
I am, generally, not a fan of regenerating health in video games. Many modern first-person shooters utilize this feature, and every time the screen glows red with the specter of death, I remove myself from the action and a wait a minute or so before I’m fully healed. It is inherently anti-gameplay. Snake Eater’s methodology, however, is far more nuanced and engaging. Combat is rarely deadly, so the challenge is not to “keep yourself alive through this firefight,” but rather “keep yourself alive through this mission.” The tension comes from managing your inventory amidst an uncertain future. Does Snake have enough health to make it through this encampment? Or should we eat our last ration now, heal faster, but then run the risk of being even more hungry down the line?”
Snake Eater also introduces a camouflage mechanic, as measured by a percentage counter in the top-right corner of the screen. This percentage will tick up or down depending on which clothes Snake is wearing in what environment. This idea is clever in concept, but I’m still not sure if my pettifogging changes were the deciding factor in each successful infiltration, or if the wardrobe merely played second fiddle to playing the game effectively.
All in all, these additional features range from “seemingly cosmetic” to “exactly what was needed,” and the game is all the better for it. The tactical espionage that I, along with Snake, was performing was damn near flawless. Previous games would see me bumbling from room to room as I frequently set off alerts or caught the eyes of dutiful guards. However in Snake Eater, I would, more often than not, go hours on end without triggering a single alarm. I finally had the tools I needed to study the routes of patrolling soldiers, pacify them without causing a stir, and gain access to this computer or that filing cabinet. In fact, most of the bullets I fired were aimed squarely at bosses.
Not The Boss, to be clear, but bosses…lower case “b” and plural. These mandatory encounters were something I was dreading. Though Sons of the Liberty’s lock-on capabilities and first-person perspective lessened the frustration of one-on-one combat, Metal Gear Solid’s boss battles remained a permanent demerit in my memory of the experience. They were clumsy, gimmicky, and far too plentiful.
Snake Eater has its gimmick boss in The Sorrow, however the scuffles with Revolver Ocelot, The Fear, The Pain, and The Fury were all easy to understand and tooled to perfection. They featured just enough of a puzzle to force me to think about the strategy, without being so obtuse that I had to cave and consult an online guide.
The standout encounter, however, was against The End. An old man full of skill and patience, The End is a sniper with dead-on aim. While every other battle is a fast-paced affair with up-tempo music, my clash with The End got my blood pumping for entirely different reasons. There was no music, no flashy arena in which we’d fight. We were in the jungle and we simply had to find each other. While I crouched in some bushes, camouflage at 90%, I equipped my rifle and scanned the horizon. He had to be around here somewhere. After a few moments, I saw a glimmer appear next to a tree, and as I trained my eye, I saw The End.
Problem was: he saw me too. I had a scope on my gun too, after all, and it was no more immune to the effects of sunlight than his. I fired off a quick shot; it hit its mark, but not fatally. He had likewise fired, likewise hit, and we both had to retreat to safety to lick our wounds. Once my injury was stitched, the game of cat and mouse began anew. This was a totally different type of boss battle, one that demanded endurance and exactness, and it was just as exciting as any high-octane slug-fest that can be found in an action game like Dark Souls. I finally had a Metal Gear boss that I loved.
As I approached the end of the game, I was struck by how distinct the world felt as I advanced. I started in the jungle, surround by flora and fauna, with nothing but a gun at my side and a handful of medicinal curatives. As I moved forward, these solitary encampments would yield some extra tools here or a new gun there.
As I got closer, however, the nature became far more barren. Now I was scaling a rocky cliff, with amber dust blowing through the wind, and some bigger threats on the horizon. Helicopters flew above as manned turrets sought the intruder. I had to play smarter, and the rewards were much greater. Better guns, more bullets, tastier rations. The sense of progress was hard to ignore.
By the end of the game, nature is nonexistent. As I entered a massive industrial complex, full of security cameras, searchlights, and machines of war, I was now at the heart of the conflict. Intimidation, however, was not a concern. Because I, quite literally, scaled the mountain, the task before me seemed far more manageable than the missions in earlier games. I felt ready because I’d earned that feeling.
The bombastic narrative notes that serve as the penultimate challenge feel likewise earned. We’re treated to an incredible car chase (or rather, tank chase) as the Shagohod, now operational, chases Snake. Eva, our de facto companion on this mission (think: Bond girl), drives a Jeep while we, armed with a rocket launcher, aim at the Shagohod’s treads. When that fails, we target the supports of a bridge, sending the Shagohod tumbling into the chasm below.
