Branching Dialogue: Survive all horror
Presenting Branching Dialogue, a weekly, wordy and often worryingly pedantic discussion of video game genres, trends and err ... stuff I didn't think to put in this introductory line.
With the debut of a brand new IP and the return of an over-the-hill franchise taking place in the space of a few weeks, fans of survival-horror have undoubtedly felt relieved to find their genre considerably more alive than many of the frightful creatures that inhabit it. Counting myself among them -- the fans, not the creatures -- I've eagerly been spending my evenings roaming the sinister streets of Silent Hill: Homecoming, as well as the cramped corridors of Dead Space. While they shamble towards the subject of scariness in remarkably different ways, both highlight the same, inherent contradiction that lies at the still-beating heart of the genre: A good survival-horror is one you don't enjoy playing.
There's an element of self-deception at work here, one that willingly sets you up for the scare and the relief that comes when you realize that, oh, none of it's real. Of course it isn't, you're playing a game! But a good survival-horror will make you forget that critical fact, long enough for you to question what's around the corner and frequently enough to have you gasping at the sight of polygonal blobs leaping through the windows. It is -- and should be -- a stressful experience, a constant source of worry and unanswered what-ifs. Are you anxiously counting your spent bullets? Do you hesitate before ambling down a suspiciously long hallway? What a weird way to have fun.
For all the hopeless talk of the industry becoming a conveyor belt packed with generic games, it's encouraging to see it providing room enough for two diverse games in a comparatively barren genre. A film analogy would describe Homecoming as the modestly budgeted, more thoughtful thriller, whereas Electronic Art's Dead Space would be the overtly gory, science-fiction spectacle. It goes even deeper than that, as Homecoming (and much of the Silent Hill franchise) counts Jacob's Ladder as its inspiration, while Dead Space shares much in common with the likes of Alien(s). A critical difference between those classic films and the games inspired by them? In the interactive medium, survival is entirely dependent on you.
"Why is it that nobody else in this town notices that, holy shit, the walls are made of flesh?"
Since most of us haven't had to fight for survival outside of gaming or a Jonas Brothers concert, the chance to evoke a fundamental human response is what drives us to turn off the lights, raise the volume and immerse ourselves in fear-inducing entertainment. Sure, there's the addiction to adrenaline, which often makes people fling themselves off bridges or strap themselves to a tiny train which goes up, down, around and ultimately nowhere, but gaming adds another layer. You're not asked to be a hero or a savior, but simply to survive against crushing, nightmarish odds and with limited resources. Could success in those circumstances be any more satisfying?
It's interesting to note how differently Dead Space and Homecoming approach this basic goal of the genre: to kill the player. In a sense, Homecoming actually cheats a bit -- through the use of unsettling sound and the limited visibility that pervades the titular town, it often tricks you into thinking that a fate worse than death must surely lie behind the next door. But there's nothing. If an actual monster were to emerge from every single bit of misdirection and unease Homecoming throws at you, the town's demonic population would be tripled. The ones already there are, for the most part, easily dispatched (or fled from).
Regrettably, Isaac's helmet is better at providing crunchy slices of bread than protection.
Not so with Dead Space. Aboard the USG Ishimura, there really is a monster behind every door, and touching something as important as a switch often acts as a signal for something to leap out of a vent and nibble on your vital organs. Worse still, the dimly lit corridors are unbelievably stingy when it comes to sharing ammo and health, so flippantly attacking monsters is a good way to paint yourself into a bloody corner. By making every shot count and nailing your attention to each creature, Dead Space ratchets up the tension in even the easiest of encounters.
While the resurrected and notably disgruntled crew has a habit of tearing off your skin, the manifestations of Konami's cursed town find more comfort beneath your pasty shell. It's not as harrowing as Silent Hill 2 (and let's face it, nothing will ever come close), but Homecoming offers a more subtle horror, a descent into a personal hell paved in childhood demons and things that have hands for faces and faces for hands. The bosses, too, offer symbolism that directly ties into the story and the perversion of a once-idyllic town.
Again, Homecoming and Dead Space differ in incorporating a classic milieu: the everyday environment sullied and transformed into a twisted eek-o-system. Silent Hill's is the more familiar -- a hospital, a church, your very own home -- and eerie, but Dead Space's science-fiction setting is the better realized and coherent, suggesting a place of work and function before things went awry. The latter game also boasts astonishing (and consistently startling) sound and visuals, which are vital components in a genre primarily concerned with dragging the player into a believable world.
That's really the oddest thing. All games are about immersion to some degree, but survival-horror, whether it's a foggy town or an abandoned starship, is the only genre that takes you to places where you wouldn't want to go. Whereas games offer to make your dreams come true, Silent Hill, Resident Evil, Dead Space and Fatal Frame invite you into your worst nightmares. Yet, we'll willingly draw the curtains, don our headphones and dive in headfirst, if only to wake up on the other side and say, "Phew."
Branching Dialogue is written by Ludwig Kietzmann. He regularly writes posts on Joystiq and also wrote the highly narcissistic blurb you're reading right now (well done for making it all the way to the end, by the way). He can be written to by means of this fairly uncomplicated e-mail address:
