“There is no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it.”
– Alfred Hitchcock
Esteemed filmmaker Alfred Hitchcock knew better than most the importance of building to climax: that the true fear in an event rested in the anticipation of it.
There’s something to be said for a slowly unfolding disaster.
Perhaps inspired by Hitchcock himself, this principle has been used to great effect within the video game industry as well.
Even going back to the old Atari 2600 days, one doesn’t have to squint to see the concept at play in a game like “Haunted House,” which battled through its technical limitations to provide jump scares that generate without any sort of rhyme or predictability, leaving the gamer always guessing about what might await them around every corner.
Importantly, these jump scares are not relentless in their approach. Instead, they come at odd moments, spaced from one another, creating a tension in the process.
Action platformers like “Metroid” built off of the idea and leaned into a sense of isolation in particular, milking the anticipation – primarily through scoring and level/enemy design – so as to make the gamer wait for the action to be sprung upon them, often by a creepy-looking critter.
The game was more “Alien” than “Vertigo.”
The important bit was to make the gamer wait, but the developers also emphasized this feeling of being alone, and in the case of the original Metroid in particular, of feeling lost.
Much of Samus Aron’s story since has been built upon this tenet.
Attempts at the “survival horror” genre in the early 90s (before it was even called that) included titles like “Alone in the Dark” and “The 7th Guest,” games that were preoccupied with expanding upon the idea of an isolated traveller being trapped in a specific, well-realized place.
In each case, it was a dangerous, haunted house. And the developers added set pieces and puzzles to the equation within a more graphical presentation. The gamer felt directly challenged by these games – as if the contest was personal. The comparatively fast-moving action of Metroid was discarded in favor of slower, more carefully considered dangers – a noteworthy shift itself – but the main outcome was this sense of being personally involved in the conflict.
You were being invited to observe the situation AND to intervene. Like a security guard watching security footage and reacting to it, these games didn’t so much put you in the protagonist’s shoes as challenge you to help them.
Have you ever watched a horror movie and felt an overwhelming urge to yell at the characters to act a particular way? Perhaps you’ve actually yelled at the screen (it’s cathartic and I recommend it).
“Don’t go into the woods!”
“Arm yourself, you fools!”
“Hire an acting coach, for the love of all that’s holy!”
The first brave steps into the survival horror genre tapped into this exact desire of barking commands at people, but instead of being a passive passenger, they allowed you to directly influence the survivability of your usual collection of morons and actually stack the odds in the protagonists’ favor.
All of which leads us to “Resident Evil,” which today has established itself as inarguably one of gaming’s most popular and important series.
And the franchise’s success can be traced to this impulse of wanting to save people in danger. Resident Evil, perhaps better than any other gaming property, allows you to step in and do that.
(And you can still yell at them if you want to.)
Resident Evil 2 at a glance:
Genre: Survival horror
Released: 1998
Platform: PlayStation
Game Informer’s 34th best game of all time
Back in the mid 1990s, a team at Capcom was inspired to create “Resident Evil” by a previous Capcom title, “Sweet Home,” which itself stood out as a precursor to the survival horror genre with its setting (a haunted house) and gameplay (gated-exploration level design), albeit in an overhead presentation calling to mind genre originator Haunted House.
Interestingly, the first Resident Evil game took more direct inspiration from the outside title Alone in the Dark – in particular its fixed camera, a third-person perspective that eventually became a hallmark of the series (before it was eventually discarded).
Resident Evil also featured tank controls, which limited the characters’ mobility and dexterity, amping up the tension, another trait of the series (that was also eventually discarded).
But beyond establishing those two important details and a proper commitment to telling a zombie story, the first game was a bit rough around the edges.
It was hindered by some super ugly squarish polygons, a visually boring environment to traverse, a barebones story that didn’t give the gamer much to hang onto, and uneven balancing between its two playable characters. (That latter point could theoretically help with replay value if you started with the “easy” character … but would similarly hurt replay value if you started with the “hard” one.)
Not that any of that scared off the masses (see what I did there?). The original Resident Evil sold over 4 million copies after its debut on the PlayStation in 1996, making it a smash hit.
That kind of success made a sequel inevitable but also unusually important, as Capcom had seen the popularity of its Street Fighter II cashcow begin to wane significantly.
Capcom really needed “Resident Evil 2” to hit, so they went all out with the furnishings.
They didn’t get off to the smoothest start.
Famously, an early build of the game, meant to build hype and shown off at a Japanese manga festival in 1996, was scrapped shortly after making that showy debut, leaving the game in need of a new direction.
Many of the core concepts were massively reworked, though in my estimation it was two of those choices in particular that ultimately sealed this game’s fate as becoming a classic within the medium.
- The story was reshaped into a more cohesive part of what had been established in the previous game, with the two characters featured having more direct ties to the first game. In Leon’s case, he was a continuation of the institution that was the Racoon City Police Department, which continued to play a major part of the plot. Claire was totally reinvisioned as the sister of previous character Chris Redfield, adding a layer of familial gravity to the events of both games.
- The setting of the police station, so vital to the atmosphere of the game, was redesigned from a more modern looking office setting to a curiously museum-like locale, complete with hanging portraits, stuffed animal exhibits, a two-story library, sculptures, and other bizarrely artistic touches throughout the entire space. The end result is a puzzling environment, seemingly prioritizing art over function … and lending beautifully to both a chillingly cold atmosphere and a confusing space to traverse.
The story layers on the rescue of a minor, adding more emotional heft, a tragic end for the ambitious antagonists, and even a dash of mystery with a couple of characters who never fully reveal who they really are.
It’s not the absolute best story around, but it is quality stuff, with a fair amount of development for our key players. And the experience is elevated by the story being divided into two perspectives, that of your main characters Claire and Leon.
