So I played Drakengard 3 for about 7 hours when I was sick and in bed... and it is chaotic in the best sense of the word. I liked the pre-rendered backgrounds and wish there were more of them. I also liked the facial animations, and I think the game would be better if it had more close-ups of the characters.
In the end, I got tired, but I thought a lot while playing. From the moment I started the game, I liked the violence that the main protagonist inflicts on his enemies. It's chaotic violence, reflected on screen by the same kind of chaotic violence that's input on the controller: left trigger, square x4, triangle x2, jump, left trigger, right trigger, dpad up, change weapon, jump, triangle, square x5-7, triangle, left trigger, right trigger... and that's how a fight usually goes. It's a mashup of musou and hack'n'slash. It's so convoluted, and even at low framerates it's fun and it works, because the combos are simple but effective, and sometimes the enviroments adds to them.
But since the game's mythos is based on songs... I kept thinking about songs and where the ending could be heading to. So somehow I started to wander into what my intentions would be in writing or making a work of art. This problem has a name and it's motivation: "Why am I writing for? Is it because I want to open everyone's eyes by force or surprise?" No, I don't have any desire to be a self-imposer. I don't want others to hear a song that contains what I desire or what I've seen in the past - a song like that would make others want something, anything, and that's not my intention. In the end, I resolved that the kind of art I would like to make is the one where I try to prevent an image, to make a gaze avert or look for an image or vice versa, to actually take something into the future, or to make others dream or wake up... That's not always clear.

Segmentarity --gameplay-- opens spaces when the corridors don't let you see from behind.
In RE4's spiral you can't aim or move, everything passes in front of you with nothing on the sides (because it never focuses). Only what travels with you you can touch. Likewise, you can throw bullets forward without ever knowing where you hit, and to the margins you can locate, but they won't throw anything at you, because it's impossible.
Like the shoulder sight, you can only sense the laser sight by its jingling.
In a labyrinth, no one dies without cause.
Shadows deployed in the blind spots.

I hate to overlook things, and surprisingly this game teaches you to see from the eyes of what is unresolved or oversighted.
At the same time, it makes you feel the relief of seeing someone stepping away. Or the reassurance of seeing someone no longer needing you.
All of that... through math!
But yeah, I don't like playing a lot in such a short period of time, lol.
*I'm really fond of puzzle #72:
https://youtu.be/Zk7qlMJrbRo

Back in my review of Skyrim, I said that Death Stranding poses its protagonist as a "walking bomb", thus constituting a likely risk to others.
What I found relevant about that point recently, is the fact that he doesn't intimidate others because of an immediate harm he might cause --it's not as if he were poisonous or anything like that--. Folks keep their distance from him because of the accidents he could occasion.
And I thought: aren't we all literally like that? I mean, everytime we find ourselves liking something new, we risk losing other affinities, and as a result we do have the propensity to nullify relationships thereby, even if we don't want to.
And of course, every time Sam dies, a whole crater forms where he fell. When we change, that's basically what happens. But now we must remember: when a bond is broken, and the ground sinks, that's the moment when it is possible for us to go through the mountains.

Keeping in mind that God is nourished by hatred and that he will be born of it, Silent Hill 3 assures you, or rather: somehow prevents you from delving into that sentiment towards the otherworld and its architecture.
And so Silent Hill 3's efforts came into focus: its aim is to annihilate the possibility for us, the players, to give birth to a God. Such world is truly possible.
And it seems, and feels, that all it takes to pull that off is a constant remembrance and a hyperbolic credulity (I'm sure there are better words to fully comprehend Heather, but there's no doubt about her importance after the player feels her heart through the controller).
And from all that comes an obvious implication: aborting doesn't spring from hate.

On another note: proceeding to try every door at the mall after escaping the otherworld, expecting all of the doors to be closed, but fearing that one of them might open to take you back to the nightmare... was one of the most significant moments of Silent Hill 3. After this point, instead of experiencing relief, the "spectacle" of a door actually opening would morph into a disheartening feel. (While at the same time feeling good after leaving a certain sound behind a door).
Moreover, the game consciously utilizes doors to convey pure rejection. Take for example one of my favorite sequences: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C7zSmMQqtCM (specially around 5:30 to 5:40 or so).

But yeah, having also played Illbleed this year, I must confess that Silent Hill 3 was lackluster after the hospital... and by the time I reached the church I was already tired, except for a couple of moments. I would have removed the use of the map for most of the game among other things

Other thoughts in spanish:
Me percato de lo poco que conozco lo familiar: una misma casa, en otros tiempos. ¿Qué es el otherworld?
La materialización de las causas del espacio.
Las sombras del espacio desplazándose al ángulo superior izquierdo del ojo tras apagar las luces.

You've probably seen one of these timelapses in which you can appreciate the shadow of a vertical object moving around it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LgZbhogv9Q8
You may think I'm about to say that Nightshade makes you feel like the shadow of your enemies, but it's more profound: while running around (specially on walls), yes, you become a shadow like in the video, sometimes resembling more like a blade. But this game contemplates that, for attacking, it's not enough to be a shadow: you have to be the sun that is creating said shadow --since the enemy, in order to cast a shadow, has to have the sun BEHIND or above him. Thus is how you transition from ground to air, around the opponent to eliminate him.
That's what it feels like, that's what the moveset incentivizes, and you'll most probably feel it while fighting flying enemies. The repetition of ◯◯✖◼◯✖◼◯✖◼ (starting with a double jump, then dashing, then attacking, then jumping and dashing and attacking again to reach the next enemy) ad infinitum is a tricky movement because visually miscalculating the distances between you and your enemies might bluff you into skipping a button on purpose, which will result in simply not being able to reach and strike the next dude and falling. But get it right, and you can just proceed to run on the nearest wall, speeding things up. And defeating all enemies in a single chain as quicky as possibly, specially in mid-air, will always be rewarding with Hibana's triumphant poses.

Since you can't feel the heat, radiation or poisonous effects of biomes, you have to feel their oppressive nature from.... timing?
Therefore, a flow is created in your body.
And yet... it's too calculated, and that leads to tedium.
But when it's at its best, it'll make you jump a couple of times every time you enter a new "room", as if you were Mario jumping on lava, until you start to recognise what's going on and start intuiting what to do with the enemies or surroundings.
Endearing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g2P4p0VU76w