The law of diminishing returns would see to that cynical strategy, and some would rightly observe that version three wasn't exactly a huge departure from the marvelous No.2. Konami knows it can't just keep churning out formulaic sequels endlessly.
A place of swirling fog, populated by the lost and lonely, along with a gang of unfeasibly twisted, mutated, writhing, moaning apparitions with limbs in entirely the wrong place, not to mention blood, mucus and locked doors. The first three were loosely connected variations on a theme (2 being something of an anomaly) centering on the mythical abandoned town of Silent Hill. Dig a little deeper and you have a series wrapped up in harrowing subjects touching on euthanasia, loss, love, confusion, and forever tainted by the omnipresent fear of death. Somewhere near its milky, putrefying surface is a test of lateral logic and primal fight or flight. The question is, who's behind it all? Perhaps it's the grinning execs at Konami all along, happy to lure us in with the day-glo happiness of Dancing Stage before eating away at our very souls with the mind altering Silent Hill series. But exactly when did the furniture get rearranged? Where did weird wall stain come from? How come the door's covered in chains? They did warn us that chat rooms were full of dangerous weirdos, but how did they get our address? What is that noise? Can you smell something? What's that note? "Don't go out?" Well, it doesn't look as if we have a whole lot of choice right now. Is this the scary of coincidence born of the crazy dreams of an overactive imagination or did they really happen? Perhaps a mild addiction to Jarlsberg? Too much herbal relaxation? Could be.
As blissful as we are in our ignorance, certain strangeness creeps up you until you can almost feels its breath on your neck.
0 kommentar(er)
