Editorials
Surviving the Dreadful Isolation of ‘Silent Hill 4: The Room’
I’ve been thinking a lot about Silent Hill 4: The Room, lately. While I agree that Silent Hill 2 is an objectively better game, and that the series gameplay peaked with 3, The Room will always have a special place in my heart as my absolute favorite horror game (and the only one to have ever given me actual nightmares). Part of my love for the title might stem from the fact that I first played it during a very interesting time in my personal life, but after all these years I’ve also come to cherish the game as a genuine work of art in its own right, regardless of my rose-colored glasses.
Due to recent events that you’re all undoubtedly sick of hearing/reading about, I ended up revisiting The Room during quarantine, replaying the game as an older, supposedly wiser person. Despite all my previous playthroughs, the added context of actually living in a world comprised solely of lonely rooms and windowsills made me appreciate the melancholy artistry behind the game in ways I had never thought possible.
In fact, as I struggled to deal with confinement both in and outside The Room, I realized that I’m probably not the only one who might benefit from revisiting this unfairly maligned classic. So today, I’d like to dive into exactly why I love this game and why it’s even more relevant now than it was back in 2004.
For those who have never played Silent Hill 4, the game puts players in the shoes of Henry Townshend, an ordinary man who finds himself trapped in his own apartment by a supernatural force. After five days, a hole opens up in the bathroom, leading to a series of self-contained nightmarish locations. By exploring these pocket dimensions, collecting notes and encountering other ill-fated characters (not to mention horrific monsters), the player slowly pieces together the disturbing story that led to Henry becoming trapped in the first place, all the while dealing with vengeful ghosts and an undead serial killer. It’s not exactly succinct, but it’s one hell of a scary ride.
Nope, nope, nope!
On the surface, the game still relies on standard Survival-Horror tropes like solving obtuse puzzles and piecing together the plot through fragmented storytelling. However, The Room is quite the departure from the Silent Hill formula, taking us away from the interconnected areas of the titular town and even getting rid of the series’ iconic radio that warns players of danger. In some ways, this is more of a stand-alone spin-off rather than a proper sequel (which makes sense, as it’s rumored that the project wasn’t originally meant to be a Silent Hill game in the first place), but I’d argue that these unique qualities are exactly what make this such a memorable title.
For starters, the game doesn’t even take place in Silent Hill, relegating the action to the neighboring city of Ashfield. Even then, most of the levels are actually nightmarish recreations of places related to the game’s serial-killing antagonist, Walter Sullivan. These areas are all connected to Room 302, which acts as a sort of hub where gameplay and narrative meet to create something special.
Initially, the Apartment acts as a safe haven, containing the game’s only save point and a box for storing items. Here, we shift into a first-person perspective as Henry can interact with the environment while his health slowly regenerates. The outside world is presented as an oppressive urban labyrinth, filled to the brim with some of the franchise’s scariest creatures, not to mention unkillable ghosts that will chase you throughout the levels. These dangers incentivize players to return home as often as they can, creating a ritual of sorts. Players explore the nightmare worlds for a bit and then go home to save, reorganize items and maybe have a look around.
Later on, however, the Apartment itself takes on a much more sinister demeanor, with horrific hauntings literally coming out of the walls to damage Henry. What was once a safe space becomes infected by the horrors surrounding it, and players are left with nowhere to run from the terrors that pursue them. It’s quite a shock for first-timers, and dreading the inevitable loss of your sanctuary is even worse during subsequent playthroughs.
The Apartment is also where we meet Eileen Galvin, Henry’s neighbor who’s initially unaware of the nightmares surrounding her. Over time, players can observe her through peepholes and cracks in the walls, unable to truly communicate until she too becomes embroiled in this supernatural ordeal. The game already borrows heavily from voyeuristic thrillers like Rear Window, so it makes sense that Eileen functions as a sort of Hitchcockian archetype, representing the emotional connection that both Henry and Walter have been denied throughout the story. That’s why it comes as no surprise that all the endings depend on her ultimate fate, with several of them implying a romantic connection between Eileen and Henry.
How romantic!
Henry is also not the usual Silent Hill protagonist, as instead of having a personal connection to the cursed town, his only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Some fans have criticized this approach, but I feel that Henry’s role as an unfortunate outsider only adds to the experience, making it easier for players to form a connection with him.
Personality-wise, Henry functions as a (mostly) blank slate that players can project themselves onto, but there’s more to his character than initially meets the eye. The Apartment itself helps to characterize Henry as an introvert, and the fact that no one really cares enough about him to investigate his disappearance establishes just how alone he truly is. These traits actually draw him closer to the game’s antagonist, another outsider who finds himself idolizing Room 302 as some kind of maternal deity after years of abandonment and abuse.
While the story appears to unfold like a standard supernatural yarn, with Walter attempting to awaken his “mother” through a grisly ritual, this is ultimately a simple and universal tale about isolation, featuring broken characters that feel abandoned in an urban jungle. Once the monsters are defeated and the ghosts exorcised, the only thing that can save these lost souls is true human connection, and I think that’s a really powerful message for a 2004 survival-horror game.
