The Game Plan 10.12.07: Halloween Horror Spotlight, Part 2

Posted by James McGee on 10.12.2007

I once again delve into the darker side of video games, this time take a trip to a quaint little town were some weird stuff is going down...

The Beatles or the Stones? Whopper or Big Mac? Kirk or Picard? Paper or plastic? These are among the greatest debates of our times. For fans of horror games, the question of the ages usually boils down to "Resident Evil or Silent Hill." These are, unquestionably, the two biggest survival-horror franchises going. As I discussed last week, RE was the precursor for the genre, and SH owes just as much to the zombie-slaying series as anything else. However, it still manages to carve out its own unique niche in the world of scary gaming, and offers a totally different experience overall. As my Halloween Horror Spotlight series continues, I'll delve into the sick and twisted way Silent Hill establishes itself as more than just another Resident Evil clone. I am James McGee, and here's The Game Plan.

Though it originated in Japan, Resident Evil took a decidedly western approach to horror. The scares come in the form of "boo!" moments (the legendary first-appearance of zombie-dogs leaping through a window in the original game, the Licker busting through an observation mirror in Resident Evil 2, etc.). The creatures are scary, but follow pretty conventional models of what monsters should be. The story, though campy at times, is pretty straightforward: Evil corporation drops the ball, unleashing terror on the innocent. Good guys show up, fight for their lives, save the day, the end. Resident Evil pretty clearly takes its inspiration from Western zombie flicks, so it's no surprise that the game comes out feeling very American, despite its point of origin.

Then there's Silent Hill. The setting and characters are still American, and the gameplay is clearly derived from the model Resident Evil established, but the similarities pretty much end there. Like most Japanese-style horror, Silent Hill is more concerned with psychological terror than shock-tactics. There probably are some of those "boo!" moments in the games, but I honestly can't recall any off the top of my head as clearly as those iconic scenes from the Resident Evil series I mentioned earlier. What I do remember about Silent Hill is the chill that went up my spine the first time the game slipped into the "Dark Realm." Coming upon a mutilated…something… in a dead-end alley, hearing sirens in the distance as all the light began to seep out of the world, and turning to find knife-wielding creatures—so much like children, but clearly not human—blocking my path, slashing at my ankles, and me with no means of fighting back. Trying in vain to escape my attackers, only to finally fall unconscious and later awake in a world where that horrific scene was but one small element in an ensuing nightmare. That is the effect Silent Hill wants to have on you: not to send you jumping from your seat, but to leave you squirming in your chair.

Silent Hill is all about atmosphere, and every aspect of the game works toward creating the most memorably oppressive, chilling, and disturbing environment imaginable. The game's efforts toward this goal begin with the titular town. Players take control of several different humans throughout the course of the series, but the true star of the games, the main character, has always been Silent Hill itself. The closest comparison I can think of is the Overlook Hotel from Stephen King's The Shining. You don't have to be in town for very long to realize that Silent Hill—with its ever-present shroud of fog, dilapidated hospitals, and deserted streets—is a bad place…an evil f*!@ing place, as Sam Jackson might say. Most games in the genre have kept the action primarily confined to one central location—usually a spooky mansion. Other horror games (Resident Evil 3 and Fatal Frame II, to name a couple) have attempted to move the action outside this traditional one-building setup, with limited success. But Silent Hill nearly always manages to make its town seem just as claustrophobic and nerve-wracking as those confined corridors in other games. It helps that you do get to explore some specific buildings in great detail. The pitch-black elementary school from the first game will always be the creepiest to me, though Brookhaven Hospital runs a close second. Each interior simply serves as a reflection of how sick and disturbing the town as a whole truly is. To say that setting is important in this series is a gross understatement. In Silent Hill, setting is everything.

Well, maybe not everything. The monsters you run into are pretty creepy, too. Again, whereas Resident Evil sticks to easily-classifiable enemies (zombies, giant bugs, etc.), Silent Hill takes a far less traditional approach. Those nurses you encounter throughout the series are kind of like zombies, but there seems to be some horrific intelligence at work behind those jerky, stilted movements. And how would you categorize the writhing, pulsating, armless mass you first encounter in Silent Hill 2? And of course there's the "man/dog/holy $#!%, what is that thing!" that tends to leap out of the shadows onto you in the first game.

