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My relationship with Resident Evil 4 has always been a bit of an odd one—a dynamic that’s
continued right through to the recently released remake.
It’s always been a game that, when I get a bit of distance from it, I can easily appreciate
its staggering quality—especially at the heightened scale and fidelity this remake
is working with, it’s kind of insane that a game like Resident Evil 4 exists.
Of course it played such a massive role in shaping one of the dominant genres over the
past couple of decades.
And yet, when I’m actually playing the game, it can often feel like a bit of a different
story.
Contrary to what I see in my friend groups with people blasting through the game in one
sitting, I can only ever seem to experience Resi 4 in short bursts because, to this day,
it remains so gut-wrenchingly intense to me.
Like the eye strain of VR games means I can only exist in those worlds momentarily, Resident
Evil 4 gets my anxiety response going like almost no other game—it just feels so relentless
that I almost, almost, don’t enjoy actually playing it.
Resident Evil 4, and I may be alone in this, is so oppressively terrifying to me.
But wait a minute, is this not the game where your big, buff main character is anime flipping
all over the place, suplexing and roundhouse kicking unsuspecting villagers and taking
part in goofy minecart sequences that are less haunted house and more Wallace and Gromit,
all while spouting one liners that wouldn’t seem out of place in the corniest of 80s b-movies?
And what’s more, doing it all carrying an attaché case absolutely full to bursting
with all kinds of weapons with which to take your enemies down?
Indeed, even beyond the game’s infamously campy tone which you’d expect to lift the
mood of proceedings, moreso than the overtly survival horror titles of old, Resident Evil
4 is the game that marked a move towards a more typically action-centric framework—a
genre of media that many people, especially when it comes to games, associate with the
notion of the power fantasy, where no problem can’t be solved with a roundhouse kick or
blazing barrels—and yet at the end of every one of Resident Evil 4’s completely ostentatious
encounters, my nerves are entirely shot—I feel more vulnerable, more exhausted than
I ever have done in a Resident Evil game prior.
You know, if action is centred around the power fantasy, then isn’t horror focused
on removing that feeling of power?
How does Resident Evil 4 so effectively merge two genres whose aims seem completely at odds
with each other?
How do you make an action game as bombastic as Resident Evil 4 so deeply scary?
Well, bear with me for a moment, but I think the answer lies somewhere you might not expect
– let’s talk about John Wick.
I love this franchise so goddamn much – its action, its stunts are as mesmerising, as
acrobatic, as visceral and meticulously directed as they are delightfully silly; their intensity
often belying their deeply comedic influences from the likes of Jackie Chan and Buster Keaton.
Watching John utilise his obvious talents in such brutally creative ways is consistently
an absolute joy to behold… as a passive audience member.
Now, just imagine that all that bombast remained exactly as it was, but suddenly you were the
one placed in that scenario; every threat directly in front of your eyes, moving constantly
towards you; every tactic and manoeuvre at your fingertips; the immense pressure and
very real possibility of catastrophic failure introduced to what was previously a foregone
conclusion, the end of a movie.
Even with all the tools in the world, I’m willing to bet that suddenly that action becomes
a whole lot more daunting, pulse pounding… hell, scary.
We don’t typically associate the spectacle of action with the fear and terror we might
expect from horror cinema—but in games, if you manage to break down and mechanically
represent all those qualities of engaging in action that I just laid out, that fear
response, that adrenaline rush could feel remarkably similar.
Watching John Wick is cathartic fun.
Being that same action hero, living their life, being John Wick would be completely
exhausting.
And if you haven’t guessed already, I think that the Leon Kennedy found in 4 remake is
one of the closest things we have to a video game representation of John Wick – the only
thing separating them, really, is that the former’s enemies are slightly more zombified
than the latter’s.
Think about it - Leon has access to an abundance of skills, manoeuvres and deadly devices that
go beyond many typical action game protagonists, with which he can unleash cartoonish havoc
on the multiple enemies meandering towards him.
I mean this dude straight up blocks a chainsaw aimed directly at his napper by holding up
a wee knife, and proceeds to react with all the monotonous nonchalance of Keanu Reeves
– Leon can take on anything, it would seem.
But like John Wick, he’s also never safe, never fully in control; instead having to
constantly weigh up the pros and cons of any action taken with split second timing in the
face of overwhelming aggression.
That chainsaw manoeuvre might look cool, but it’s the result of a snap calculation that
has to take into account your basic reaction time; the durability of your knife; the amount
and types of regular enemies all around you; what resources you might have left to deal
with them, should the knife break leaving you momentarily defenceless.
Inhabiting the character of Leon Kennedy then, similar to the progression of action seen
in John Wick, is a constant cycle of committing to an action, then having to adapt to the
consequences of that action – when you’re watching the movie, all those moment-to-moment
decisions are being made by someone else.
