Signalis was less than I needed it to be. That's not to say that it isn't a good game. Quite the opposite, it's a very well crafted game. The animation, puzzles, and game play loop are all solid, and it has some of the best ideas presented in a survival horror game in some time. However, despite these ideas, Signalis also comes across as derivative under a guise of homage, choosing to disregard an identity to call its own.

Signals has trouble deciding how to homogenize Resident Evil and Silent Hill, its largest influencers. Both games approach their horror very differently. Resident Evil’s action heavy thrills contrast with Silent Hill’s contemplative tension. Like Resident Evil, Signalis gives you a large arsenal of weapons and gadgets, but it still wants the quiet existential horror of Silent Hill. It just doesn't always mix. A grenade launcher is fun when dealing with a pulsating, claw adorned abomination, but Signalis chooses to be minimal with its enemy variety, much like Silent Hill. There isn't much satisfaction from blowing away the same shambling robot-zombie that have been prevalent throughout the game, but perhaps the game doesnt want that satisfaction, but then why bother with a grenade launcher? James Sunderland didn’t need one. Bosses and set pieces are minimal, giving you very little incentive to use the SMG with the exception of rotating guns around to save resources. Using the high powered weapons takes away from the contemplative nature the game wants to give you, but also doesn't give you the action satisfaction as a trade off. It comes up short both ways.

The game can also be unintentionally loud. Not in its sound design, but in its exposition and world building. Signalis is anxious to explain what we need to know less of, but neglects what we should know more of. The derelict mining facility is chalk full of documents about the planetary system, the evil empires and governments that command it, and will go into deep detail about the wide variety of robotic (Replika) models that populate it. Pages and pages of what certain robots like and dislike felt unnecessary and often took me out of the moment. What does a Scorch model do? The game says, but I don’t recall, and you only meet one, in one room, with minimal dialogue to speak of. In general, when it comes to horror, I feel like world building is not nearly as important as what is happening in the moment. Silent Hill 2 was about James and his personal hell. Why was Silent Hill foggy and full of monsters? Strictly speaking in terms of Silent HIll 2 (ignoring the cult explanations of 1 and 3, which Silent HIll 2 almost ignores completely), Silent Hill is the horror James brings on himself. We aren't told this either; it comes to us through context. We aren't told about what U.S. state Silent Hill is in, or of any pending murder charges James is facing, or what James likes to do on his day off. It does not matter. And in that way, Silent Hill 2 is vague, but in a way that maintains a certain logic though context. Signalis’ narrative is also vague and fragmented, but it does not present it nearly as effectively.

I am not averse to ambiguity. Vague writing has become quite trendy, and for games that do it well, an ambiguous story evokes strong emotion and offers opportunities to fill in the blanks through context. However, this tool can also be used to mask ineffective writing. In part, I feel the ambiguity was meant to invoke a sense of existential dread, but when I know more about the evil galactic empire than I do about our main character, I feel the writing is an issue. That is a shame too, because Signalis has a lot of interesting things going on. I know that Elster is trying to find her human lover in order to fulfill a promise amidst some lovecraftian horror’s summer vacation plans. It is a good and simple motivator. Why does the photo and person she searches for change midway through? Why are there multiple Elsters dead in the red desert? What even does the antagonist Alder want? I don’t know, nor do I know why it matters. Perhaps there are clues, but the core story gets so lost in the weeds. Of all the questions I have about the game, the biggest one is this: Why does Signalis see fit to blatantly copy other media?

When does homage end and plagiarism begin? Signalis doesn't try to hide where it draws inspiration from. In fact, it proudly flaunts its stolen goods. Some “borrows” are less egregious than others. Burning corpses to prevent them from coming back, red flooding the screen at a save point, a protagonist with a photograph of a missing lover they are searching for - there are a ton of ideas lifted from survival horror masterpieces. That said, no one game owns these ideas, but when you see them, you are instantly taken out of Signalis and instead become DiCaprio pointing at something you recognize on the television. Some “borrows” are far more blatant and questionable though. Midway through the game,the tight, gray, militaristic hallways are traded for rusted, burnt metal husk hallways with no map and questionable geometry. The place is “Nowhere,” and is named and looks exactly like the final area of Silent Hill. Later, Elster tears off her arms trying to open a hatch in a scene literally traced from Ghost in the Shell. Another scene rips off Evangelion at one point. Why? There didn't seem to be any meta commentary or theme to justify their existence. Surely the devs would know that they would be recognized. It almost feels like all these things were haphazardly thrown in because the creator thought they were cool. This is where Signalis’ identity dissipates. It is unfortunate, because when Signalis does something right, it really does it right.

