Editorials
How Music Can Change… ‘Resident Evil 1-3’ vs. ‘Resident Evil 4’
Well, this is it. The last day of BD’s Resident Evil Week, where we’ve brought you a ton of content, editorials, contests, and opinions on one of gamings most terrifying franchises. It’s been a blast for all of us and we hope that you have enjoyed yourselves!
That being said, I’ve still got an article up my sleeve for all of you. Today, I’m tackling the stylistic differences and tonal shifts from the first three Resident Evil games and 2005’s Resident Evil 4, which went from a more orchestral approach to a sinister, almost alien sounding score.
Read on for more!
The original game was released in March of 1996, a mere 15 months after the Playstation 1 console itself came out. We all remember the clunky controls and the questionable graphics (which were admittedly pretty amazing at the time), both of which were a representation of the console’s limitations. After all, there’s only so far you can push a 32-bit system that plays CDs, which don’t exactly have the most storage space on them.
Also, it is my belief that the short time in between the release of the console and the release of the first game contributed to a certain sound and musical style, namely that it still had a lot in similar with the music and stylings of the still relevant 16-bit era. While the music used better, deeper, richer samples, there were still very heavy nods to the days of the SNES and Sega Genesis.
Composers Makoto Tomozawa, Koichi Hiroki, and Masami Ueda were able to craft some very unsettling music, much of it I believe to be inspired by Bernard Herrmann. The main focus of Resident Evil 1 was on organic, string-based music, reflecting the warm interior of the Spencer Mansion and even to some extent the laboratory underneath.
The music in Resident Evil 1 was focused very much on how organic the game was. If you think about it, the game was very…meaty. Zombie people, zombie dogs, zombie crows, zombie plants (yup), zombie insects, zombie reptiles, etc… Even Tyrant was a human that was experimented on beyond what should ever happen. What they all shared was that they were of the flesh, which influenced the music and gave it that warm string-based style, which felt more comforting and “human”.
Another trend within the soundtrack was an overall grandiose flair, a bombastic approach, especially when it came to action sequences. The more intense the scene, such as a boss fight, the more intense the score, with large attacks and grand orchestrations.
This musical style continued through Resident Evil 2 and Resident Evil 3, where the music was predominantly string-based, still sharing that 16-bit mentality (although it became less of an influence as each sequel was released) and overall bombastic tone.
Resident Evil 2 had some moments of 50’s and 60’s sci-fi/horror cinema, a slight air of cheesiness and B-quality hovering over it. Still, it also had some truly memorable cues, such as the Police Station theme, which still haunts my dreams.
Also, while the Spencer Mansion was primarily wooden and carpeted, and therefore warm, a great deal of Resident Evil 2 took place in city streets or buildings that used a great deal of stone. That’s why the music oftentimes felt very cold, piano melodies reverberating and echoing through rigid, unyielding hallways.
Resident Evil 3 was a bit more militaristic, as evidenced by the story of the game. There was more of an emphasis on marching percussive elements as well as a healthy mix of the the cold pianos and warm strings from the previous entries.
The third game also began using sound design more heavily as music, something that Resident Evil 4 would take to a whole new level.
It would be unfair of me to not mention that Resident Evil 4 came out on the Gamecube, which had higher technical capabilities than the Playstation. Also, the physical format of the Gamecube, the mini discs, held nearly double the amount of info that a Playstation CD could hold, which allowed for richer sounds and more complex instrumentations.
Whereas Resident Evil 1, 2, and 3 took place in overall familiar territories – houses, buildings, streets, which could be in any city or town – Resident Evil 4 took us away from those and instead placed us in a location that was unsettling due to its unfamiliarity. We went from our “home” and traveled to somewhere foreign and mysterious, with locations that we don’t experience on a daily basis. Everything felt alien and outdated, creating a strong sense of unease. This was a strange land and we were never meant, nor allowed, to feel safe.
The strings and organic instrumentation from previous entries more often than not took a back seat to the more foreign, almost tribal sounds that pervaded. And while Resident Evil 3 began to use sound design as part of the music more than the previous two, it was this game that really embraced this concept.
From strange howlings to unsettling ambience, this game definitely took a page from Akira Yamaoka and Silent Hill, creating backdrops that were did not stand out but rather created dread without the player realizing it. It’s like when watching a really suspenseful scene in a horror movie and you don’t realize that there’s eerie music in the background, amplifying the tension to unbearable amounts.
Another reason for this change in style was that the creatures felt more alien and outlandish. Gone were zombies, replaced by the Ganados, who were infected by Las Plagas. These enemies, while resembling humans, never shared that humanity that zombies seem to have. This allowed the music to detach itself from organic methods, showcasing their lack of organic humanity.
While each composer has offered something special to the series, creating music that has stayed with us for years, the stylistic differences are something that should be noted and ascribed to how the game itself evolved over time. From the story to the technology of the system itself, the music has always been a reflection of what was presented.
Editorials
Why Mainstream Horror Should Lighten Up
“Elevated Horror.” Of all the combinations in the English language, that one is the most insufferable.
It represents almost a decade of scary movies that, for the most part, took themselves too seriously. Horror responds to the moment, so its “why so serious” lean makes sense as we scuttle through the “worst of times” equation of Charles Dickens’ famous opening lines. But there’s still an opening and a need for a lighter approach; one that not only has fun with its audience but takes the piss out of a genre that is seemingly letting its newfound “respectability” go to its head.
Wes Craven believed devotees see horror films to let out their fears one primal scream at a time. At their core, these movies are roller coasters; they bring us as close to the edge as possible before pulling us back into a safety net of reality. The need for a bigger and badder coaster increases during times when the size of that net decreases.
There’s a thrill that comes from imagining being in a foot race with a madman, or outthinking the hordes of zombies on the other side of the door, plus the scavenger humans coming behind them. There’s even a rush that comes from imagining how one might deal with possession to see good triumph over evil in the end. It’s all about building tension and releasing it through catharsis. That cathartic release usually sounds like screams followed by laughter, which signals relief. Genre heavy hitters over the past 10 years offered very little of that respite when the credits rolled. Films like Hereditary, The Witch, Talk to Me, and even Smile (pick one) keep that tension going after the screen fades to black.

