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by L.B. Jeffries

13 Oct 2008

Often lauded as the best in the series, Silent Hill 2 is an excellent exploration of a game that introduces intentional handicaps and limitations in the game design in order to facilitate a horror experience. It relies on an implicit contract between the game and player, a concept that Justin Keverne explores in a blog post on the topic. As he aptly summarizes about the nature of this contract, “So might players not owe it to themselves to be more forgiving, to enter into a gameplay contract with the designer whereby they will except some necessary restrictions in return for an enjoyable and engaging experience?” It’s a concept that’s key to understanding Silent Hill 2 because it forces a variety of player input handicaps to make a stressful and engaging horror experience. A camera that barely functions, a combat system that creates confusion, and a level design of constant locked doors cease to be the signs of weak programming or game design and instead become the hallmarks of terror.


This is a game about crippling and confusing the player input. And it starts it off with a surprisingly logical decision: there is no in-game tutorial. Nothing is explained to you upon entering Silent Hill, a theme that is consistent with the plot and imagery as well. Players will fumble with buttons and controls until they figure out how to manipulate the environment. The problem gets further compounded by the strange and erratic camera. You’re constantly checking the map to see which way you’re facing, which way you need to go, and struggling to make sense of the world you are exploring. In this way the camera and lack of tutorial serve to induce the same state that the protagonist is having: a hallucinogenic and confusing nightmare. This works in conjunction with the combat. The camera can often leave you unable to see enemies, forcing you to rely on the scrambled radio and dark music to warn you that trouble is near. When you press L2 to get your bearings, the camera swoops and pans erratically, further enhancing the confusion and vertigo.  The game explores this idea of a handicapping game contract in the opening moments by keeping the player from doing anything but confusedly walk around as well. As Iroquis Pliskin notes in a blog about game pacing, Silent Hill 2 withholds your ability to fight for hours to induce stress and helplessness. There is a constant barrage of growling, confusing camera, and blinding mist, all while the growing apprehension that something bad is going to happen builds. The first encounter with one of the zombies is an exercise in fidgeting with controls as the player tries to figure out which buttons lock on, swing the plank, and let him dodge. The system is mastered easily enough after this initial terse encounter, but by not having a tutorial the game cleverly forces the player to experience similar confusion as James (the character you play) in that moment. Just as he is stunned by the monstrosity moving towards him and trying to cope with the threat, the player is figuring out how to fight back and keep themselves alive. This becomes a consistent theme of the Silent Hill 2 game contract: it uses the game design to force the player to experience what James is experiencing in its own distorted way.

This dangerous environment is reinforced because the game design plays on your inability to fight competently even after mastering the controls. No matter what, the player knows they are never going to be that great at combat. There is no easy way to dodge every attack, gun ammo always seems intrinsically finite (despite the mountains of bullets you gather), enemies have random amounts of health, and health kits always seem like they may run out (despite the mountains of them you find). So while in reality there is plenty of health and ammo, because of the awkward controls and atmosphere the player never loses the sense of danger. There is no colt .45 here, no katana like in subsequent games to make you feel like a badass (or even competent). Walking down that long corridor below the Silent Hill Historical Society into a dark abyss creates teeth-grinding dread because the player knows that each and every zombie or monster will have the ability to hit them. There is no dominating these creatures, as even the weakest zombie can spray you with vomit. The camera and combat make it so the player is never in full control, the sound and setting serve to remind them of how dangerous a condition they are in as a consequence. These themes are further reinforced by several encounters with the boss Pyramid Head, who has no health and cannot die. Having an unbeatable foe in a game like this draws out discovering this information in a much more horrifying way thanks to the control scheme. It is not until after several clumsy swings and stabs in the gut that we realize our efforts are having no effect whatsoever on the monster.


