Signalis was less than I needed it to be. That's not to say that it isn't a good game. Quite the opposite, it's a very well crafted game. The animation, puzzles, and game play loop are all solid, and it has some of the best ideas presented in a survival horror game in some time. However, despite these ideas, Signalis also comes across as derivative under a guise of homage, choosing to disregard an identity to call its own.

Signals has trouble deciding how to homogenize Resident Evil and Silent Hill, its largest influencers. Both games approach their horror very differently. Resident Evil’s action heavy thrills contrast with Silent Hill’s contemplative tension. Like Resident Evil, Signalis gives you a large arsenal of weapons and gadgets, but it still wants the quiet existential horror of Silent Hill. It just doesn't always mix. A grenade launcher is fun when dealing with a pulsating, claw adorned abomination, but Signalis chooses to be minimal with its enemy variety, much like Silent Hill. There isn't much satisfaction from blowing away the same shambling robot-zombie that have been prevalent throughout the game, but perhaps the game doesnt want that satisfaction, but then why bother with a grenade launcher? James Sunderland didn’t need one. Bosses and set pieces are minimal, giving you very little incentive to use the SMG with the exception of rotating guns around to save resources. Using the high powered weapons takes away from the contemplative nature the game wants to give you, but also doesn't give you the action satisfaction as a trade off. It comes up short both ways.

The game can also be unintentionally loud. Not in its sound design, but in its exposition and world building. Signalis is anxious to explain what we need to know less of, but neglects what we should know more of. The derelict mining facility is chalk full of documents about the planetary system, the evil empires and governments that command it, and will go into deep detail about the wide variety of robotic (Replika) models that populate it. Pages and pages of what certain robots like and dislike felt unnecessary and often took me out of the moment. What does a Scorch model do? The game says, but I don’t recall, and you only meet one, in one room, with minimal dialogue to speak of. In general, when it comes to horror, I feel like world building is not nearly as important as what is happening in the moment. Silent Hill 2 was about James and his personal hell. Why was Silent Hill foggy and full of monsters? Strictly speaking in terms of Silent HIll 2 (ignoring the cult explanations of 1 and 3, which Silent HIll 2 almost ignores completely), Silent Hill is the horror James brings on himself. We aren't told this either; it comes to us through context. We aren't told about what U.S. state Silent Hill is in, or of any pending murder charges James is facing, or what James likes to do on his day off. It does not matter. And in that way, Silent Hill 2 is vague, but in a way that maintains a certain logic though context. Signalis’ narrative is also vague and fragmented, but it does not present it nearly as effectively.

I am not averse to ambiguity. Vague writing has become quite trendy, and for games that do it well, an ambiguous story evokes strong emotion and offers opportunities to fill in the blanks through context. However, this tool can also be used to mask ineffective writing. In part, I feel the ambiguity was meant to invoke a sense of existential dread, but when I know more about the evil galactic empire than I do about our main character, I feel the writing is an issue. That is a shame too, because Signalis has a lot of interesting things going on. I know that Elster is trying to find her human lover in order to fulfill a promise amidst some lovecraftian horror’s summer vacation plans. It is a good and simple motivator. Why does the photo and person she searches for change midway through? Why are there multiple Elsters dead in the red desert? What even does the antagonist Alder want? I don’t know, nor do I know why it matters. Perhaps there are clues, but the core story gets so lost in the weeds. Of all the questions I have about the game, the biggest one is this: Why does Signalis see fit to blatantly copy other media?

When does homage end and plagiarism begin? Signalis doesn't try to hide where it draws inspiration from. In fact, it proudly flaunts its stolen goods. Some “borrows” are less egregious than others. Burning corpses to prevent them from coming back, red flooding the screen at a save point, a protagonist with a photograph of a missing lover they are searching for - there are a ton of ideas lifted from survival horror masterpieces. That said, no one game owns these ideas, but when you see them, you are instantly taken out of Signalis and instead become DiCaprio pointing at something you recognize on the television. Some “borrows” are far more blatant and questionable though. Midway through the game,the tight, gray, militaristic hallways are traded for rusted, burnt metal husk hallways with no map and questionable geometry. The place is “Nowhere,” and is named and looks exactly like the final area of Silent Hill. Later, Elster tears off her arms trying to open a hatch in a scene literally traced from Ghost in the Shell. Another scene rips off Evangelion at one point. Why? There didn't seem to be any meta commentary or theme to justify their existence. Surely the devs would know that they would be recognized. It almost feels like all these things were haphazardly thrown in because the creator thought they were cool. This is where Signalis’ identity dissipates. It is unfortunate, because when Signalis does something right, it really does it right.

Atmosphere is Signalis’ greatest strength. From the beginning, the game envelopes you in a foreboding dread. The empty halls lay dead except for the wall mounted cameras that turn to follow you throughout the facility. Something is watching you, but you don't know by who or where. The East German-esque propaganda posters and dimly lit, oppressive gray Soviet Bloc era architecture impress upon you the feeling that even on a normal day, this is not somewhere you would want to be. Outside an endless white of a furious snowstorm traps you in a place that doesn't want you there, and it all comes together when you find the radio.

