Archaic and mythic in a way that even Bloodborne couldn't quite muster to this extent in its boldly horrific perfection. Though while that game is superior, it being far more focused and accessible (and frankly more personally appealing) in its approach to the FromSoft formula, there is something deeply boundless and near avant-garde about how epic this feels; an accumulating influence that trickled into subsequent titles in the developer's work. An abstractly fantastical vertical climb and descent from the heavens to hell and back again through a dilapidated and diseased kingdom. While the layered mythology calls for intense analysis, I firmly believe this is a game that asks to be felt and experienced rather than put under scrutiny. There's no shortage of praise that is thrown at this game but despite my past encounters with the franchise, I was consistently humbled and fixed into place by this in more manners than one. It is hard to believe this exists at all and in such existentially despairing and bittersweet form. An evocative representation of the politics of defiance against past generations, the cruel cycles of depression, and interlacing the meaning of existence with twisting power struggles between greedy Gods and petty mortals.. the living and the dead... the tangible and intangible. Through vast ruins built on top of ruins resting atop inter-dimensional tree trunks, a sort of connected system of 'Garden of Eden' clones where all creation was sprouted, the brooding and broken civilizations of Dark Souls unfold to us. These dynamics are sprawling, intimidating, a little silly, and most probably flimsy in how it weaves all them together but undeniably absorbing. After all, the metaphysical essence of these ruinous spaces are tied intrinsically into the nature of life itself as it pertains to the Chosen Undead. We are one with this world for better and worse and we can choose to wield that power with greed and malice or with fairness and embrace of the darkness within the light. Dark Souls understands however that this is not a binary affect but a deeply moralistic play in our own interpretation of what it is to be chosen.

It's hard for me to articulate why this game is as formidable as it is. To describe the complete effect is to delve into my own personal regrets and the machinations of my traumas and go on for pages about the inherent weaknesses in our primal behavior and instinctive response to harmful external stimuli. This is at once a distortion of patriarchal establishments and institutions and also a wretchedly grim portrayal of psychological trauma. The world here is an artificially manifested microcosm of these ideas falling into gradual deterioration and acts as an encompassing amalgamation of the developer's influences. Through the presence of homage, this comes out as something dazzlingly singular for the medium. A game that progressively self-destructs alongside its broken protagonists, its mechanics deliberately clunky and devoted to inducing sheer panic and anxiety in the player. Less so consistently terrifying (though it definitely can be lol) than it is utterly consuming; its murky visual design, voice acting, and Yamaoka's crepuscular soundtrack infecting every facet of my life and coercing me to reflect on my own personal shortcomings as a person.

In one way or another I spent every waking moment in the week I played this game in 'Silent Hill'. It stands as a cruel embodiment of our fears and the insecurities that come with how we view our self-image but it is also a call for judgment for the sins we commit against each other. Very rarely does a game engage so forcibly on the lonely nature of depression or the assaulting impact that guilt and abuse can have and how these states of mind are seeded by traumatic memories. The result is a punishing and overwhelming experience that left me awake at night thinking over its thematic implications, its stilted gameplay haunting my every move during the day, and in my dreams in awe of its intricacies and how brilliantly it grounds its images and sounds into the player's conscious. Everything here is faithful to the overarching atmosphere and it's something that's made me question the credibility of a "perfect grade" for a game. For an object of beauty so outwardly flawed by design it's as luminescent as something like this can get.

The manipulative nature of the narrative and how it's told is entirely the point. Legacy as a manufactured curse. The player explores a symbolic mausoleum dedicated to the grief felt over generations, weaponized to induce and propagate the cycle of mental illness and the futility of that struggle. It's uncompromisingly pernicious, containing laser focus and wonderfully composed sequences of death played out through the lens of magical realism. I adore it for its relaxing if off-putting features even if it reeks with the stench of utter defeatism.

“We’re beyond sympathy at this point. We’re beyond humanity.”