But the king of all the disturbing baddies you'll encounter (maybe in the entire history of horror games) is Silent Hill 2's Pyramid Head. He/it is a giant of a man, wearing a bloody apron and carrying a huge sword, topped off by a metal pyramid-shaped helmet. Pyramid undoubtedly owes his inspiration in part to Nemesis, the huge super-zombie that continually torments you throughout Resident Evil 3. However, in true Silent Hill fashion, the designers went totally off the charts in creating this monster. Whereas Nemesis is fast and comfortably susceptible to weapons (thought they don't keep him down for long), Pyramid Head is invincible as he slowly ambles towards you, dragging that great honking knife behind him, ready to cut you down with one swipe if he backs you into a corner. You can't fight him, you can barely run from him, and you certainly can't stop him. And he may have the most memorably disturbing introduction of any villain…ever. Cowering in a closet, you peer through the door slats to see Pyramid Head apparently raping one of the headless mannequin creatures you encountered earlier in the game. Yes, raping a headless living mannequin. Seriously, that's just messed up. I mean…seriously. When stacked up against that kind of demented vision, a giant zombie with a rocket launcher seems positively tame.

Story and gameplay are where Silent Hill strays the least from its rival, but the series still manages to distinguish itself, and the changes it does make all serve the central purpose of creating the game's signature atmosphere. The majority of the games are spent exploring the town and a few buildings, looking for key items, clues and documents that reveal aspects of the story. Like the game's take on horror, the story is more concerned with making an emotional impact than being traditionally coherent. I believe it was the series' composer, Akira Yamaoka*, who once described Japanese-style horror as being characterized by themes of sadness. Silent Hill certainly follows that tradition, as the events of each game (in addition to being disturbing and horrific) are colored by a pervasive, underlying melancholy. It is these feelings players will take away from the game, more so than simply plot points. Even after playing through the games several times to receive the various endings, the waters are still likely to be a bit murky. Resident Evil may be campy, but it is generally easy to follow. While I'll admit the story to be my biggest personal gripe with the Silent Hill series, it's still a small complaint when the game as a whole makes such a huge emotional and psychological impact.

While unraveling these mind-bending stories, you do have to fight some of those sick and twisted monsters I've been talking about, and it's here that Silent Hill really changes things up. While firearms are still an option, melee weapons are also part of the mix, and seeing as how ammo is in such short supply, the game subtly encourages you to rely on pipes, bats, axes, etc. to do your monster slaying. Having to get up close and personal to the ghastly creatures simply adds to the tension. Sure, you wouldn't want to run up against any of Resident Evil's baddies in a dark alley, but at least you can keep your distance and unload a few clips into them. Waiting for one of Silent Hill's freaks of nature to saunter up to you and then wailing away with a lead pipe…now that's intense! The combat really sums up Silent Hill's underlying philosophy. The game is not interested in "bang!" and "boo!" It wants to get up close, for you to feel it's breath on your neck, to slide under your skin and fester in your nightmares. That's what Silent Hill is all about.

So, getting back to the debate that opened this column, am I a Resident Evil guy or a Silent Hill guy? Well, I love RE, and again admit that having a story sewn up in a nice, coherent package is pretty nice. But ultimately, Silent Hill has a greater effect on me. Remember me saying last week that I like being scared? Well, Silent Hill's brand of horror scares me and stays with me more than Resident Evil's zombies ever have, so I guess it gets the edge. However, there is another horror series that scares me even more—that manages to blend the best of Resident Evil and Silent Hill to offer a tight, compelling story, along with top-notch creep-out moments. Tune in for my next column to find out what it is. Until then, remember to leave the light on…

* A discussion of Akira Yamaoka's score for the Silent Hill series could fill an entire article by itself. It deserves a more thorough, knowledgeable and capable discussion than my non-musically-trained ability could give it. However, I'd be doing Yamaoka and Silent Hill a disservice in not mentioning at all. The score in these games is a shining example of how much music can enhance a story.