The radio is the single best mechanic I have experienced in a game for some time. The number of ways they incorporate it sees creativity firing on all cylinders. It is also what makes the puzzles in Signals so outstanding, some of the best I have played in a survival horror game. While the radio’s functionality is its standout feature, the presentation really grabbed me. Tuning into the broadcast frequency of a numbers station or a lo-fi song that barely registers amidst the static made me feel alone and yet not in all the right ways. Somewhere, something transmitted across these frequencies for a purpose. Perhaps they are recent or maybe ancient, but either way they are looped and broadcast across this seemingly dead world. For someone alive, dead, and for what purpose we don’t know, and maybe we don't want to know. It is a flavor of Lovecraftian horror that I wanted more of.

At the end of the day, Signalis is a good game buried under the weight of its ancestors' ideas. It wants so badly to stand side by side with its inspirations that it comes across as almost mocking, giving us the sights and sounds of several classics, but disregarding their original meaning in their own media. Signalis is an “almost there” type of game, where somewhere down the line, someone will take what Signalis wanted to do and perfect it. I will be waiting with great anticipation.

We love rebels. While rebellion is a very, very common story theme, it has the benefit of constant contemporary relevance. People have always felt powerless under the thumbs of the rich, powerful, and corrupt, so it is inspiring to see us, the small and weak, overcome the large and tyrannical, even if it is fictional. Persona 5 falls right in line with the likes of Star Wars, Dune, or Hunger Games in its call to resistance. But where Star Wars and its contemporaries present simple and clear villains to beat, Persona 5 takes aim at something a bit closer to home, but far less tangible.

Persona 5 has the advantage of relatability. It doesn’t find itself in a galaxy far away or a grim dystopian future. Persona 5 is tomorrow. Sure, the game has nice fantasy gloss with a hip, acid-jazz soundtrack, but the plucky Phantom Thieves fight abusive teachers and corporate CEOs, and to a lesser extent, the police, and media. Elements that rear their ugly heads daily, if not hourly on our news feeds. Elements that we just don’t seem to have practical answers for. As you progress through the game, it becomes apparent that some greater force has paved the way for such villains to exist. We are told that the protagonist must avoid the coming ruin, but never where it comes from nor who might herald it. As you dive deeper into the collective conscious dungeon of Mementos, it gradually funnels you down to a singular point. It is leading you to the answer. The big bad. The villain responsible for all our social woes. Surely, some evil god of flesh or machine, right? It then comes as some surprise when Persona 5 reveals the true villain of the game:

Ourselves

Or to be more specific, our apathy, our sloth. We are responsible for the existence of evil, in the game and out. We permit teachers to abuse their students, CEOs to manipulate the markets and steal wages, and politicians to drown our society in corruption and war. We permit school shootings, religious beheadings, and hate crimes because we cannot be bothered to stray from our daily routines or risk the very minimal amounts of comfort that have been afforded to us. It is so easy to pin our woes on a scape goat- some person or group. It would have been simple for Persona 5 to establish a bad guy to beat to ensure a happy ending. And while Persona 5’s final boss fight is against a god, it is a god that we made, and the happily ever after isn't what we receive. Beating it doesn't solve the core problems. In fact, the world returns to normal. It isn't changed. Persona 5 merely avoided the ruin for now, giving everyone a second chance should they wish to act this time. It is a surprising message for a video game and a concept that isn’t talked about enough in my opinion. The real rebellion isn’t against an empire, but against our indifference.

This concept strengthens Persona 5's core game design as well. Each character, or persona-user, embraces a Jungian archetype associated with rebellion. The game calls them tricksters – characters of fiction and history whose role is to jolt society from apathy into action. These tricksters must endure the label of villain, placed upon them by a world that doesn’t like to rock the boat. But these entities can be vital to our evolving culture. Satan is the greatest evil, yet it was by his actions that humanity was “cast out” from a life of mindless, purposeless existence to one of ingenuity and prosperity. Prometheus was punished by Zeus for bringing fire to mankind. Robin Hood and Goemon both inspire us to rise against our rich and powerful oppressors, yet they are labeled as violent outlaws. Therefore, the mission of the Phantom Thieves isn’t to merely steal hearts from “criminals”, but to invoke a social change through their morally ambiguous actions. Tricksters kick our chairs out from underneath us because we can’t be bothered to stand ourselves. But even then, we still must stand, and not lie face down on the floor.

It feels rare for a game to incorporate its theme into all aspects of its design. Often, games are content with merely telling you what they are about - separating the story from their gameplay. Persona 5 interweaves both. Through character personas, Jungian archetypes, historical precedence, and the role you inhabit as a morally ambiguous, mythical trickster, the game really hammers its concepts home. It all adds real depth to a story pleading us to act.

During their financial crisis years, SNK thought it would be a good idea to take what made King of Fighters unique and toss it away to follow 3D trends. It plays like a tired Tekken clone, lacking Tekken's nuance and the 3 vs 3 that had come to define KoF. It also features the designs of the infamous Falcoon, whose art style sways between mediocre and absurdly bad. Granted SNK labeled the game a spin off, but development dollars were still wasted in an era when SNK needed all the help they could get.