A maximalist, sprawling epic and a disgustingly under-appreciated entry in this increasingly transforming franchise. Packed storylines weave in and out of various perspectives and connect with glowing ferocity, gameplay and thematic elements from past entries are remixed and redefined for a prime convergence of tradition and innovation, and it subliminally sets the groundwork for what would come with the remakes and Biohazard. On top of just being an absolute joy (for the most part) to work through, with bombastic set pieces and crisp gunplay and ridiculous one liners and silliness to be found in every corner, it’s downright the most wistfully romantic and optimistic the franchise has ever been. There’s little to no regard for nuance and restraint and 6 is all the stronger and more singular for that. While it is packed with fascinating vision and consistent creativity in its visual design and structure, it lacks cohesive direction as it feels like a diverse hodgepodge of all the classic Resident Evil tropes while attempting to lay foundation for something new. It’s the expected progression from what 4 and 5 offered even it lacks the compact polish that those two had. However for something of this massive caliber it should be anticipated that it occasionally drops the ball in pacing or makes some of the most awkward decisions I’ve seen in a AAA title. It’s a pioneering experience that feels otherwise unprecedented and yet released in a time when endless content reigned supreme. There’s a sincerity and enthusiasm here to impress that transcends the faux-profound pretensions of what we see nowadays more often than not. Resident Evil 6 is proud of itself and deeply loving of its history, blemishes and all, and chooses to take no prisoners in the process of whisking the player on their grandest and most reckless expression of humanity’s endurance in the throes of seemingly unbeatable odds.

The seminal 21st century horror masterwork. An utterly consuming post-modern translation of Victorian anxieties; the dangers of industrial progress being married to church doctrine as told with both gothic and celestial aesthetics. However it doesn't stop there. That's nothing to say on how the game further goes on to explore the terrifying Eldritch possibilities of unspeakable extraterrestrial beings beyond comprehension lying dormant within labyrinths and our attempts to understand and exploit these cosmic powers. How the result of humanity's endless search for more knowledge is ultimately rendered as capital once it breaches the surface. Just an unimaginably dense work capable of being terrifying, moving, sexy, and amusing in equal measures and completely goes all in on these facets; never shortchanging. My mind spins on the many narrative tangents this game takes you on, its profound sense of empathy for the cursed victims of exploitation, and beyond that it's also just a really fun and addictive gameplay loop with gorgeously designed areas and haunting bosses/enemies that ring in the head long after the television powers off. So stimulating exploring different weapons and builds and seeing what works and what doesn't. Perhaps some of the areas are more annoying than others (Nightmare Frontier, Upper Cathedral Ward, and Yahar'gul can fuck right off) but for something I deeply loved the first time I'm just shocked how much better this feels now. The m-word gets thrown around a lot nowadays but this work of art truly deserves the plaudit of being labelled a masterpiece. A sweeping culmination of everything FromSoftware has been striving to achieve. Everybody else should just stop trying.

Occasionally stirring but anyone that's played more than a couple of these games will spot the tired tropes seen across the board since Journey. Nothing wrong for those who simply want to bask in the visual and aural splendor of the experience but it's all so minutely orchestrated to be something profound that it ultimately feels phony by the end. It's a solid recommendation for those not entirely versed in the medium but otherwise will be repetitive with its erratic inclusion of last minute enemies and opaque narrative.