With the mechanical monstrosity destroyed, all that is left to deal with is The Boss, our traitorous mentor. We encounter her in a field of flowers, just off the shore of a lake where Eva is preparing a seaplane for departure. This place is serene and bucolic, a peaceful setting if not for the conflict that is about to transpire. Snake does not enjoy killing The Boss, neither do I, but it has to be done to complete “the mission.”
We are successful, of course, and upon returning to Washington D.C., are awarded the Distinguished Service Cross by President Johnson. Before our decoration, however, we learn the truth: there was no betrayal. The Boss was sent, undercover, to retrieve data…and that’s it. However, when someone else in Cobra bombed the facility at the beginning of the game, The Boss could not return to the United States, as the U.S. would be blamed for the attack. In order to clear the U.S. of any wrongdoing, and prevent further Cold War escalation, The Boss had to pretend she had defected and allow Snake to kill her, thereby preserving the image of U.S. innocence in the eyes of the U.S.S.R. The game ends with Snake, now promoted to Big Boss himself, tearfully saluting the unmarked grave of his mentor in Arlington National Cemetery. The world will remember this hero as a traitor.
All of this…seems like a letdown after Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty. When we walk away from that game, we’re left ruminating on big, heady ideas like “Post-Truth Societies” and “Information Dissemination” and, hell, even the internet at large. Yet, in Snake Eater, we’re just wondering “did it really have to end this way?”
But that’s…kind of what makes Snake Eater so brilliant.
What is “the mission,” exactly? And who is carrying out the mission, really? Is it Snake or…is it me? Is the game, itself, the mission? It’s no coincidence, after all, that the assignment is called Operation: Snake Eater, just like the name of the game. The lines begin to blur.
So let’s go back to that final fight with The Boss. Could we have done it any differently? Of course not. The game is scripted so that The Boss will fight me. There are no combinations of buttons I can press that will make her stop, just like there are no combinations of words Snake can say to make her stop. The Boss will fight me until I kill her. The Boss will fight Snake until Snake kills her. Whether she is a person with thoughts and beliefs, or a character comprised of pixels and code, The Boss will die. There is nothing that anyone can do to stop it.
When we talk about player agency in video games, we usually laud games that offer immense freedoms to the player. You can do whatever you want. On the flipside, we complain when that freedom is taken from us. “We’re forced to do this? Screw that!” Kojima brilliantly turns that lack of freedom from a weakness to a strength. By crafting a narrative about “completing the mission, however unpleasant,” that lack of agency allows us to feel the walls as they close in. Snake Eater the game and Snake Eater the mission cannot be completed without killing The Boss.
Sucks, don’t it?
Sons of Liberty is praised for being one the first “postmodern games,” and while that is true, Snake Eater, frankly, does it better. Kojima toys around with notions of “Games as Missions” and “Players as Characters,” but hits us with an emotional gut-punch in the process. The ideas presented in Sons of Liberty are decidedly detached from our everyday lives insofar as, well, how often are we manipulated by non-corporeal Artificial Intelligences into believing our implanted memories? Snake Eater, by contrast, is far more relatable. How often are we forced to do something we don’t want to do as part of our job? What if our employer, it turns out, is making some morally questionable decisions? If we’re carrying out the directions of our supervisors, are we really acting out of our own volition?
Metal Gear Solid 3: Snake Eater’s meditations are no less intriguing than those of its predecessors, however they are housed in a far more personal experience. We can understand Snake’s emotions; heck, we have lived through some of them, to a certain extent. And throughout this ordeal, our shared experience continues.
In hindsight, I wasn’t playing the game. I was being manipulated by Kojima, much the same way Snake was being manipulated by me. I was completing the mission Kojima had given me, much the same way Snake was completing the mission the government had given him. I was missing key pieces of information, as was Snake, which leads to our collective dismay when the final pieces fall into place. We are all characters in this story, feeling the ups and downs every step of the way, exactly how Kojima wants.
There are still three Metal Gear Solid games ahead of me…MGS 4: Guns of the Patriots, MGS: Peace Walker, and MGS 5: The Phantom Pain. While damn near every “Best of…” list ranks Snake Eater in the top spot, the fear that the series has now peaked and that it’s all downhill from here isn’t particularly worrying. After all, I’ve found things to love in the lowest ranked games so far and I’ve disliked aspects of some of the “classics.” But more importantly, I’ve learned just how pliable I am in the wake of Kojima’s storytelling.
Going into this whole adventure, I thought I knew what I liked in gaming. I thought I liked exploration and disliked linearity. I thought I liked isolation and disliked conversation. Snake Eater has proven that that’s not the case. Every taste can change, every genre can be reinvented, and every bug can be a feature in the hands of a capable author.
Well done, Kojima!
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