Atmosphere is Signalis’ greatest strength. From the beginning, the game envelopes you in a foreboding dread. The empty halls lay dead except for the wall mounted cameras that turn to follow you throughout the facility. Something is watching you, but you don't know by who or where. The East German-esque propaganda posters and dimly lit, oppressive gray Soviet Bloc era architecture impress upon you the feeling that even on a normal day, this is not somewhere you would want to be. Outside an endless white of a furious snowstorm traps you in a place that doesn't want you there, and it all comes together when you find the radio.

The radio is the single best mechanic I have experienced in a game for some time. The number of ways they incorporate it sees creativity firing on all cylinders. It is also what makes the puzzles in Signals so outstanding, some of the best I have played in a survival horror game. While the radio’s functionality is its standout feature, the presentation really grabbed me. Tuning into the broadcast frequency of a numbers station or a lo-fi song that barely registers amidst the static made me feel alone and yet not in all the right ways. Somewhere, something transmitted across these frequencies for a purpose. Perhaps they are recent or maybe ancient, but either way they are looped and broadcast across this seemingly dead world. For someone alive, dead, and for what purpose we don’t know, and maybe we don't want to know. It is a flavor of Lovecraftian horror that I wanted more of.

At the end of the day, Signalis is a good game buried under the weight of its ancestors' ideas. It wants so badly to stand side by side with its inspirations that it comes across as almost mocking, giving us the sights and sounds of several classics, but disregarding their original meaning in their own media. Signalis is an “almost there” type of game, where somewhere down the line, someone will take what Signalis wanted to do and perfect it. I will be waiting with great anticipation.

We love rebels. While rebellion is a very, very common story theme, it has the benefit of constant contemporary relevance. People have always felt powerless under the thumbs of the rich, powerful, and corrupt, so it is inspiring to see us, the small and weak, overcome the large and tyrannical, even if it is fictional. Persona 5 falls right in line with the likes of Star Wars, Dune, or Hunger Games in its call to resistance. But where Star Wars and its contemporaries present simple and clear villains to beat, Persona 5 takes aim at something a bit closer to home, but far less tangible.

Persona 5 has the advantage of relatability. It doesn’t find itself in a galaxy far away or a grim dystopian future. Persona 5 is tomorrow. Sure, the game has nice fantasy gloss with a hip, acid-jazz soundtrack, but the plucky Phantom Thieves fight abusive teachers and corporate CEOs, and to a lesser extent, the police, and media. Elements that rear their ugly heads daily, if not hourly on our news feeds. Elements that we just don’t seem to have practical answers for. As you progress through the game, it becomes apparent that some greater force has paved the way for such villains to exist. We are told that the protagonist must avoid the coming ruin, but never where it comes from nor who might herald it. As you dive deeper into the collective conscious dungeon of Mementos, it gradually funnels you down to a singular point. It is leading you to the answer. The big bad. The villain responsible for all our social woes. Surely, some evil god of flesh or machine, right? It then comes as some surprise when Persona 5 reveals the true villain of the game:

Ourselves

Or to be more specific, our apathy, our sloth. We are responsible for the existence of evil, in the game and out. We permit teachers to abuse their students, CEOs to manipulate the markets and steal wages, and politicians to drown our society in corruption and war. We permit school shootings, religious beheadings, and hate crimes because we cannot be bothered to stray from our daily routines or risk the very minimal amounts of comfort that have been afforded to us. It is so easy to pin our woes on a scape goat- some person or group. It would have been simple for Persona 5 to establish a bad guy to beat to ensure a happy ending. And while Persona 5’s final boss fight is against a god, it is a god that we made, and the happily ever after isn't what we receive. Beating it doesn't solve the core problems. In fact, the world returns to normal. It isn't changed. Persona 5 merely avoided the ruin for now, giving everyone a second chance should they wish to act this time. It is a surprising message for a video game and a concept that isn’t talked about enough in my opinion. The real rebellion isn’t against an empire, but against our indifference.