Leon’s lucid nightmare; weaving between masculine power fantasies and crippling, anxious impotence. Is he man enough? I imagine this almost condescendingly patriotic narrative playing out entirely within Leon’s mind. Tilting at windmills and all. While all of these games seem to exist within the confines of nonsensical dream logic, I feel as though this entry’s explicit and almost meta riff on Hollywood action movie cliches and post-9/11 sociopolitical imagery (such as the abandoned prison towards the end eerily resembling the blood stained interiors of Ahu Ghraib) is a bit pointed at Leon’s overall characterization within this franchise. It makes for a fascinating read of the game though it’s not the central draw as to why this is an utter masterpiece; only supplemental layers to an already perfect experience. As a whole, Resident Evil IV feels like a magnum opus of sorts and for its time, a groundbreaking stylistic experiment at that. Aggressively indulgent and visceral to the point of exhaustion but it’s probably the best I’ve ever felt drained from a game. I found myself, just as I did the first time I played this a few years ago, holding my breath for much of my time with Resident Evil IV. Throat dry, hands clammy with building sweat as encroaching hordes near and grotesque creatures pierce the crushing silence with screeches and ghostly whispers while the abrupt pounding soundtrack overlays the background with agitating ferocity. It just rips on a purely sensual level. Front to back, it’s amazing for something that took me just over fourteen hours to complete the amount of iconic moments, set pieces, locations and dialogue that fill up that time consecutively. It never stops. The sheer and constant intensity is part of the deal and I was shocked by how many surprises were kept intact despite being a return visit. Playing this is the equivalent of watching peak Hollywood blockbuster filmmaking and yet it surpasses some of the greatest action films with its emphasis on horrific thrills and fist pumping excitement. Resident Evil IV’s massive success comes with its endlessly confident technical mastery and immaculate polish in its craft at every corner and the complete auteurist control over pacing and tone. Very few games have such alarming preciseness over each and every element like this while feeling completely organic and without pretension. It is first and foremost a claustrophobic shooter and takes great lengths in ensuring it satisfies the player, making no excuses for its inherent silliness and illogical storyline. I don’t know why I ever doubted this over time since my last playthrough. This may not be my favorite RE title but it’s the one that defines Mikami’s legacy as a video game auteur.

Vengeance as a preordained impulse. Ellie exists as an emblem of trauma and the player as the casual observer to her building pain and guilt, only extending a hand to act out her violent and reactionary compulsions through button prompts and extensive combat sections. It's horrifying to witness and partake in, but bleakly honest to how rage can drive a person to the limit of their foundational moral standards. The game doesn't force the player through these tribulations as punishment but to underscore the dissonance between how we perceive a character and what they want and how ultimately the player is rendered powerless against the sheer density of said character's desire to fulfill their own needs. Ellie, as her character is expressed by her creators, essentially is an unstoppable force and for better and worse the player is seemingly culpable in the rampage that follows from years of gathered wounds and the traumatic event that sparks the fire. It's difficult to fully accept how this unwavering dynamic shapes this sprawling, brutal, and droning depiction of the cyclical chain of violence and the endless ripples that emanate but the outcome is a streamlined, urgent, and anxious experience that bravely tests patience and comfort levels.

This game is minutely orchestrated to make us feel the weight of our actions however it's not a shallow critique of the player or the characters as many have labeled it but rather acts as a vehicle for perceptive empathy, where through exploration of its dense cityscape and weaving through religious/militant societies, we form our own thematic narratives of what it means to forgive and to understand what drives a person to animalistic madness in a world beyond saving. You get out of this game what you put in. It can be manipulative and cynical, one that tests the line between acceptably nuanced and crudely exploitative. It's in the viciously realized second half where players will either be moved by the innate thesis of what Druckmann and his team have patiently built up or will emotionally tap out and be disgusted by the extent of which they have chosen to take its nihilism. Once the game barrels towards its unyielding finale, I found myself exhausted but utterly immersed. As the executor of Ellie's monstrosity I had become a mere shell of all the atrocity I had committed throughout the game. As the hypnosis of obsession took hold, it rang in my mind the wailing of grief and shrieks of pain I caused and the haunting stillness of Seattle left in disarray.

On a spiritual level I can understand the disdain towards this. In its searing closing set-piece I found it painfully difficult to go through with the final actions and considered stepping away, out of fear that the entire thematic arc I built up in my mind would fall apart. I was at an emotional impasse in which the developer's concluding decisions skirted between satisfying the majority and sacrificing my good will or coming through with the grand ambition from the rest of the game for something special. For me, they made the right choices in the end. This is a massively self indulgent and exposed work of art not unlike how a filmmaker such as Von Trier or Bergman frame their characters as thematic devices; tools to enact the verbosity of human savagery and suffering. On top of that the rampant crunch culture that infects the industry at large reared its ugly head as I marveled at the masterfully designed visual compositions, intense attention to detail of the city itself, and the peerless facial animations that enhance the already terrific cast (Bailey and Johnson give two of the best performances of the year).