In addition to the opening in the forest, several sections of the game use level design to fill the player with apprehension. By placing people in apartment complexes, hospital wards, hotels or an underground prison the game abandons the large sprawling environments of other horror games. You are always in a confined space. Levels often feel as a rat in a caged maze would, finding dead end after dead while you seek out some item or clue on how to progress. The constant repetition of placing a door that the player can never open creates a sense of the unknown. That there are places in Silent Hill we will never go into or understand. Even when the player steps outside, often to great relief, there are still countless stores and buildings that are locked and impenetrable. It both creates the sensation of being in a real city or building but also plays on the usual Metroid design of filling out a map. In a normal game, we can go everywhere in the environment and see everything. Here, James merely marks locations that he will never access. Barriers he will never cross. The player, stuck with this unfulfilled desire, is only left more stressed and disturbed at their inability to do anything but struggle through the city.

So what kind of story is facilitated by the mechanics of this limited game contract? What is the expression permissible in this limited language as opposed to a game that gives us a broad and diverse ability to express competence and superiority? The game is about James’ nightmarish confrontation with the guilt and suffering that came from the slow death of his wife that ended with his murdering her. It is formed like a nightmare and is filled with logical inconsistencies and surreal characters. Of the few “normal” people James encounters, none of them have rational conversations or coherently discuss the hellish town they all sit in. They ultimately serve as psychological foils for James, with each character representing a part of his psyche that came about during his wife Mary’s slow death. Eddie is the gluttonous and selfish part of James that wanted his wife dead. When they finally engage in a gun duel, James has the personal revelation that he has killed another human being. Angela is the shame-filled and abused part of James that came from his torment as Mary descended into madness. Her final scenes depict fading into a burning Hell, sadly explaining that she deserves what she got. Laura, the small blonde child, represents the anger and childish hope that drives James to live in denial. Indeed, she is the character whom James follows for most of the game and in one ending literally follows her out of Silent Hill. And Maria is James’ wife restored to health. She’s lustful, coy, dependent, and totally unstable. On three separate occasions James is forced to confront her dying because of him, the slow manifestation of his realization of his own awful crime.


The monsters themselves operate in a similar psychological manner. Most of them manifest James’ guilt and hatred during Mary’s final days. Some are literally walking shaped like vaginas, some are deformed nurses that represent the women James encountered whiles sitting in the hospital with his wife for days on end. Others are merely manifestations of anger, wielding giant phallic swords and screaming in rage anytime they see James. The various bosses are all variations of vaginal images or caged bodies, the latter manifesting the sense of imprisonment that James endured while his wife was sick. Finally, there is Pyramid Head. We are introduced to him in a homage to David Lynch’s ‘Blue Velvet’, with James peeking through the screen of a closet in horror. We then bear witness to the awful deformed sexuality of Pyramid Head and his sexual abuse of the zombies around him. Often wielding a giant spear, Pyramid Head is the manifestation of James’ shame at killing Mary. He finally understands, “I was weak. That’s why I needed you…needed someone to punish me for my sins…but that’s all over now…I know the truth.” Indeed, it is Pyramid Head who kills Maria, the incarnation of Mary, over and over. It is Pyramid Head who performs awful acts of lust and violence that James so ardently tries to deny. And throughout the various encounters James has with him, Pyramid is always unkillable. The game design does not allow James to remove his literal shame until he has confronted it within the story.

This is only one interpretation of the game. There are far more literal ways to see the events of Silent Hill 2, and subsequent games seem to indicate something more than a nightmare took place. But within this game alone, where a metal can is filled with light bulbs and buildings shift from being totally intact to crumbling into decay in a single sequence, little is certain. The greatest moment of the game is when James finally discovers that he murdered Mary. He is forced to watch this on a videotape and when it ends he is sitting in front of a white T.V. screen. Yet the scene in the game is similarly all white due to the mist and blooming effect in the room. It eerily echoes the exact same thing the player is doing: staring in disbelief at the same kind of screen as James. That moment where both the player and James are doing the same thing epitomizes what Silent Hill 2 is all about. Using a game contract that the player must accept as necessary for the experience, it puts you in the shoes of James as he lives out a dark nightmare of grief, guilt, and limited abilities as he navigates his shame.

by Rob Horning

13 Oct 2008

When contemplating the massive pile of debt Americans have racked up in recent years, it’s easy to assign blame to individuals, impulsive and weak and blind to the virtues of savings. They are clearly aided in their imprudence by the consumerist culture, which assails them with ads and marketing ploys and seeks to persuade them (or at least reinforce the idea) that they are what they buy and their freedom is realized in the ability to spend—that spending itself is the supreme achievement in society and the act for which we will secure the greatest recognition. It’s tempting to assume people should simply show more impulse control and make better decisions.