This concept strengthens Persona 5's core game design as well. Each character, or persona-user, embraces a Jungian archetype associated with rebellion. The game calls them tricksters – characters of fiction and history whose role is to jolt society from apathy into action. These tricksters must endure the label of villain, placed upon them by a world that doesn’t like to rock the boat. But these entities can be vital to our evolving culture. Satan is the greatest evil, yet it was by his actions that humanity was “cast out” from a life of mindless, purposeless existence to one of ingenuity and prosperity. Prometheus was punished by Zeus for bringing fire to mankind. Robin Hood and Goemon both inspire us to rise against our rich and powerful oppressors, yet they are labeled as violent outlaws. Therefore, the mission of the Phantom Thieves isn’t to merely steal hearts from “criminals”, but to invoke a social change through their morally ambiguous actions. Tricksters kick our chairs out from underneath us because we can’t be bothered to stand ourselves. But even then, we still must stand, and not lie face down on the floor.

It feels rare for a game to incorporate its theme into all aspects of its design. Often, games are content with merely telling you what they are about - separating the story from their gameplay. Persona 5 interweaves both. Through character personas, Jungian archetypes, historical precedence, and the role you inhabit as a morally ambiguous, mythical trickster, the game really hammers its concepts home. It all adds real depth to a story pleading us to act.

Nintendo: “so that’s all the game boy advance games coming to NSO Expansion Pack, time for the last smaller news for the day”

“yeah that was cool I guess”

Nintendo: “Metroid Prime is fully remastered for the Switch by the way and we’re shadow dropping it later today.”

“yeah that was HUH”

During their financial crisis years, SNK thought it would be a good idea to take what made King of Fighters unique and toss it away to follow 3D trends. It plays like a tired Tekken clone, lacking Tekken's nuance and the 3 vs 3 that had come to define KoF. It also features the designs of the infamous Falcoon, whose art style sways between mediocre and absurdly bad. Granted SNK labeled the game a spin off, but development dollars were still wasted in an era when SNK needed all the help they could get.

When a FromSoftware game releases, inevitably the topic of difficulty will enter the conversation. The genre’s challenge is both a staple and a major selling point. Proponents of the genre expect it. It was the reason I played the original Demon’s Souls. I wanted my ass kicked. Understandably, this feature also alienates some, with the more vocal critics decrying the Soulsborne genre for gatekeeping or fostering elitism. It also doesn’t help that a vocal minority spews “git gud” at every sign of criticism. Up until recently though, SoulsBorne games enjoyed their relatively niche corner of the market, so the issue rarely entered mainstream dialogue. Elden Ring was different. Elden Ring, like Breath of the Wild, is a member of a new wave of open world games. Instead of icons and objectives littering the map, these games give you little direction and instead encourage you to get lost. It’s quite freeing, providing an unmatched sense of discovery. It gave Elden Ring a broad appeal. Unlike Breath of the Wild though, Elden Ring immediately introduces the player to a harsh and unforgiving landscape. That sense of discovery comes after a heavy dose of anxiety coupled with painstaking combat. Like its Soulsborne kin, Elden Ring is hard.

Many new players felt that they were unjustly denied one of the best games of the last decade because a gold-clad, horse mounted knight showed them what for. Demands to increase its accessibility arose. Casual players, youtubers, streamers, influencers, and critics questioned why Elden Ring refused to include a difficulty scaling, a common practice in many action games. Some would outright declare Elden Ring as an example of poor game design. I disagree. I won’t be telling anyone to “get gud” though. Rather, I implore people to see the difficulty as intentional game design meant invoke specific emotions and tell a story through subtext. Elden Ring isn’t out to intentionally make you mad. It wants to say something. In other words, Elden Ring’s difficulty is an artistic expression, and like all art, it won’t be for everyone.

Go to the Museum of Modern Art in NYC and you’ll likely run across a Jackson Pollock painting. As an abstract expressionist, Pollock’s work will elicit a varied response from its audience. You’ll likely see his work wholly different than the person next to you. Perhaps you see genius. Maybe you see something pretty, but you’re not sure what the fuss is about. Or maybe you see nonsense and hate it. Regardless of how you feel about his work, Pollock made intentional decisions in every drip and splatter. It isn’t random crap. His paintings have meaning. Maybe you don’t understand it, and that is fine, but would you then demand his paintings be easier to understand? Maybe he should have included a legend or an explanation. Maybe he should be more like Normal Rockwell. Afterall, why should you (or anyone) be excluded from Pollock because he is hard to understand? Ok, enough of that. Pollock can be respected even if you don’t get it or feel included in its audience. His work, even though it is objectively great, still isn’t for everyone. Changing it to fit a broader audience would rob the work of meaning. This applies to all works of art.

