Why is it I continually choose to vacation in Silent Hill? The rooms are ill-kept and streaked with the blood of the semi-dead. Room service is delivered by a maître de with legs where his arms should be. The one pool lacks water, but is overflowing with wriggling, acid-spewing torsos. So, with Butlin’s just a short jaunt down the A27, why am I here?
In 1999 Konami gestated a series that would mature to become the high water mark for psychological survival-horror. The genre, previously populated by Lovecraft-influenced period puzzlers and the exploits of Racoon City’s finest, received a rusty pipe to the face when the original Silent Hill shambled onto the Playstation. Gamers willing to assume the role of Harry Mason were plunged into a disturbing other-world of lost daughters, religious cults, reality shifts and sonic turbulence. An emphasis on creating tone and atmosphere through bleak visuals, deeply unsettling sound effects and a sh*t-load of fog gave horror fans an uneasy, but enveloping experience that was markedly different from the ‘jack-in-the-box’ scare tactics employed by previous games. Five sequels have followed thus far, but it is the sophomore effort, appropriately subtitled ‘Restless Dreams’, that has forever embedded itself into the darker recesses of my mind.
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Silent Hill 2, whilst adhering pretty much entirely to the gameplay mechanics of its predecessor, is an example of a chilling formula honed to perfection. As James Sunderland searches for his dead wife through the streets of the dilapidated ghost town, the player beholds sights and sounds that excite the imagination and repulse the senses. It’s difficult to convey the genuine sense of dread that this game manages to manifest through its terrifying audio and inspired creature design. Twitching, faceless nurses haunt abandoned hospital hallways, ungodly noises frequently pierce the relentless mist and a weird fellow with a triangle for a head molests everything in sight. Map reading, puzzle-solving and perilous melee-combat are the order of the day here, combining to create a tense mixture of head scratching thoughtfulness and violent outbursts. At times it is wise to avoid combat altogether – James is no Jin Kazama and the clumsy control system can make battering an enemy to death a tricky process. However, whilst awkward controls should cripple a game, in Silent Hill it only adds to your sense of vulnerability, actually enhancing the fear that death is just a footstep away. Inconclusive plotting further heightens feelings of confusion and isolation, with Konami’s designers generating fear from a tantalising absence of knowledge. You may be left unsure exactly what has transpired, but you carry with you the certainty that, whatever it was, it’s under your skin now. Forever.
As it turns out, I cannot get enough of the macabre beauty of Silent Hill 2. Every surface is a sickly, corroded delight, every corridor a claustrophobic tunnel of fearful promise, every resident a gleefully horrific perversion of the human form. These hands have played many technically laudable titles; these eyes witnessed unthinkable high-definition wonders. But no game has managed to surpass the emotional impact of my initial play through Silent Hill 2. I found something in that town. I think I might stay awhile…
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