This game, to many's disappointments (and my own initially), ruptures the brilliant ambiguity of the first's ending. Why this works is because this is no longer about whether or not a cure is possible or the moral cost of such a cure, but bluntly asks if this is a world deserving of a cure. Despite humanity persisting through resourcefulness and the binds of community it remains eternally tied to the bonds of systemic oppression. The true villain is the idea that we can ever "go back" to the normality that defined past generations' idea of capitalistic order. Chasing the notion of the "American Dream" amidst the rubble of our destruction. Reality is, as showcased by the divide between communities, nothing has changed. Nature has just taken control and has chosen to wipe away the debt. Flawed ideologies are still rampant but are now weaponized by the primal instincts to survive at all costs. Part II acts as a possessed refraction to the previous entry's concept of the perseverance of hope amidst pastoral landscapes. The first game had giraffes and a colorful "road trip" structure to hammer in the expansive nature of Ellie and Joel's journey. In contrast, this is a pitifully inert plateau crowned by the aching consequences that acting from ardent and undying love alone can bring. The rotted, stinking corpse of aforementioned giraffe.

Anyways, most certainly will be game of the year. I both dread and anticipate the inevitable replay on PS5. I doubt anything from 2020 in all mediums of art (film, tv, music, etc) will effect me as deeply and irrevocably as this.

𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘯?

I’ve taken a considerable amount of time between my experiences with each of the main Silent Hill games. I played the first entry around six-seven years ago when I was still in a mutually toxic relationship and found it excellent yet downright baffling. Containing industrial and metallic horrors beyond immediate comprehension and freaky cults and oddly touching ‘chosen family’ dynamics, it pushed the limits for what I believed a PS1 title could achieve through sheer atmosphere and symbolic prowess alone. After nabbing a decently priced copy of the second game a year post my separation from said relationship (and in the wake of the pandemic), I found myself shattered by its oppressive deconstruction of a guilty conscience and the interconnective nature of trauma- both shared and isolated. How pain binds fractured souls together, and winds them up into botched and abstracted spaces of American normality to fend for themselves on a primal level. It took everything the first entry accomplished and confidently treks into bold territories that challenged the player’s allegiance to their supposed protagonist as well as call attention to their adjacent relationships to side characters- who upon the surface don’t directly contribute much to James’ arc but rather gracefully ebb and flow with the intention of supplementing the themes of the story. These first two games were exhausting to push through, almost sadist in quality and punishing in developer motivation with how they marry deeply complicated and expressionistic narratives with deliberately stunted and claustrophobic gameplay. They are, to me, a primordial testament to what the medium can achieve as singular works of art (as well as propelling the interactive possibilities of horror).

Anyways, Backloggd word salad aside, it has been nearly four years and I have finally gotten to the trilogy capper. I have since healed from my own personal traumas from the relationship that haunted my experiences with the previous two games (but still write the inflated wordy nonsense on here for the four people that actually read my reviews). That word, “healed”, succinctly captures what it felt like to play through Silent Hill III. It is an encompassing coming of age narrative about origin and birthright and interrogates the identity that we are born with versus the one we ultimately choose for ourselves. The game also wraps itself back into the thematic backbone of the first game in a clever way, weaving in ideas of evangelic persecution that removes women’s agency from their bodies and intertwining that with emotional struggles of familial belonging. Team Silent fills the game with the adequate amount of angst, grief, and sass that any teenage girl confronts as they are exposed to the chronic realities of impending adulthood. And yes, it is also very scary; utilizing some fairly cursed sound work and utterly hideous (and frequently phallic) creature designs in addition to incorporating another deliciously brooding soundtrack by Akira Yamaoka. Everything in this game carries the instinct to exercise hostility and discomfort towards Heather. Who didn’t feel that way about the world as an insecure adolescent? At the very least the sense that nothing is quite “okay” permeates much of the game’s wildly structured first half leading up to the story’s venture to the titular town in the second. The player navigates through malls, subway stations, construction sites, office buildings, and apartment complexes with the overall goal of getting home and then from there we are thrust into the familiar spaces we’ve walked before as other characters.