Video games can be great art pieces, and Elden Ring seeks to paint a brutal world. It isn’t enough to merely be told that the world has gone to hell, you must feel it. Through its difficulty Elden Ring makes you question your choices: should you delve deeper into the crypt knowing that you may easily loose all your runes? Is the world redeemable or does the Frenzied Flame have it right and the whole place needs to burn. In the Lands Between, you must earn your title of Elden Lord, not because you need to “get gud”, but because the game wants to really emphasize its importance. Not just any one can do it, but maybe you can.

FOMO places and undue stress upon some. Not everything needs to be experienced, nor can it be. But just because an experience seems beyond our grasp doesn’t mean a crime has occurred. Like Pollock, Elden Ring has a barrier that prevents some from fully experiencing it, but that does not diminish its artistry or value. The difficulty elevates it. We can respect it without playing it. As someone who has played it, I can say this game is phenomenal. But even if I couldn’t conquer all its challenges, I would be hard pressed to find much to criticize, and I certainly wouldn’t do so out of spite. At the very least, we should celebrate its deliberate decisions and artistic merit in a market where broad appeal means broader profits that then dictate and restrict what companies develop. The world needs more games like Elden Ring.

You can’t always knock it out of the park. Sometimes you just need to get it done and move on. Maybe you can’t even be bothered to really care about it. It can mean different things to different people, but to the Resident Evil team, it is Resident Evil: Code Veronica. That might be a bit generous. Had Code Veronica merely set out to provide a by-the-numbers entry, it might have made a better impression. Instead, in Code Veronica’s attempt to simply check all the boxes, the pencil it used kept punching holes in the paper.

The tired tropes and clunky gameplay of the bygone era of Resident Evil are all present, but the game falls down several more flights to ensure an unpleasant experience. In a game about zombies, giant worms, and super-powered people, Code Veronica still manages to break my suspension of disbelief. It rips nuance from its characters, as it places them in a story scenario that had no reason to exist. But even if these were the worst sins committed by Code Veronica, it would still be digestible. Code Veronica manages to mix boring, annoying, and offensive to create something that, simply put, is dumb and insulting. It was destined to be the nail in the franchise coffin. The game everyone would point to when asked where it all went wrong. Thank God for Resident Evil 4.

You can’t talk Code Veronica without addressing the loud and obnoxious elephant in the room, Steve. You just want to punch him. Dressed like a failed J-pop star, career teenager Steve meanders around the zombie-infested island, unconcerned about his own survival. He seems thrilled by the whole thing in fact. Never mind his parents are dead, Steve gets a cool gun. Our second hero’s priorities are a little disheveled. Steve’s whole schtick is that he doesn’t trust people. Something he whines with all the depth and sensitivity of an over-privileged high schooler. But Steve will contradict himself every chance he gets. After demonstrating his love of guns, akimbo style, Steve asserts to Claire “See, you can depend on me.” Steve then immediately complains, “You see, this thing (his gun) is much more reliable than any person.” Those two lines are in the same conversation by the way – sequentially. Then the game dares to turn on the somber music to signify that this attitude has some deeper meaning. Oh, poor tormented soul. Are you really tying to make us care for him, game? Really, Steve’s only purpose is to thirst after Claire but as creepy as possible. The game will dismiss his actions or treat them as some blooming love. But when Steve goes to kiss Claire while she sleeps, you realize the writers have no idea what a healthy relationship is supposed to look like. Claire and Steve separate often, as is required by the horror genre, but he will occasionally and accidently stumble into the scene to save Claire from some impending doom. In one of the game’s more unintentionally humorous scenes, Claire stares down the barrel of the villain’s rifle when Steve bursts through a door like the Kool-Aid man crashing a frat party, “what’s going on?” We haven’t seen Steve in a good hour before this. Did I mention he can fly a cargo plane? This is where the game really begins to test my disbelief. The best I can say of the guy is that he makes for one of the more unique boss fights later, but that is about it. Steve exemplifies everything that was wrong with Resident Evil’s design philosophy at the time - completely lacking in self-awareness while believing they were the coolest guy in the room.