But “For a New Thrift,” a think-tank report cited in this BusinessWeek article about the allegedly imminent “New Age of Frugality,” raises the important point that our tendency to save is dependent on the institutions around us. Human nature is inherently foolish, which is why we design social institutions to guide our behavior into constructive channels. This is particularly true about capital accumulation. Once, the legal framework prohibited much predatory lending, but as these laws were relaxed, the usury business thrived and gained for itself a veneer of respectability. The authors of the report argue that state-run lotteries abetted this, and helped vindicate the anti-thrift logic at work in payday-loan centers. As a result, society has split into two groups. The first is those who save responsibly, aided by investment institutions they have ready access to, whether through employer-based retirement savings programs or neighborhood banks or internet usage, and have the social capital to understand how to do it. The others are those who live from paycheck to paycheck, view the lottery as something other than a total sucker bet reserved only for chumps, and typically fall into revolving debt traps through lack of resources, financial savvy, and non-usurious alternatives. From the report:

The lottery class, on the other hand, lacks such ready access to pro-thrift institutional disciplines. Many members of the lottery class are not working in jobs that offer benefits such as 401(k)s, profit sharing, or retirement plans. (In 2004, 70 million of America’s 153 million wage earners worked for employers without a retirement plan.Nor are people in the lower half of the income distribution pursued by investment firms, tax accountants, or major banks. Instead, they are targets of payday lenders, subprime mortgage brokers, credit card issuers, tax refund lenders, and their friendly state lotteries. Their extra dollars do not find a convenient or automatic pathway into a savings account. Instead, they are drained off into high interest payments on predatory loans or used to support a daily lottery habit. Nor do they get tax-avoidance advice or tax advantages in return for their investments. More likely, they give up some of their tax refund dollars to franchise tax preparers in exchange for fast cash. And the leading public anti-thrift, the state lottery, imposes what amounts to an excise tax on them as well. In this way, millions of working Americans who might, under more favorable institutional circumstances, join the class of savers and investors, are now being recruited into a burgeoning population of debtors and bettors.

This seems worth remembering when considering the circumstances that poor people confront and the choices they make that seem so dubious to us, watching from outside, safe and coddled in a host of institutions geared toward preserving our privilege.

by Bill Gibron

13 Oct 2008

The real independent cinema, the one being championed by skylarking individuals with camcorders and a vision, has its own set of unappreciated auteurs. There’s the guiding light Godard Giuseppe Andrews, able to channel both the trailer park and toilet humor with equal imagination. Damon Packard can’t get his oversized originality out of Spielberg’s sphere of influence and the ‘70s ABC Movie of the Week, while Chris Seaver literally creams over the high concept stupidity of the proceeding Greed decade. Add in the Campbell Brothers and their meticulously crafted homages, and you’ve got quite an impressive list. However, one name needs to be added to this cinematic Mt. Rushes-more - 51 year old Warren F. Disbrow. If genius had a conservative sounding name, it would be this knotty New Jersey savant.

For many in DVD nation, Disbrow first came to geek cult fame with his remarkable Troma Double Feature Flesh Eaters from Outer Space/ Invasion for Flesh and Blood. This pair of alien invasion insanity is highly recommended to anyone looking for cinema that doesn’t cater to the normal or the nuanced. Disbrow’s broad, sweeping, erratic epics are just the tonic for a recreational existence lived in direct to video Hell. Later on, he released the demonic delight Scarlet Moon. If Disbrow was comparable to a jerryrigged genre David Lynch, this movie was Dune. The final product stands as a sensational mishmash of comedy and corpses, devil worship and dumbness. Naturally, aficionados wondered what his next cinematic step would be.

