Editorials
Why ‘Man of Medan’ Doesn’t Understand the Genre It’s Playing In
Supermassive’s 2015 release, Until Dawn, was a massive success because it was able to translate the feeling of a subversive and silly horror film like Cabin in the Woods into a video game. When the Dark Pictures Anthology was announced, it looked as though they were setting themselves up to bring another media style over to games: the short story collection. However, the care and attention to detail to genre that was present in Until Dawn is nowhere to be found in the first of the Dark Pictures’ installments, Man of Medan.
Man of Medan is meant to be a spooky nautical short story that introduces players to the mechanics that will permeate this new anthology. Instead, it’s a plot that’s clearly trying to replicate the depth of Until Dawn, all while smashing it into a much shorter playtime.
Anyone even vaguely familiar with the form knows that short stories have a specific structure that allows them to convey their plots with a limited amount of time, and while there’s no one set way to approach how this structure is tackled, prolific writer Kurt Vonnegut did lay out some points he found essential to the form in Bagombo Snuff Box: Uncollected Short Fiction. He laid out eight tenets he felt were essential for writing short fiction: use the time of a total stranger in a way that doesn’t feel wasted; give the reader at least one character they can root for; every character should want something; every sentence must do one of two things-reveal character or advance the action; start as close to the end as possible; be a sadist: no matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters make awful things happen to them in order that the reader may see what they’re made of; write just to please one person; and give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible.

Of course, writing a short story doesn’t map exactly to writing for a game, but when a game is so clearly based on another form, it’s hard not to judge it based on those same metrics. Now to give credit where credit is due, Man of Medan does check off some of these. The “be a sadist” one, for example, as a litany of terrible things do in fact happen to all of the game’s characters. And while many of the main cast are selfish and insufferable, there are enough redeeming, or at least interesting, characteristics in the crew that it becomes feasible to root for Fliss or Brad or Conrad.
But there are four key items on this checklist that Man of Medan drops the ball on, and these whiffs make the work suffer as a whole. The old adage states “last but not least” so let’s start with number eight: give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. This, combined with the idea that you should start as close to the end as possible really embodies the pacing issues Man of Medan suffers from.
The game wants to give you a bunch of background information about the titular warship and the chemical weapon it houses, but does so by forcing you to play through an extended prologue sequence. What short story have you ever read that has a prologue? The whole point is to jump into the main action and reveal the stakes as you go. This is especially baffling given the fact that the game still relies heavily on documents and files you can find around the ship to fill in what happened that fateful night. Considering this, it’s confusing that they still made the choice to have a prologue sequence, when those same gaps could have been filled using those collectibles and would have honestly added more suspense and an air of mystery, while still providing information fairly quickly.

This creates too much to keep track of and be invested in for a story that’s only supposed to last at most a few hours. Which brings us to our third unheeded guideline: use the time of a total stranger in such a way that they will not feel the time was wasted. Because Man of Medan asks the player to digest so much information in such a short amount of time, the pieces feel disjointed, and the overall experience becomes less compelling. Video games have to be much more mindful of how they use their time, especially in something like Man of Medan where the player is responsible for most of the movement and traversal in real-time. This game’s format is begging to be given the room to breathe that Until Dawn had, but in its finished state, it’s mostly just frustrating to see so much potential wasted.
And that’s honestly the biggest sin this game commits: it ignores our final Vonnegut point by disregarding who this game should be written for. Until Dawn was such a success because it understood the audience it was trying to engage, and did the work to not only cater to these fans, but to genuinely play in the genre while still creating something new. Man of Medan, on the other hand, seems to want to replicate its predecessor more than it actually wants to continue the heritage of creating well-crafted, subversive horror in a specific format.
There’s an interesting story here that could have really done the work to set up future installments, but because it’s so messy, and not in a fun or interesting way, it falls completely flat. Certainly, playing with a friend adds a much-needed layer of fun to an otherwise lackluster experience, but for those who were eagerly awaiting a new horror home run, this is nothing but a disappointment. If Supermassive doesn’t want to see the rest of its anthology sink like the abandoned ship they’ve depicted, they’ll need to take the form they’re working with more seriously, and adapt their games to it, instead of just chasing the highs of Until Dawn.
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
You must be logged in to post a comment.