The BAFTA Fellowship: Hideo Kojima

Words by Chris Schilling | Portrait by BAFTA/Charlie Clift

Hideo Kojima’s career in the games industry might span more than three decades, yet he still finds the creative process as invigorating as the day he started. From the planning stages, where there’s “no one to tell you no”, to the breakthroughs and challenges that come with collaborative development, he’s a man who clearly enjoys his work. “Exciting times and difficult times ebb and flow like alternating waves, the tension surging back and forth for a long time,” he says. “Even someone as fickle as me has continued this work for more than 34 years, so I can’t help but think that it is mostly fun for me.”

That fickleness can perhaps be attributed to Kojima’s broad range of interests, although games were not a large part of his childhood. An early love of films would begin a lifelong obsession with cinema, while the young Kojima was also a keen reader with a passion for music; these hobbies would all have a significant influence on his work. He remembers the games boom around the time of Space Invaders (1978), though it mostly passed him by: his school forbade students from visiting arcades, perceiving them as a bad influence.

During his university years, however, Namco’s vertical-scrolling shooter Xevious (1983) caught his eye. “It featured a singular worldview lacking in other games of the time,” he recalls. “I was addicted. In that moment, I remember realising that games were capable of the same narrative expression as film or novels.”

From then on, Kojima began to think games could be his future, though in conservative Japan, this was hardly considered an ideal career move. When his father died, his family’s resultant financial difficulties forced Kojima to drop out of art school; having witnessed his struggles, his mother decided to support his move into games. He subsequently joined Konami in 1986, earning his first credit as assistant designer on the MSX game Penguin Adventure, before being asked by a senior employee to take over another project: Metal Gear (1987).

Here, Kojima rebelled against the instructions of his bosses. Asked to create a war game inspired by arcade tie-in Rambo (1985), he dismissed the idea for both philosophical and pragmatic reasons: his parents’ war stories and the limitations of the MSX put him off the idea of a musclebound hero gunning down an entire army. His cinematic knowledge served him well, too. “Rambo, a clear example of this character archetype, and the series’ first film, First Blood (1982), were actually anti-war,” he notes.

Instead, he conceived an idea based on the film The Great Escape (1963). Acknowledging that players wouldn’t enjoy a game that simply involved running away, he introduced elements inspired by James Bond, prioritising infiltration over direct combat, and a near-future setting. The game, one of the earliest examples of the stealthaction genre, was a hit. Kojima’s boldness had paid off.

As a writer, director and producer, Kojima earned a reputation as a fearless pioneer during his time at Konami, consistently rejecting accepted design wisdom and pursuing risky ideas with unwavering self-belief. Twisted cyberpunk adventure Snatcher (1988) showcased his storytelling chops, while 2003’s Boktai: The Sun is in Your Hand came with a light-sensitive cartridge to encourage players to charge up their character’s power by playing outside. The psychological chiller P.T. (2014) is regarded as one of the all-time great horror games, despite being designed only as a short teaser.

Yet, it was 1998’s Metal Gear Solid that transformed Kojima’s fortunes: from a cult innovator, hardly known outside of Japan, he became a globally recognised name almost overnight. Subtitled ‘tactical espionage action’, with its blend of stealth mechanics and elaborate cinematics, it became arguably the most influential title of the PlayStation era.

“The internet and social media age were not as they are today, so I had no idea about the enthusiasm surrounding the game overseas,” he says. “I probably first realised it at E3 in 2000. It wasn’t until I made an in-person visit that I could witness the game’s incredible popularity. It was like being treated like a rock star. Yet, once I got on the plane and went back home to Japan, I returned to a normal life, and I had to turn off that switch in my head. Creator or not, I was still an everyday salaryman.”

The experience changed Kojima’s approach to making games, he says: “Since then, more than for myself, creating for me meant continuing to provide for worldwide fans. I decided to devote my life to that.”

Although he now had a fanbase to cater for, this didn’t stop him from subverting expectations. Three years later, Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty (2001) demonstrated his willingness to confound players. Its opening prologue is a masterpiece of misdirection, suggesting a fairly straightforward sequel before replacing original hero Solid Snake with newcomer Raiden. This was a different time, he notes, suggesting that negative social media campaigns weren’t around to prevent it from being a success. Nevertheless, he insists that it’s vital for sequels to push boundaries. “Eventually, self-learning AIs will become able to create average remakes or sequels by studying marketing data. Us creators, as humans, should be freed from that kind of work.”

Three equally unconventional successors followed, alongside a spate of spin-offs, each offering something different from the last. But during development of 2005’s Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain, Kojima’s relationship with Konami had reached breaking point. He finally left the company at which he had spent almost his entire career to set up his own company, Kojima Productions.

The studio’s debut arrived in 2019, and represented another startling change of direction. Starring The Walking Dead’s Norman Reedus as a deliveryman in a striking vision of post-apocalyptic America, Death Stranding saw Kojima sideline combat once more, instead pitting the player against hazardous terrain and inviting them to rebuild the fragmented country.

Its near-photorealistic cutscenes saw Kojima direct extensive performance capture sessions with a star-studded cast, including Lindsay Wagner, Léa Seydoux, Mads Mikkelsen and Troy Baker, affording him a glimpse of how his career might have turned out as a film director – and still might. Indeed, Kojima envisages an increasing confluence between the two mediums.

“It’s become clearer that the distinction between games and movies is starting to dissolve,” he says. “I’ve heard stories from a variety of people – from active film workers to producers, directors, screenwriters, actors, artists and composers – who all say that their respect for games is very high.” Notably, Death Stranding has been nominated for 11 BAFTAs this year, including three for performance.

Given his affinity for the silver screen, it’s no surprise that a BAFTA Fellowship means an awful lot to Kojima. “It is something that many of my predecessors, who have shaped my life and whom I respect from the bottom of my heart, have received, so it’s a particularly special honour for me,” he says. “To receive such an award, in this era where films and games are becoming one and the same, is deeply moving.”

Whether he ultimately joins Death Stranding collaborators Guillermo del Toro and Nicolas Winding Refn and moves into filmmaking, or stays within games to scratch the horror itch he’s had since making P.T., it’s clear Hideo Kojima’s creative journey is far from over. “So long as I’m alive,” he says, “I endeavour to continue to create with everything I have.”