The duo meet in the prologue, and as the events of the game are just beginning to unfold, they are separated as the action truly gets going. You are then charged with completing the story for each. You choose in advance who you begin with, but eventually, once you’ve completed that storyline, you are presented the opportunity to play as the other to gain their version of events.
Changes manifest within the map and the items available for collection, but also within the story (suggesting a little bit of an “unreliable narrator” situation going on).
Ultimately, this extends the life of the game quite a bit – you have four distinct playthroughs to get through if you choose. It’s a really clever game design choice we haven’t seen copied nearly as much as you might expect.
Maybe it’s really tough to pull off?
Regardless, the story, and this choice to divide it up in an interesting way, really works well.
The setting does too.
Tastes of course differ, and fair play and all that, you know? But this setting grabbed me in a way the more typical-looking mansion from the first game didn’t. Credit in part goes to the richly detailed prerendered backgrounds, which of course look somewhat limited seen through a modern lens, but they were nonetheless colorful, distinctive, and intriguing just the same.
The depth of the design also played out in the aforementioned gated exploration, which encouraged the gamer to explore at their own pace and in their own way, but with locked doors and hidden passageways and their accompanying keys to access acting as guideposts to successful navigation.
The maze-like building truly was a maze, sometimes giving its rats rewards … but more often throwing an array of undead obstacles at you instead.
The music reacts to these set pieces, providing the appropriate spikes and falls in intensity as it perpetually lends to the creepiness.
As a jump scare unfolds with a horrifying critter bursting through the ceiling/wall/floor/window, it’s accompanied with the appropriate sudden staccato.
Likewise, a long view of a beast several meters away can invoke music of a building dread — you aren’t being surprised, but you are assessing how best to deal with a thing you truly don’t want to deal with.
This environment in total is at times beautiful, at times menacing, and pretty much always baffling.
I was struck, upon first play in 1998, at just how lost one could get.
It was no different coming back to the game some 28 years later. I didn’t know where to go. I didn’t know where things were.
And it was MARVELOUS. Getting lost was all part of the experience.
Granted, I don’t think this would work out so well if you play it the recommended four times and then revisit for annual playthroughs … the whole thing might lose its magic rather quickly.
But I can confirm that if you space your plays out by nearly three decades, you’ll get fantastically lost.
This most recent playthrough also confirmed a suspicion I had about the game originally.
Namely, that its characteristics one might try to paint as being weaknesses are actually strengths.
We already mentioned the fixed camera and tank controls – two design choices that would fall out of favor in the coming years – but I think they both work to the benefit of Resident Evil 2.
As alluded to above, the fixed camera gives off this detached, third-party observer vibe, akin to looking at things through a security camera. Indeed, the game refers to this fact at multiple points in the story by giving the characters the opportunity to watch security monitors themselves.
This really is a perfect choice for a horror game.
The best horror movies don’t put you in the action. They detach you from it, leaving you feeling a little helpless. You want the characters to do certain things, but then they won’t do them.
This game subverts that helplessness by giving you direct control over these people.
I know I previously said on this blog that “The Sims” isn’t really my bag, but having this kind of control is like crack cocaine … at least in this genre.
Maybe there should be a “Sims” horror game?
Anyhow, the view makes you feel empowered.
The tank controls keep you grounded.
Your character can move only so quickly. They can turn very slowly, pull their weapon out slowly, train it on an enemy slowly, reload slowly … and it can all get to feeling really agonizing.
The result is a series of close calls and near misses that leave you thinking, “Well, that was lucky,” or, “Well, that sucked.”
The margin for error is ridiculously thin.
But it would all be really boring if it wasn’t.
The same thing goes for your limited inventory.
The game is stingy about spitting out ammunition and firearms, so much so that the early going of the game requires you to run away from the zombies like a giant weenus.
Resource management is critical toward your success. You can’t just unload endless clips into everything that moves. Instead, you have to save up your heavier artillery for the bigger bads, relying on your weaker pistol and the time-tested tradition of running away for some of the weaker enemies.
Don’t feel like doing that? Good luck finishing the game.
But again, while some people might find this annoying, it creates tension, which is the whole dang point.
That Alfred Hitchcock guy maybe knew what he was talking about.
So what makes it worth playing today?
Resident Evil 2 is nearly 30 years old.
The shmancy new remake … that sucker is seven years old itself.
Lordy, we’re all getting old.
Some people will point to the remake and say, “Yep, that’s the one. Play that one.”
Again, fair play. Tastes differ.
I think the case for the original game is equally strong.
Resident Evil 2 refined and enhanced what was so great about the first game, turning perceived weaknesses into strengths and leaning into a phenomenal setting with a great story to create absolute gaming magic.
The folks at Capcom ultimately needn’t have worried, at least once they got their bearings: Resident Evil 2 was a critical darling and a smash success, selling nearly 6 million copies on the PlayStation alone before being ported basically everywhere else, building the foundation of Capcom’s single most popular franchise in history, and inspiring multiple reimaginings (netting even more sales).
Not bad for a game that had to be rebuilt from the ground up.
Is it kinda slow? Yes.
Is that good? Also yes.
This is a game 100% worth circling back to and an easy inclusion in the countdown as the best possible example of survival horror in gaming.
The only question is … should any of its sequels make the list as well?
(This is me building suspense — I’m a quick study.)
Dave’s Score: 9/10
Check out the whole Retro Gaming Essentials list here!
How to play
- Original hardware (PlayStation)
- Early ports (Windows, N64, Dreamcast, GameCube, PSN)
- Modern emulation (GOG, Steam, PlayStation 4, PlayStation 5)