Despite its messy development, this is as much an effectively bittersweet culmination of the franchise’s mythology as it a deliriously unique exploration of its own themes. While I wasn’t as taken with the characterizations here as I was with the previous entry (Douglas didn’t do much for me, sorry), that remains somewhat the only sour note to an otherwise masterful game that I imagine will smooth over with time. Just writing this I look back on my nights playing this fondly and already with slight tinges of nostalgia. Every dream-like moment is so committed to utmost immersion for the player, inducing unease within the most mundane of everyday locations- at least before they are transformed into otherworldly distortions of malice incarnate. This dynamic allows for pulpy levity that toggles self-reflexive tone shifting; registering discordant humor, occasional dramatic poignancy, but mostly unhinged beats of urban surrealism. The game’s iconic visual and thematic aesthetic teamed with Heather’s infectious presence providing a much-needed cushion for the player to fall back on for reprieve against the most ungodly of manifestations, this is truly as well-rounded as horror games can be. Now if someone out there wants to lend me Silent Hill IV..

Distracting yourself from the unease of "normal" life and its creeping potential to break down your barriers of comfort. Easygoing without being overtly cutesy to the point of condescension and defined by subdued visual splendor and a gorgeously dreamy soundtrack, A Short Hike immediately felt like one of my favorite open worlds and front to back remained a care-free joy to play through the two hours it took. Total freedom without feeling overwhelming and efficient design that caters to the depressed and impatient explorer inside us. Reader, I was moved.

Timing is everything. Death here is filtered through as machinery; a natural cog to industrial malevolence. The absence of free will in a dilapidated landscape drives Inside's core mechanics. Like Journey, this game functions best as an immersive and mostly risk-free experience but this one is all the better for that simplicity. Its puzzles are straightforward but the biggest draw for me is just how focused this is on delivering an uncompromisingly stark vision, employing brilliantly ghastly sound work and visceral imagery. I was shocked by how many of these puzzles I instinctively recalled from my last playthrough years ago and that's a credit to just how well the game drives itself into your mind. There's much here that hits you in the gut, and there's no particular logistical reason as to why. It just does. Bodies and spaces, I guess. Yada yada yada.

next up on this boring wednesday, is a song to get your blood pumping

Barely misses the mark on true five star status- at least for now- if only for how the Leon run slightly drags towards the end (climaxing with the final Mr. X battle which might be the game's only real misstep). By this point it especially hurts after having experienced the superior Claire run and believing the game to be utterly perfect. Beyond that though, this is a genuine AAA horror masterpiece in every way. Skating on narrative (and almost meta) surrealism and packed to the brim with iconic moments of fright and gruesome delight, Resident Evil II's greatest strength is its sheer efficiency in crafting pulpy thrills and placing the naive player in constant states of panicked laughter and sweat-filled anxiety. Simply put, it is just so scary and yet so fun and swings violently between those two modes with immense confidence in itself. In ways this might be the most successful of the franchise on how it balances that dynamic even if it stumbles at times in a way REmake and IV don't. Even still, the extended Sherry and Ada segments, exploring the nonsensical police station and its labyrinths beneath, the bastardized nuclear family illustrated by the Birkins, the abominations lurking in the sewer, the corny expletives shouted by the protagonists when confronting the ass end of biological existence.. and of course the marvel that is Mr. X- a creation so ingeniously straightforward as to suggest inertia but is rather a stroke of mastery by the developers in constantly turning the tables against the player. These and more are all elements that display an insane level of prowess so rarely found in horror games. It is one thing for something to feel bluntly oppressive in its atmosphere (the easy path I'd say) but it's another challenge entirely to structure your overall design in empowering the player yet engulfing them in sterilized environments that instigate vulnerability at every turn. Down that hallway, turn a corner, up a flight of stairs, something's following from behind (or not?), hear a sound from the other side of the room.. perhaps through the walls. It is three dimensional terror that transcends logic and in effect reality itself. The game is its own consuming nightmare and Claire and Leon are themselves manipulated pawns in a manufactured world of ever shifting spaces. I have faith in whatever they're cooking in the next remake.

