Have you ever been playing a game where the primary threat is zombies — or something similar, like mutants, Necromorphs or genetically engineered Molepeople — when the realization that you’ve fought these creatures before suddenly hits you? If you’ve experienced this, it’s probably because you probably have fought them before in another video game. The weird thing is there’s a good chance that game you’re barely remembering is from a different series entirely.
So why are so many horror games recycling the same baddies over and over again?
I wish the reasoning behind this was something exciting, like at some point during the early 2000s the Illuminati’s video games division put in place a restriction that limits how creative a developer can be when designing their cast of monsters, only none of the potential sources of this alarmingly common problem aren’t nearly that ready for a movie adaptation.
Before we determine the cause, let’s take a minute to clarify the problem to help those we may be wondering what it is I’m going on about.
During the latter half of the last decade, there has been a steady trickling of horror games that have taken turns recycling the same paltry selection of creatures with specific skill sets. Sometimes they even look the same.
If this trend has trot by you unaware, a good example is the bulbous variant who’s been featured in a number of games now. It either explodes, vomits, or utilizes a charming combination of the two. This familiar baddie has become a developer favorite, appearing in Left 4 Dead (Boomer), Dead Island (Suicider, Floater), Killing Floor (Bloat), and Dead Space (Pregnant), to name a few recent examples.
Need another before you decide whether or not I’m making this up? Each of these games also features a variation of the generic big, strong archetype. This would be the creature whose sole purpose is to instil a sense of fear when players realize it’s nearby. It’s always designed to intimidate, using brute strength to overcome its prey. We saw it in one form or another in Left 4 Dead (Tank), Dead Island (Ram), Killing Floor (Fleshpound), and Dead Space (Brute).
I could go on, but I don’t want to be repetitive.
If we were only seeing this in games like Diablo III, which features dozens of variations of hundreds of different monsters, it wouldn’t be a big deal because at that level some amount of redundancy is to be expected. The problem is we’re not. Instead, we’re seeing it pop up in games like Dead Island, which has at most about a dozen different enemies.
When I first noticed this, it’s effect was limited to horror games with multiplayer components. Multiplayer games recycle many of the same “classes” all the time, so seeing that extend to enemy types (or classes) wasn’t all that surprising. I began to get worried when it reached my favorite video game franchise in 2012: Silent Hill.
After spending a number of years as the horror genre’s king of coming up with freaky shit for players to run away from, my favorite series was infected. It happened in March 2012 with the release of Silent Hill: Downpour. When it arrived, it brought with it the most uninspired cast of monsters in the series’ history. Its monsters and their abilities were all familiar, running the gamut of Horror Monster Design 101, with traits (the Prison Juggarnaut relied on brute strength) and abilities (the Weeping Bat was quick and agile, the Screamer… screamed) we had seen before.
So why is this problem rearing its ugly head more often in horror games, and what can be done to stop it?
I’ve come up with a few possible causes, all of them simple. The upside to this is because simple problems usually require simple answers, a solution should be easy to apply.
If you’re a creative type or happen to be sitting next to one you can ask about it, you’re undoubtedly aware that being creative is tough. It can be a daunting task trying to come up with ideas that are fresh or different enough from what’s already been done to feel fresh. They say everyone’s copying someone at this point, so it’s really just a matter of whether or not that person is clever and/or creative enough to take that “stolen” concept and turn it into something that’s “borrowed”.
Doing this requires a developer who can think outside the box, because when it comes to monster design the only limit is one’s imagination. Being creative isn’t easy, but it’s required if you’re looking to create a horror game. Too many developers have grown lazy, content to make something that’s weird or classically scary without investing too much thought into it.
When I look at the dark recesses of the horror genre this trend hasn’t reached, I see something that may serve as the foundation for a solution. There’s at least one critical element that separates a horror game with a more original cast of enemies from one that doesn’t. Unsurprisingly, that strength lies with the narrative, and specifically diversification through storytelling.
Take Silent Hill, for example.
Almost every one of this series’ monsters shares specific aesthetic touches — bulbous organic forms (Lying Figure, Grey Child, Insane Cancer) often with real world inspirations (Mannequin, Nurse) that tie them to the lead character — that make them easily identifiable as something from Silent Hill. The only exception to this is regarding boss characters like Pyramid Head, which have been made to stand out.
This incredibly successful approach to monster design is made even moreso when you add to it the fact that the look and abilities that many of them possess are also determined by the narrative, as the Otherworld tries to dig into the usually grim or sordid past of the individual it just trapped. This results in a cast of enemies that can be understood within or outside the context of the game, making them successful on two levels.
The Suffering explained its assortment of enemies by slyly taking a page out of the book written by Silent Hill. In this short-lived series, every horrific enemy you encounter stems is the manifestation of a specific method of execution. Lethal injection is represented by the Mainliners, firing squad by the Marksmen, hanging by the Noosemen, etc.