Who could have imagined it would be a combination wistful nostalgia trip and nasty slasher epic? With Haunted Hay Ride, Disbrow delivers a throwback treasure, a splatter filled festival of Fall, friendship, and vivisection. While it may not be as accomplished (or unhinged) as his other films, it does do something that few mainstream movies can claim - it shows a real passion and love of the often misbegotten genre. If anything, Disbrow is horror’s gatekeeper, a man who’s made it his career to collect and care for the many monster movie fear factors that have been tossed aside for more ‘real’ scares. Haunted Hay Ride may sound like a rejection of same, that is, until you realize that with his new serial killer character, he’s simply shifting the paradigm from the paranormal to people.

When we first meet Hate, the scarred figure in the permanently affixed fright mask (that’s right - Disbrow’s villain literally screws his metallic skull face right onto his head via a drill) is teaching his father a deadly thing or two about bad parenting. Soon, he is off to Brock Farms to torture and torment the employees and visitors to the famed title tour. Mr. Brock, an older no nonsense kind of man, can’t believe that his beloved workers are disappearing one by one. Naturally, this raises concerns about the police…and publicity. In the meantime, a pair of on again/off again lovers, along with two of their slacker buddies, take in the last hay ride of the season. Little do they know that Hate is waiting to make this the best, and bloodiest, Halloween ever.

At first glance, Haunted Hay Ride looks like an episode of the classic Scooby-Doo taken to serious, psychotic extremes. Unlike the Saturday Morning spook show from the ‘70s, Disbrow keeps the body count high and the gore plentiful. Fans of flowing bodily fluids will truly enjoy the ample arterial spray here. Some of the F/X are obviously fudged, but a few leave a lasting sense of distress. Hate also cuts a rather impressive swath. While he’s not the beefiest bad guy in the slice and dice spectrum, his unrelenting desire to kill puts him a clever “cut” above. Indeed, there hasn’t been a executioner this obsessed with slaughter since Jason faced off against Freddy.

Disbrow also does something that every fledging fright filmmaker needs to take note of. The Brock Farms location - actual working businesses in Freehold and Colt’s Neck, New Jersey -  makes a wonderful backdrop for the action. Local haunted attraction Dracula’s Domain also makes an appearance. But it’s the farm, with its lush grounds, oversized animal statues (including a few animatronic dinosaurs), and acres of wooded trails, that’s a perfect place for a horror movie. There is a real sense of authenticity, a feeling that we’ve actually walked into a family business beleaguered by a rampaging maniac. Thanks to the classic deadpan acting style of Disbrow’s dad, Warren Sr., the Brock enterprise becomes part of our recognizable world. It’s not a lonesome abandoned building or an art director’s fever dream. This helps heighten the suspense.

If Haunted Hay Ride has a flaw, it’s in its victim-ology. Of the foursome we follow throughout the 90 minute running time, none make that much of an impression. Our hero and his gal pal snipe at each other so often that we wish Hate would show up and put them out of each other’s misery, and the dunderheaded duo they chum up to (who go off on a surreal subplot involving an aborted drug deal) are practically opaque as individuals. Luckily, this is counteracted by the employees of Brock Farms. Everyone, from office staff to attraction workers come across as genial, sincere, and very, very real. When they die, we feel a twinge of unfairness. When Hate takes on the leads, we tend to lose interest.