A few weeks removed and this lingers in my head as something genuinely exhilarating. An earnest and true AAA horror blockbuster if I ever played one. As a morbid collection of grotesqueries this succeeds at patiently doling out its dense if simply designed environments for the player to quickly sift through on top of an effectively satisfying central hub. The narrative moves at a lightning pace, never letting up and it's so pleasing to see the varied facets of horror (European gothic, Italian schlock, industrial body horror, the decay of civilized towns and swamps, etc) explored and dissected. This is as much a clever deconstruction of its respective genre as it is a new "Resident Evil" title and that earns it a lot of respect from me for pulling off a neat balance of the two while remaining wholly accessible. Nothing feels short changed and every location and story beat is gorgeously and meticulously designed to deliver maximum atmosphere. While I feel VII might be the more immersive, absorbing entry this is a more than worthy successor if only for how it continuously expands its mythology and Ethan as a character. The inclusion of the typical RE tropes, while expected, were homely and properly integrated in a fashion that only perpetuates this franchise's knack for giving complete wack finales and wraparounds. I was giddy as hell all throughout this. What it means in its totality is yet to be determined but I adored how well Capcom nailed so much of it.

Frequently enthralling in theory, occasionally stumbling in practice, yet incredibly beguiling in retrospect. Like Alan Wake, this is a game that toys with spooky contradictions and the grueling concept of ‘process’. Yet unlike that game (besides this being actually good), this is less a twisting narrative about the complicated and often defeating journey of creating art and deconstructing success than one about the sheer mundane becoming extraordinary and introducing order from such a chaotic dynamic. Elements and objects of everyday existence are touched with the supernatural and the obvious American response to this is to transform these newfound and wondrous discoveries into bureaucratic nonsense; where even the forces of capitalist labor inevitably puncture. Remedy stretches these ideas to its absolute limit, nothing feeling shortchanged through the extensive notes and tapes littered around the map. While I think the game is afraid to allow the player to deduce these simplistic connections (Jesse being a talkative cipher yet largely devoid of personality) it’s pretty wild that a AAA title was allowed to be this devoted to such an overtly antagonistic and distinct aesthetic. The brutalist design here is utterly astonishing in how it invites the player to partake in the haywire destruction of office and industrial spaces; witnessing antiquated practices and oppressive structures devolve into otherworldly abstraction. Perhaps that’s the greatest credit I could owe to Remedy despite the overwritten (yet unsentimental) nature of their creation. Anyways the DLC expansions here are rather bloated and lack the grace and active sense of visual innovation that the base game carried, and the overall experience falls into the familiar trapping of chaining endless enemy encounters as its climax in lieu of something as bold as the first two acts. Ultimately, it’s a game I haven’t stopped thinking about while and since playing. The playful and surreal world Remedy has intricately crafted here shows vast promise and the slick gameplay loop is as addictive and deeply satisfying as it is explosively chic.

One of the most astonishingly realized and atmospheric titles; washed in an over saturated and ethereal hue of blinding light and a sparing soundtrack that is no less heavenly and unsettling in equal measure. The game's antiquated and old fashioned structure, its occasional repetition in enemy encounters and frustratingly shoddy platforming, left me a bit cold for slim stretches at a time but there's no denying just how effective and integral and timeless the player's relationship with Yorda is. Despite it all, that finale leaves me speechless and moved. Ico realizes the universal vision of emancipation from powers beyond your understanding and control. The developers craft this twisting labyrinth of a castle to navigate this newfound maturity and responsibility that befalls Ico. There are few games that openly test the patience of its player by simply testing their capacity to be an empathetic human being; guiding someone helpless to shared freedom through an uncommon unity. Exquisite yet maddening in its approach, but are those not the qualities that encompass the trenches of childhood? Ico is modest fantasy as dreamlike nostalgia.