When the everyday is downright horrifying, it can really take the wind out of the sails of what October is suppose to have on offer.

I want to be able to have the option to turn on and enjoy a horror movie, not feel like I’m perpetually stuck in one

While I attempt to frame my writing through the lens of professionalism, or at least, borrowing from the ideas of what would consist of a traditional article in the vein of gaming critique, ATE is ultimately a soapbox, though I’m fairly modest about using it beyond my personal machinations involving the investigation of game design, or self-identity. I love when I am able to roll any self-reflection up into a game I’m playing, tie it in with some philosophical concept even, but one of the knock on effects of writing so consistently for months on end, while juggling life responsibilities, and the woe and weary that come with everyday life, one begins to struggle to be so buttoned up about the material they feel restricted by in expressing themselves on a regular basis. Hence why yesterday’s post was such an informal, soft ball approach at pitting Resident Evil vs Silent Hill: without framing it as some type of competition, it would have attracted almost no interested strangers at all. The sad reality of creative writing.

I guess I could reflect on how either Resident Evil or Silent Hill helped me on whatever level they did with self-discovery, which as mentioned, I think is a vital part of not just video game playing, but media consumption in general. If it is nothing more than just mindless gluttony, it remains easy digestible garbage, and we ourselves become nothing more than insatiable fiends looking for the next empty calories to ingest, and in-spite of my proclivities to dismiss humanity as disgusting abominations, I have spoken to too many enthusiasts to know that most are anything but thoughtless about what they love…most involved are usually thoughtful about what they enjoy interacting with to the point of obsession, even, but I suppose I’m getting too far afield of my original point.

I think what’s interesting in my world is that, I don’t think I remember a time where I was scared by either Resident Evil or Silent Hill. This sentiment is definitely not an attempt at sounding like some big bad wolf, unflappable in his resolve against the swines of terror and the houses they dwell within. I’ve just never been either squeamish, easily startled, or shocked by visceral imagery etc. I can understand and recognize game in that regard…obviously, I know the difference of what defines a Nightmare on Elm Street movie from say, an episode of Seasame Street, but the horror is never a moment of fear or terror. It’s always represented a delight of sorts, I think. Being able to be exposed to wild concepts and ideas that would be considered “too much” for the everyday to be labeled as cautionary tales of over the top scream-fests is a fun way to understand the rest of the human race.

No surprise that while contemplating these series, I jump to the gameplay aspects first, they are video games after all, and if they don’t have that compelling sense of design about them, they of course won’t pass muster. I think this is where they really shine, cause unlike a lot of games, where the whole idea is a power fantasy, or giving you a ton of strength and resource, or the ability to do a bunch of cool stuff you definitely would not have the chance to do in real life, part of what makes good survival horror to me is the lack of agency the player has in their environment. The whole idea is that the fear comes from the notion of reminding the player how limited they really are, and how vulnerable they remain throughout the majority of the playthrough. A lot of that can be achieved through limited systems in place or scarce resources; maybe there are little to no guns at your disposal, maybe ammo is short, maybe traditional firearms don’t even kill the damn things hunting you. Whatever the scenario, when a game has this kind of hook, and enforces it unrelentingly…that’s when you start to see some sparks fly in the realm of survival horror.

And that point is an interesting one to focus on, the lack of and how it defines design, something I’ve gone on about before, and something that seems so consistent in application, I’m constantly surprised by the relevancy of the insight. The lack can also extend just beyond resource management, and the available weaponry, etc. As goes the old saying; jazz is about the notes you don’t play, and that certainly rings true not only in-conjunction with something like the Absent Rain Theorem, but obviously also extending to norms and standards to media across the board. The structuralist pacing, timing, rhythms and beats that are involved not just with what is there, but what isn’t there, makes up for this great dynamic fixating on “the spaces between”, in a sense, and what is right around the corner based on what isn’t there in the room with you right now. Hell, this whole line of thought reminds me of one of my favorite bits from the Tao Te Ching, one of the most famous books in Eastern philosophy, and how the vase is complete due to its incompleteness, citing the emptiness inside as part of what makes it whole. That kind of dualism is key in many aspects of existence in its entirety, and helps to shed light on why both the Absent Rain Theorem, and the notes not played in Jazz have such interesting impact on why such a lack matters in making up the metaphysical reality of survival horror.

Though, that doesn’t mean it’s the only way design can work, of course. You take a look at when survival horror had to look at it’s self in the mirror, and grapple with its own version of self-identity, and we all look collectively back at Resident Evil 4, and how that ended up changing the industry, and flipping an entire genre on its head, and it’s an interesting pivot moment that almost ran in the completely opposite direction, and somehow made the idea work in a radically new fashion.

Might be an idea worthy of discussion next time.

-Pashford