Let’s talk about other ways the game insults us. Code Veronica has this habit of ramping up then blasting the shock and awe music for the most mundane of encounters. Right from the get-go, Code Veronica throws shambling zombies at you. They are standard at this point, and hardly worth getting worked up over. Suddenly, the music changes, gradually increasing the tension. It tells you something is coming - something big, bad, and horrifying then you turn the corner and – oh it’s another zombie. Just one zombie sometimes. Scary. It has all the impact of letting the air out of a balloon. Code Veronica does this more than a few times and in a few different ways, including with its door transitions. These are meant to hide loading screens, but occasionally the game flavors standard door opening with heart beats and hesitation. Slowly the knob turns. The heart beats intensify. Surely, a horrible sight awaits you beyond the door and - oh, it’s nothing. Literally just another room. The game insists that you be scared because it does not know how to produce the feeling naturally. Please clap. Beyond frights, Code Veronica further demands you believe the absurd.

One of the appeals of Claire was that she was normal. Sure, she is Chris’ brother, but survival horror depends on the fallibility of the would-be survivor. In the opening cutscene of Code Veronica, Claire has infiltrated a heavily guarded Umbrella corporate tower with all the subtly of a nuke. She dodges guards, weaves around the Vulcan cannon of an attack helicopter, then blows up an explosive barrel taking out 10 or so guards James Bond style. Somehow, after all this, she is captured by some random guy. Oh well, maybe Claire’s newfound abilities will prove useful on the island. Nope. All of Claire’s super spy training vanishes when you take control of her. Now, one zombie, barely aware of her presence, becomes a huge problem. Considering all that happened 10 minutes prior, I don’t believe any of this. Claire will then spend the back half of the game, sidelined by her brother. After everything she did, Claire doesn’t even get to fight the final boss or make any meaningful impact after the man arrives. RE2 remake was such a vast improvement to the character that its hard not look back and laugh.

A similar problem applies to our mustache twirling villain, Wesker, who makes his superhuman debut in this game. Wesker, high on bioweapon super juice can now run at super speeds, punch with the force of a steam engine, and jump tall buildings in a single bound, yet somehow normies Chris and Claire are problems for him. Well, they were supposed to be normies. The power creep is real and completely invalidates any horror the game is trying to impress upon you. Umbrella insider and S.T.A.R.S betrayer normal guy Albert Wesker was far more compelling than whatever this is. He helped establish that the real villains of the Resident Evil games weren’t the monsters, but greedy people. None of that matters now. Honestly, Wesker’s part was best concluded in RE1. He did not need to become a reoccurring villain, and Code Veronica were his first steps in the wrong direction.

Where the game really shows its age is in its handling of Alfred Ashford. This first act, male villain adopts the identity of his twin sister in dress and speech while wearing a wig. Code Veronica handles this as well as you might expect. Alfred embodies the depraved transsexual trope, supporting the social stigma of male femininity because only villains do that. The game chooses transvestism to illustrate Alfred’s mental illness. Never mind the fact that he murdered countless people, it’s the dress that’s the problem. And of the countless things Claire could insult Alfred with, she calls him “You cross-dressing freak.” I get that Code Veronica came out in the early 2000s and mindset wasn’t exactly uncommon at the time, but a franchise as popular as Resident Evil should be ahead of the curve instead making low blows.

To cap it all off, the game ends where it begins. Chris declares that it is time to take down Umbrella, just like he did in RE1. Like every protagonist has done just before the credits roll. At least other games built on the story. In RE2, we were introduced to new characters and how they became involved in the grander scheme. In RE3, we learn the fate of Racoon City, which would lead into the events of RE4. Here, Claire and Chris make a wrong turn at Albuquerque. Nothing of significance happens. Nothing new is learned. No character growth occurs. It is filler in every sense of the word. If you must experience it, watch a Youtube long play. It makes for good schlock without having to suffer through the game yourself.

I don’t have a strong connection to the original Resident Evil 3 (RE3). I played it in the early 2000s and felt pretty meh about it. It probably didn’t help that I played Code Veronica (CV) first. Not because CV was a better game, but because the Resident Evil series was showing signs of stagnation. Tank controls, fixed camera angles, and the dastardly Umbrella Corporation that had come to define the series was played out. I was bored of it. Playing RE3 was a formality by that point, and I had little faith in the future of the franchise. Resident Evil 4 would change all that. Resident Evil 4 was such a huge leap forward that it also rapidly aged the older Resident Evil games. There was even less reason for the casual player to revisit past titles. Fast forward to 2019 and Capcom releases the Resident Evil 2 remake (RE2R). It was a blast. While not perfect, it was much needed update to a classic game that didn’t deserve to be regulated to a relic of the old days. In 2020, a Resident Evil 3 remake (RE3R) followed it. Was RE3R able to do the same for its older counterpart? Depends on who you ask. Some vocal fans will tell you that the remake made too many cuts - that it is a shadow of its former glory. As for my answer: For $60? No, it's not worth it. But for $20, it is very worth it.

If a 5-hour game demands a full-priced ticket, it better have some serious replayability. RE3R simply does not have that. So, I could understand feeling slighted if you bought this on release day. A large aspect of RE3R’s mixed reception came as a direct result of the price tag though. These days, you’ll find RE3R much cheaper. With that major misstep out of the way, what is there to be said of the game itself?

I know RE3 has ardent fans. Nostalgia sells the best rose-colored glasses; I get it. I can understand the letdown if the vision you had for the game wasn’t met. As someone who was never on the RE3 fan train though, I experienced great improvements to the graphics, tone, story, gameplay, and pacing with only some minor hang-ups. RE3R sacrifices fluff to tell a much more focused story.

Unlike the original, RE3R doesn’t waste any time introducing you to Nemesis, the prominent villain of the game. It makes for a hell of an opening. The sequence sets the tone for RE3R’s more action-oriented approach, informing you immediately to not expect Resident Evil 2 remake’s slower and methodical gameplay. RE3R feels dynamic. Jill utilizes a dodge roll that if used correctly creates a minor and unobtrusive slowdown effect, allowing for a clean shot on your attacker. That bullet never feels like a calculated risk either. RE3R encourages you to be active with your tools. Guns and ammo are delivered at a brisk pace to help combat the increasingly ferocious monsters. This doesn’t diminish the threats you encounter though. Most enemies have one-hit kills. Time your shots and space yourself well or risk the game over screen. I feel that this action-oriented tone fits Jill’s character well. She is special forces after all. She has had time to prepare herself to some extent, and teams up with other special forces who seem quite well equipped. Lastly, and more importantly, Jill has done the T-virus dance before. Contrast this to Leon who was a beat cop experiencing his first day on the job. Claire has no formal training at all. Jill should naturally be a huge step above the RE2R’s cast and better prepared for the trials ahead of her. To be clear, the gameplay loop isn’t better or worse than RE2R’s focus on conservation, just different.

While Nemesis makes for an imposing monster, he does not quite live up to RE2R’s dark cloaked menace. Nemesis battles are scripted. Early in the game, he only appears in the “open field” portion of Racoon City as you travel between points. As you progress past this part, the game regulates Nemesis to a recurring boss. While this makes him far more predictable, and thus less scary, it does allow the game to be a bit more cinematic with him. Encounters become frantic getaways and the boss battles are different and dynamic enough to keep things interesting. You are forced to fight him multiple times, codifying his Nemesis moniker. Compare this to RE2R's Mr. X who you can avoid nearly completely for the limited time he actually has in the game. Still, Nemesis should have been a much bigger presence in his own game.

For those familiar with the story, elements were changed for the better in my opinion. Brad Vickers was always a throwaway character. Instead of making him mere Nemesis fodder, RE3R intertwines Brad’s small part with Marvin’s. This helps establish connections to the new narrative the remakes are writing and refers to recent and pertinent events. I felt that the Racoon City Park portion and associated worm boss were filler. Neither seemed to have any real story purpose, so I was fine seeing them on the cutting room floor just as I was the Dead Factory. A secret lab under a hospital makes more sense than the easy to stumble upon Dead Factory. That said, the secret lab trope is getting a bit old. Nikolai’s story has a much more solid conclusion this time around. Making him the concluding encounter was appropriate as the conflict means something to both Jill and Carlos, the later of which has a much more prominent role in the story. Lastly, and this is a matter of opinion, it made no sense for Barry Burton to save Jill in RE3. His cameo is the coincidence of the century and distracting.

The last gripe I have pertains to the cutscene frequency. RE3R doesn’t allow you to live the moment as much as it should. Sometimes, you will move only a few feet between scripted scenes, ripping you right out of the experience. Often a cutscene plays just for dialogue that could have easily been game play instead. It doesn’t bug me a ton, but it happens enough that it deserves a mention.