Still, for all its minor shortcoming, Haunted Hay Ride is a great deal of retro-fun. It’s the classic case of a ‘80s Saturday Night, the “take anything” trip to the local Mom and Pop video store that produced as many gems as junk piles. With such a direct-to-video dynamic, Disbrow comes up with a near classic, a film that feels wholly original and yet simultaneously similar to everything that came before. Some will miss his old lunacy, the mixing of ideas and individual beats to create macabre that resembles nothing else in the dread lexicon. But Haunted Hay Ride is pure history, like watching a live action adaptation of Famous Monsters of Filmland. Forgive its little faults and simply enjoy someone who inherently understands the nature of the beast. Warren F. Disbrow deserves a place among other outsider auteurs. Haunted Hay Ride might just guarantee such an appointment.

by Mike Schiller

13 Oct 2008

Sure, I play a lot of games.  I edit the Multimedia section here at PopMatters, I write this blog, I review things, and when I’m not producing PopMatters content, chances are I’m playing (or, heck, thinking about) some sort of game.  I call it a hobby, others call it an obsession, and that’s fine.  Still, there’s a genre of game that I’ve simply never come around to: the sandbox game.  That’s why despite the fact that I think Saints Row 2 is the biggest release of the week, there’s a good chance I’m simply not going to play it—I’m basing my assumption based almost entirely upon the interests of my writers and what seems to be the gaming press at large.

It’s not that Saints Row 2 doesn’t look any fun; on the contrary, it looks like it takes the gloss, the unrepentantly crass sense of humor, and the wreak-as-much-havok-as-possible gameplay stye of the original and doubles all of it.  It’s more a matter of simply not finding the idea of driving around another huge game-generated world shooting up people who are considered your enemy at any given moment, fulfilling whatever missions happen to come up over the course of a tremendous, sprawling storyline all that appealing.  I played GTA IV, and I liked it well enough, but not so much that I was ever motivated to chase achievements or venture into its online component.  Maybe it’s a matter of simply not having large enough blocks of free time available to truly allow these game worlds to seep into me.  Maybe it’s a matter of the gritty “realism” being a little too caustic for my attempts at escapist entertainment.  Whatever it is, I’m sure plenty of you will have fun with Saints Row 2, but without even playing it, I can almost guarantee that it just ain’t for me.

Anyone who’s read this blog has probably already figured out that I’ll be too busy playing Sam & Max on the Wii this week anyway.  That’s right, Season One finally gets the console treatment, and anyone averse to PC games who’s been even the remotest bit curious about the canine detective and his rabbityish sidekick had better buy it.

Frustrated with this football season’s unpredictability?  Did your favorite team just unexpectedly lose to…ARIZONA (this being one of the few times Buffalo can empathize with Dallas)?  Maybe you can take out your frustrations with Blitz: The League II, the sequel to the EXTREME football action game from Midway.  Didn’t you hear me?  It’s EXTREME!  There are a host of Littlest Pet Shop games coming out this week for the DS, at least one of which is almost guaranteed to end up in my house right next to Sam & Max on my shelf, and if confusing game titles is your thing, you’re sure to get a kick out of Rock University Presents: The Naked Brothers Band The Game, a title that surely means something to tweens getting their kicks on Nick, but means absolutely nothing to me.

So there you go!  What releases are you looking for at the store this week?  Are there any genres out there that you have a blind spot to?  Can Spongebob possibly be slapped on any more products?  Leave a message in the comments and let me know, after you check out the Saints Row 2 trailer and the full release list after…the jump.

by Terry Sawyer

13 Oct 2008

This is almost a summer song slush fund.  Despite hailing from Chicago, Ghost House molts more in a single song than most rappers do in a career. Spank Rock, OutKast, and codeine sippers of world all scramble on the angles of this electro-infused monument to being a “bad ass mutha fuckah”. Granted, that’s hardly new territory in the genre ego built, but the Ghost House crew have some humility in their hubris, which makes the self-inflation part of the song’s sky high energy and not just bragadacio baggage. 

The opening keyboard riff, wiry and alien, sounds like a totally warped and reinvented take of the keyboard wash in Justin Timberlake’s “My Love”. I’m no Timberlake fan, but I’ll take every version of that space age stutter that I can get. The verbal flow gets skipped like a stone and shifted into frenzied knots just before drifting into the slow-mo sludge hook. “Samuel L. Jackson” unpretentiously swarms you with switched up rhythms, sexy come on’s and a sound grafted from the best of the cutting edges.

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