Disaster Year: 2008 Awards - Mark Out Moment of the Year: Metal Gear Solid 4: Guns of the Patriots

Mark Out Moment of the Year: Metal Gear Solid 4: Guns of the Patriots

Colon overload!

Wilful suspension of disbelief and the Metal Gear series go hand in hand. Even discounting the near-future cyberpolitics storylines, you're left with a game that's completely devoid of any interaction for long stretches. Early on the in fourth Solid series entry, even the barest of steps will trigger yet another lengthy pad-down movie sequence, easily distancing the impatient player. If you're not interested in the latest minute detail in a barely glimpsed character's life, MGS4 is an endless interruption of naval gaze hell. You'll feel held to ransom that the dull movie indulgence unspooling before you might contain some clue vital to the next area, so you won't skip it. You can't skip it. You'll watch. You'll grow to hate Hideo Kojima. That's if you despise the cut-scenes; if you love them, if the tiniest fragment of tail-eating sub-conspiracy thrills you, MGS4 had treats galore!

Kojima's intention has always seemed to be that he wants you to relate to Solid Snake as a character, not an avatar. You're participating in his adventures rather than driving them. Not that Snake ever shapes much of his own destiny, he's a sluggish warhorse perpetually drafted into hot-spots to eradicate the mess. He's the trump card reacting to the latest in a string of insane plots to create government toppling soldier utopias.



1998's Metal Gear Solid saw a retired Snake reactivated into service to sneak around undoing the schemes of a psychotic brother, and his motley crew of superpowered soldiers. MGS1 emphasised Snake as an underdog; unlike those he faced, he lacked any kind of special / magical abilities, he didn't even have a gun to begin with. All Snake has to keep him out of trouble is the player. Snake is so fragile, he can barely even trump the two patrolling guards that prowl around the first screen. Intro credits still rolling, you could find yourself prematurely dead if you try to engage them. You have to wait, and angle past them. MGS1 taught the player to study patterns and search for weakness. Boss battles seemingly unwinnable if the player did not keep their wits about them.



Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty teased another Snake centric adventure, before yanking the figure back, withholding him from the players. Instead you were saddled with Raiden, a green cyber-soldier, who had barely seen any non-simulated action. Raiden frustrated the action himself, constantly (and automatically) interrupting play to seek reassurance from his intel team. Teeth where gnashed. Solid Snake breezed in and out of proceedings, always several steps ahead of the befuddled user and Raiden, even apparently betraying them. Kojima sought to re-establish Snake as some unknowable mentor figure, able to rescue the player, then impart Kojima's personal philosophy at games end. If the user selected that this was their first Metal Gear game when beginning their quest, Snake's section was skipped, heading straight to The Big Shell. After completion, Snake's mission became selectable. New users would likely shake their head at this unlock portion, Snake handled no differently from Raiden; he had no greater skillset or abilities, and his myth-making early encounter with episode mcguffin Metal Gear Ray was something of a disaster. That was the point though, Solid Snake isn't a superbeing, he's just a dog-eared soldier, trying to make a right.



Metal Gear Solid 3: Snake Eater went back to the root of the problem, casting Snake as his clone father. Perhaps skeptical that players would form any kind of bond with a character that amounts to Satan in the series, Kojima implemented an exhaustive medical bay that had to be constantly referred to. If Snake was shot, the bullet had to be yanked out, the wound disinfected, and bandages applied. If not, the characters stamina would rapidly drop until inputs became sluggish, and imprecise. A crushing liability in a stealth action game. Rather than become an irritating sub-chore, the medical maintenance aspect of MGS3 instead engendered sympathy for the character that would become Big Boss. He was a fragile toy. The narrative had this Snake jumping through hoops trying to make sense of his mentors defection to the USSR, and his place within back-stab black-ops missions. This Snake begins MGS3 as a post-war patriot, by the end he's so disgusted with his countries double dealing, he goes AWOL.



Which brings us to Metal Gear Solid 4: Guns of the Patriots. A prematurely decrepit Snake slings on a synthetic muscle suit and wanders off out after his evil twin. Kojima involves us with the character by inflicting upon him a stress bar that fills rapidly if out in open conflict too often. Snake must retreat to the shadows and smoke a tab, or ice-compact his aching back. Kill too many set-dressing PMC stooges, and Snake will vomit his guts up, disgusted. MGS4's finest moment (and subject of this award) though comes deep into the final chapter. Snake is aboard his nemesis' nuclear death barge. He's disposed of the last of the superpowered trauma unit his brother sic'd on him, and he's stumbling his way towards an upload point for the super-virus he's carrying. First though, he must cross a tunnel flooded with searing microwaves.

Rather than making a side-line observer of the player, the barest of controls are handed the user to steer Snake through. Health artificially diminished by a series of shuddering fits, Snake is extremely fragile wandering into this flesh-cook hell. The screen splits to show Snake's friends battling desperately against ridiculous odds to buy him enough time to make the upload. All you can do is push the figure forwards with the Left stick; even with the analog nub held fully forwards, Snake can manage no more than an injured limp. You push him on and on. Steam starts squealing out of his armour as the synthetic muscles glow and rupture. Snake collapses to his knees vomiting and bleeding, as friends scream and plead in his ear.



You're hammering the Triangle button just to keep him from stopping. Snake's wheezing heart is pound-high in the sound mix. No matter how fast you're bashing the move button, an insistent prompt keeps appearing, as if your efforts aren't enough. It's an exhausting, relentless task. Snake's health depletes to nothing, miles away from any sort of conclusion, before switching over to a rapidly disappearing stamina bar. Through your action, Snake is literally giving it everything he's got. You and Snake contorted in agony, pushing him forward inch by inch.