Hereditary
As the genre became obsessed with creating trauma metaphors, that lack of release made sense. Anyone with even a small sample size of traumatic experiences knows those emotions don’t magically resolve themselves in an allotted run time. But how much trauma can one take? Especially when there’s a mess going on outside that few of us can escape from. Movies offer that off-ramp, no matter how short.
Everything can’t be, nor should it be, “elevated.” Audiences need thoughtful explorations of life’s ills via monsters as much as they need murdering masked maniacs with kitchen knives. And no, it doesn’t have to go any deeper than that. Sometimes, a knife is just a knife, and it’s still worth our time and respect. As weird as it sounds, that simplicity is comforting not in spite of the trauma but because of it.
The worst of times should manifest more than just anguish. People need to laugh just as much as they need to think seriously about this moment in time. Even the Scream franchise forgot the meta rock upon which it built its church when the latest foray sacrificed the subtle comedy for serious drama. Scary Movie returned at the perfect moment. It provides the necessary laughs, but it’s not a cure-all.
This isn’t a call for Scary Movie imitators but a return to a mainstream landscape where Killer Klowns from Outer Space sat with The Serpent and the Rainbow, nestled neatly with the latest Nightmare on Elm Street, which took nothing away from The Vanishing.

They Live
Even They Live, John Carpenter’s horror sci-fi satire sandwich, kept its tongue firmly in cheek while discussing serious ideas still relevant in 2026. Yes, a film about aliens taking over the world through subliminal messaging only visible through coded sunglasses is, in fact, a tad silly. Carpenter understood that mainstream horror can’t become so self-important that it never looks itself in the mirror and laughs at that inherent silliness.
The thing is, horror historically excels at poking fun at itself. Most of the Scream franchise, The Cabin in the Woods, or The Blackening show adoration without kowtowing. They recognize tropes and trappings but invert them for an audience already in on the joke, but one that also finds solace in said conventions. This keeps the genre on its toes; once something gets parodied, it’s usually time to evolve. That breeds new ideas and fresh filmmakers, which not only strengthen the genre’s collective voice but also amplify it.
Get Out, as “elevated” as some critics want us to believe it is, is a cathartic, populist scary movie that spoke to an untapped audience rather than speaking down to them. Backrooms is one of the biggest horror hits in years, partially because it’s fine-tuned for modern-day teenagers instead of their parents. Movies like these tell everyone the genre is open for business; open for innovation and, yeah, open for new ways in which people can lovingly poke fun at with a wink and a nudge.
Horror needs dread as much as it needs laughter.
Catharsis is just as important as tension, and pulpy populism has the same merit as more high-brow material. Respectability shouldn’t come at the expense of an experience akin to walking through a haunted house. At a time when joy seems in short supply, horror should look to its past to map out its future, and make things just a tad brighter for audiences.

Backrooms

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