akira yamaoka is without a doubt my favorite game composer. how he can switch from nine inch nails esc industrial pounding to angelo badalamenti style guitar riffing is nothing short of a stroke of genius. his influences are fairly obvious to someone like me yet he still manages to culminate them with his own style in such a palpable way. there’s no need for me to discuss this series’ sound design at this point in time — though how yamaoka was given full control as the sole sound designer still impresses me to this day. there’s not a single sound or noise that is misplaced or sways from its intentions. this alongside the visuals are what make silent hill 2 one of my favorite atmospheres in any game. corroded corridors soaked in dry blood, fencing coated in thick rust, sewers drenched and mossed… it’s all the small consolidating details that capture the realistic horror of silent hill. when james sticks his hand down a feces and rust infested toilet accompanied by bone-chilling sloshing sounds, there’s nothing more for me to do than contort my face at the sight attempting to imagine the grotty aroma that must’ve emitted. the density of the worn-out settings, crunchy sounds, constricting camera angles, and of course depictions of illness throughout, are what make the core of silent hill 2 so tangible to me, and i’m sure others could relate. you’ve probably heard this all before told in an exceedingly poetic manner than anything i could ever write up.

i’ve kind of lost the motivation to write anything long-form (or really any length) on this site but i do want to reflect on this one a little bit, and i hope you’ll excuse me if i sound like i’m superficially regurgitating what others have already shared.
anyway fatamoru is undeniably human at the end of the day; about how people aren’t born their current selves (whether they be “good” or “bad” in the eyes of some) and that there are always underlying circumstances that turned them into who they are today. the truth is a “weapon” — but not weapon-ized against others as it can so conspicuously be within popular works in this genre — no, the truth is not just something for an opposing force to use against those who experienced it, rather more deeply as an empathetic connection between people that is only a weapon if those who experienced it find resolve in burying it apprehensively. accepting reality and facing it head-on can be just as painful as the reality itself. no matter how dark it gets… there is always some light at the end of the tunnel. fatamoru is shockingly depressing and at times just absolutely fucking soul-crushing. at the same time, through all of the tragedy that it establishes, it still ignites some hopeful inspiration. everything does maintain a believable — and oftentimes relatable — level of realism as well that is probably the core of what makes the narrative hurt as much as it does. everything also has purpose: plenty of red herrings or details that spring up in the first half seem impossibly linked to the story but become completely logical and crucial inclusions by the end. i’m at a loss of what else i could mention so i guess i can briefly praise the characters. i don’t think there was a single one i didn’t find some form of relatability in or flat out didn’t like. they’re all distinctly special in their own ways. each with personal strategies to try and stay grounded among a world so cruel in their eyes. the value of perspective is a central theme throughout. this story fucked me up in more ways than one and i don’t think this will be an experience i’ll easily forget. i do still want to think about it more. this came to me at the right time in my life similarly to something like twewy when i played that a few years ago. shoutouts to the soundtrack for introducing me to “neoclassical darkwave.”