You simply get to luxuriate in the deadly ballet of it all – a luxury you don’t
have when it’s you having to improvise your way out of all these insane situations, desperately
attempting to just effectively learn and navigate your myriad tools, as much as you’re managing
the enemies themselves.
I mean, even entering that flow state that allows him to keep moving through his constant
battles, John Wick rarely emerges from a fight without sustaining some pretty serious injuries.
And while you may have emerged victorious from whatever you just took on, you may have
only done it by the skin of your teeth.
And what’s more, outside of puzzles, there are remarkably few opportunities to simply
catch your breath – to stand still and perform one strategy with any regularity, where you
can reliably predict much of anything.
See, when you break it down, such predictability is a key facet of the action power fantasy.
In films, it’s the slow-mo sequence where the hero, fully aware and confident in their
own capability, can calmly, effortlessly flow through their enemy’s every move, every
flailing punch thrown; they can stand out in the open in front of a barrage of enemy
fire, knowing full well they’re not going to get hit.
In games, it’s the knowledge that environments are going to be laid out in such a way as
to encourage the use of one or two specific mechanics, like chest high walls indicating
a cover shooter section like any other cover section you’ve played before; that the game
is going to know exactly how many enemies to throw at you so things always remain readable,
that sightlines within an environment remain clear; it’s the knowledge that any hostile
is only ever going to have a handful of possible mechanical states – in or out of cover,
fighting or blocking, alive or defeated, that kind of thing - and, as such, you get a grip
on this routine until you can eventually enter a room and know immediately what your best
course of action is going to be.
Now, Resident Evil 4, on the other hand, is more than happy to place you within incredibly
confined spaces with so many enemies that your view of the arena, of whatever exit might
exist becomes totally blocked, often to the point where, in any other game, it might seem
borderline unfair.
You might have all the weapons in the world, but I can’t count the number of times where
I’d enter a battle confident I’d crafted more than enough ammo for anything that could
possibly come my way, only for me to end up flailing wildly with weapon combos that were
entirely ill-fitted for the encounter, because as it turns out, it only takes a couple of
seconds to spaff a hundred SMG rounds up a wall – at which point you’re left with
the punishing choice of using your gunpowder now for more of a less effective ammo type,
or hanging on just a little longer, attempting to go a bit “John Wick with a pencil,”
until you’ve built up enough gunpowder to get a couple of shotgun shells in your pocket.
Even inventory management gives you so many options as to be potentially paralysing and
as such, that kind of action film-esque experimentation isn’t as much of a choice here as it is
a desperate, flailing necessity.
This resource scarcity (or rather the speed at which your abundant resources are forcibly
drained) is further compounded by 4’s more aggressive, more versatile enemies, matching
up with your expanded moveset.
Rarely is it clear when an enemy you’ve taken down is going to pop back up deadlier
than ever.
Even enemies whose heads have been thoroughly removed from their bodies can still explode
and twitch towards you with such unpredictable frequency, that it trains you to constantly
wonder if you’ve ever truly finished the job in even the most mundane of encounters—encouraging
you to really make sure they’re dealt with.
All combined with regular enemies with multifaceted movesets complicate whatever game plan you
might have had going in; the sheer range of potential situations you have to account for
compounding exponentially on each other when you throw just one more hostile into the mix.
Further, all of this is happening in environments that are shifting up on you as swiftly as
the enemies themselves—backtracking is an option at certain points here (and the map
really is massive), but moreso than, say, Resident Evil 2, where you spent most of your
time navigating and getting used to one set environment, in Resi 4, each encounter represents
a much more bespoke experience – meaning it becomes almost impossible for most unseasoned
players to get comfortable with any one type of scenario.
In all, there seems to be a couple of ways of frightening a player of a survival horror
game – take everything away from them, remind them that they are not the typical video game
protagonist but instead just a regular person; constantly hammer into players that they are
ill equipped.
Or you could go the Resident Evil 4 route where, far from taking away your agency, the
game opts instead opts to overwhelm you with it – Leon having so many mechanics at his
disposal, and his enemies so flexible, that you’re never sure you picked the right way
forward, if a “right” way existed in the first place.
It’s the terror of total control – that knowledge that every single movement you make
can drastically alter the tide of an entire encounter, as well as several encounters down
the line, with those consequences feeling all the more personal, all the more dire as
a result.
But what’s so interesting to me about Resident Evil 4 remake specifically, is that it highlights
the unique quirks of creating for an interactive medium rather than a passive one.
A genre that we associate with cathartic thrills in one medium, can instead represent such
constant, noxious tension when you turn visual and character traits into playable mechanics.
Leon Kennedy might be a tough, capable, big kickin’, big shootin’, big suplexin’
action man like John Wick, but through play, even with all the camp and the bombast and
the one-liners, we discover that god, what a draining, terrifying life that would be.
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