As the Resident Evil 4 remake (RE4R) looms, it seems like the best time to play (or replay) RE3R. You’ll catch up on the story while also evaluating the positives and negatives these remakes have brought to the table. If anything, it should serve to help temper expectations. Even if RE4R is a homerun, it won’t have everything the original did, for better or worse. RE3R broke free from the chains of its original. While this didn’t make everyone happy, I feel it makes a heathier, more invigorating game.

With a remake on the horizon, I felt it was time to really ponder what makes Silent Hill 2 (if not the whole of Team Silent’s catalogue) so great. The work seems more and more inimitable as time goes on. Many have tried to replicate that specific sense of dread, but all seemingly fail. In my opinion, not even Kojima or del Toro could accurately replicate it with P.T. Why is that? Silent Hill 2 was bottled lightening. It materialized by mixing a specific set of ingredients in just the right amounts. Horror alone doesn’t make a Silent Hill game, neither do weird creatures, nor do the philosophical musings of Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment. Plenty of stories have referenced the book before Silent Hill 2. Don’t get me wrong, these are all essential aspects that make Silent Hill 2 great, but imitators often stop there. I don’t claim to have the key to unlocking all of what makes a Silent Hill game so unique, but I know something that is often missing. Silent Hill approaches its signature horror in a very dream-like manner. It toys with the uncanny to invoke a sense of unease even in the quiet, seemingly safe moments.

It isn’t the fog, or even the monsters that makes Silent Hill 2 dream-like, it is the people. Many of Silent Hill 2’s characters don’t act human. They act like interpretations. It’s as if some foreign entity was told what humans act like then wrote them on that description alone. The guilty (this is an important distinction) characters of Silent Hill 2 often downplay or seem outright oblivious to the horrors around them. The laws of Silent Hill are completely acceptable, even familiar to them.

“Lost…?” Angela asks bewildered in the first minutes of the game. How could James be lost? To the rational, of course James is lost in the dense fog. Angela isn’t rational though. To her, everything is not only normal, but easy to comprehend, yet she shares the same space we do and sees (for the moment) what we do.

As players, we can’t see the character reactions as genuine, but we are awake, able to discern reality and assess threats. These characters are asleep on multiple levels. How often do you see the strangeness of the dreams you are in? I don’t. No matter how weird my sleeping dreams are, by brain can’t distinguish them from reality. They simply are the way things are and always have been. Occasionally though, the metaphorical fog will part for James, Angela, and Eddie. They will wake for just a moment, and the results are often traumatic and explosive. Truth and awake are synonymous here. When you interact with them for the final time, the awkwardness that characterized these three early in the game is all but gone. They know the truth and are lucid. Now they behave in ways we understand, even if that behavior is violent. Perhaps you could argue that the awkwardness wasn’t intentional – a novice writer’s error. I would disagree. Mary and Laura feel genuine throughout. Laura acts like an obnoxious brat, completely in line with her age. Mary’s letter communicates dense emotion and turmoil, which pull at the heart strings. The main distinction being that neither Laura nor Mary have been summoned to Silent Hill to wake up.

I think Silent Hill 2 has more in common with Twin Peaks than with other horror stories, even with other Silent Hill games. Silent Hill 2 dares to make you feel uncomfortable in ways you probably weren’t expecting. I feel that the tone is a crucial (and overlooked) tool the game uses to communicate its biggest theme - that a person’s greatest dangers come from the lies they tell themselves.

Pretentious the game. Rarely have I played a game so high on its own self-importance. Heavy Rain really thinks it tells a dynamic and emotionally resonate story. For those that made the effort to play the game, they were rewarded with a straight to DVD cinematic experience that is both exploitive and derivative. Where to start? The villain is Walmart brand, diet Jigsaw. Madison exists to get naked, sexually assaulted, and be a mere love interest in the best of the game’s its endings. Do you like quick-time events? You know that popular mechanic from the early 2000’s that EVERYBODY loved? Well, you better because that is all the game is.
What is the story really trying to say? What is anyone supposed to take away from it? “How far are you prepared to go to save someone you love?” Well, if you don’t go far enough, I guess you are at fault, not the serial killer. I suppose the motion capture was pretty good for its time, and the actors do their best to make the stale characters presentable, but that is the best that can be said about Heavy Rain. I will never understand how David Cage was able to keep making games after this nonsense.