In Alan Wake, you have the Possessed and the Taken. The former consists of everything from tires to tractors that have been possessed with the singular purpose of killing Alan Wake. The latter is comprised of living creatures who are under the influence of the Darkness. The more influence the Darkness exerts, the more powerful the Taken. This easily explains it all, from that level in Alan Wake that should’ve been titled Crow Genocide, to the common Taken and their deadlier, weapon-wielding siblings.
All of these games make a considerable effort to weave their monsters into the narrative. This may be why so many games are so incredibly unsuccessful in this area, because when no effort is made to explain why the monsters are the way they are what we often get is a cast of enemies who would fit in anywhere.
Techland didn’t bother making even the smallest attempt to tie the Ram to Dead Island, so we never find out why he’s both impossibly tall, strong and always wearing a straightjacket. Swap him out with the Charger from Left 4 Dead and he’d fit in just fine.
There’s also the matter of the aforementioned enemy archetypes having been proven effective over and over again in so many games. When a developer creates a monster that’s both fun to fight and visually unique, elements of that creation will eventually migrate to other games. It’s inevitable and it’s not always a bad thing.
For horror games with multiplayer components, balancing the monsters — especially if they’re playable, as they are in Left 4 Dead — is exponentially harder than many people realize. It takes a ridiculous amount of fine-tuning and tweaks to get even a single monster to a point where it’s inclusion doesn’t completely ruin the all-important balance that every multiplayer game strives to achieve.
Silent Hill, The Suffering and Alan Wake were all successful, but they’re also dated examples. Thankfully, there is a series we’re all familiar with that continues to work toward finding this elusive winning formula.
Resident Evil.
Ever since Resident Evil 4, Capcom has made a habit out of introducing a brand new cast of creatures in each new game that are the result of man-made viruses or unearthed parasites. Resident Evil 4 and the Ganados, Resident Evil 5 and the Majini, Resident Evil 6 and the mixed bag that was the J’avo, Revelations and whatever the T-Abyss virus’ gooey creations were called — much like the Umbrella Corporation that started it all, Resident Evil hasn’t ever stopped experimenting.
After spending an inordinate amount of time with every game in the main Resident Evil series, to me, the most original monsters in terms of appearance and purpose were all explained in the story. Nemesis, Tyrants, Licker, Hunter, Regenerator, etc. were designed with a specific purpose in mind. This fact is reflected in their abilities, and often in their appearance, too.
When Resident Evil eschewed man-made monsters in favor of mutations caused by man-made viruses, the reasoning behind each monster’s look and abilities was turned into something a bit more random. Now, those factors are determined by an unpredictable mutation, rather than from a deliberate move made by a scientist in a secret underground lab.
Even with that level of unpredictability, the most successful creatures tend to be the ones whose mutations serve a purpose. Resident Evil 6 had the most mixed bag, but the standouts all had mutations and abilities that could be explained through the narrative. If I shoot a J’avo and he grows a shield for an arm, or I hide behind cover causing his arm to mutate into a giant tendril for pulling me out of that cover by my face, that’s great.
As for the pre-made baddies who can’t reap the combat benefits from on-the-fly mutations, Resident Evil 6 had some success there, too. The Lepotitsa is bloated and covered in gross pores to help it quickly spread the infection, the Rasklapanje one-up their Regenerator cousins by being able to withstand obscene amounts of damage through regeneration — each is tasked with achieving a specific goal, and that’s reflected in their design.
If you look at the more difficult-to-explain baddies, like the numerous J’avo mutations that result in Man-spiders, dudes with chicken legs and other dudes with what look like hives on their shoulders, the list quickly becomes populated by boring and/or pointless mutations that didn’t land wherever Capcom meant for them to.
Resident Evil hasn’t always been successful in their endeavor to keep the monsters we fight from growing old, and there are a lot of horror fans who are more than willing to go into every one of their failures in great detail. I’m going to take a break from pointing out Capcom’s missteps to praise them for still trying when many folks clearly aren’t.
Capcom spent the better part of the last two decades raising the bar with Resident Evil. After spending a few of those years stumbling, it looks like they’re ready to get back on track. Their recent efforts to undo the damage caused by several wildly inconsistent sequels is a step in the right direction, and it proves they still possess an eagerness to innovate.
I started this rant with the intention of using a few paragraphs to detail a problem, but that very obviously went out the window about 1,500 words back. It’s completely out of my control now, but I hope that doesn’t muddle the point of what’s become an extremely long-winded rant. I’d like to bring some attention to what I see as a problem that’s gone largely unnoticed by fans of the genre. A problem that’s become more common these past few years.
What happens next is up to you. We can use this as the battleground for an angry debate or as the diving off point for an intelligent discussion — whether or not you disagree with anything I’ve said. The more people who realize this problem exists, the more minds we have to put together in an effort to remedy it.