Once the doors to Room 302 finally open (if players manage to get one of the good endings), Henry hasn’t just freed himself from the horrors unleashed by Walter, he’s also free of his own inability to connect with others.
Of course, I haven’t even scratched the surface of what makes Silent Hill 4 so damn special, as the game boasts unique level designs with a more urban take on the iconic Otherworld aesthetic, plus some truly disturbing monsters. I’d also be remiss if I didn’t mention the beautiful soundtrack, once again composed by the legendary Akira Yamaoka. Every single track contributes to the moody isolation enforced by the story and environments, and I often revisit some of these songs on their own.
Sure, the game has its faults, with some tedious backtracking and monotonous combat (you’d also be forgiven for thinking that the story’s presentation is a convoluted mess), but it’s easy to overlook these issues when everything comes together so beautifully.
While it’s generally accepted among Silent Hill fans that the golden age of the franchise consists of the original trilogy, I feel that the fourth entry deserves more love. I’ve always considered it Team Silent’s heartfelt send-off to their classic formula, and it’s an experience worth revisiting in these troubling times.
After all, there’s nothing like Survival-Horror to remind folks that we can overcome anything by not giving into despair. (And saving often…)
Of the three films that make up the Diabolical Trinity of classic religious horror films—Rosemary’s Baby (1968), The Exorcist (1973), and The Omen (1976)—The Omen is the most purely entertaining.
While Rosemary’s Baby digs into the societal shifts of the 60s and The Exorcist explores spiritual tensions between faith and doubt in an ever-shifting world, The Omen seems most interested in just telling a thrilling story. It achieves this by blending two major trends of the 1970s, the devil movie and the paranoid thriller, into one crackling adventure yarn. In the process, The Omen has sparked fear and curiosity about what could happen in the “end times” if such events are to occur.
After seeing The Exorcist, producer Harvey Bernhard contacted writer David Seltzer and said something along the lines of, “Hey, write me one of those.” Seltzer, having never read the Bible, thought it would be an interesting challenge, so, according to various interviews, he read the Bible and several commentaries in search of a story. Then he stumbled upon a passage in the book of Revelation, the image of a great Beast rising out of the sea, that sparked his imagination. In the commentaries, he found that the sea represented politics in some interpretations of the text, and he began building his story on that foundation.
Seltzer has told this story often, and I am inclined to believe him. However, from there, much of the theological-sounding lore of The Omen was created purely by Seltzer. Many of the ideas surrounding The Antichrist in the film appear to be drawn much more from the pop-eschatology sensation of the 1970s, The Late Great Planet Earth by Hal Lindsay, than any Biblical source.
Lindsay’s book was the bestselling nonfiction book of the 1970s and re-popularized views of the “last days” that had been dying along with fundamentalism for decades, namely Dispensationalism, Millennialism, and the Pre-Tribulation Rapture. In dispensationalism, history is broken into several epochs of time (or dispensations) that culminate in the return of Christ and his thousand-year (millennial) reign.
Before this return, a seven-year Tribulation will occur in which the Antichrist comes to power and persecutes all who oppose him, culminating in a battle between the forces of good and evil at the valley of Megiddo, usually called Armageddon. Of course, in this worldview, the true believers in Jesus will be lifted out, or raptured, before all this takes place. Since the publication and popularity of The Late Great Planet Earth, this has been the prominent belief in Evangelical and Fundamentalist Christian circles, though Roman Catholic, Orthodox, and mainline Protestant denominations largely reject it.
Lindsay also did something unique that had not been the case even in dispensationalist circles before him—he posited that the creation of the modern state of Israel in 1948 started the countdown to Armageddon. Fans of the film will immediately realize where Seltzer ran with this idea in the first line of the poem created for the movie: “When the Jews return to Zion…”
Damien Thorn and the Creation of Horror’s “Innocent Villain”
Seltzer’s next inspiration focused on the idea of the Antichrist as a child, what he would call the film’s “innocent villain.” In watching The Omen, it is readily apparent that Damien Thorn (Harvey Stephens) does not really do anything evil beyond a bit of normal kid mischief. Even the moment in which Damien knocks Kathy Thorn (Lee Remick) over a second-floor railing can be read as an accident orchestrated by Damien’s diabolically connected nanny, Mrs. Baylock (Billie Whitelaw). The film takes this idea of the innocent villain a step further by casting Gregory Peck, best known for playing arguably the greatest father in film history, Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird (1962), as Damien’s earthly father, an element that greatly satisfied Seltzer.
The New Testament itself says very little about the Antichrist and certainly nothing about his childhood. In fact, the word antichrist is used twice (1 John 2:18 and 2 John 7 for the curious) and refers to groups of people, not a particular person. There is also a passage in 2 Thessalonians 2:1-12 in which the writer (usually attributed to Paul) discusses “The Man of Lawlessness” who will “exalt himself over everything that is called God” and “proclaim himself to be God.”
Then there is the Beast of Revelation chapter 13 with “seven heads and ten horns” that Seltzer latched onto, which has been interpreted in a multitude of ways over the centuries. Powerful people throughout history, from Charlemagne, various Popes during the Protestant Reformation era, Napoleon and Hitler, to modern politicians, including Ronald Reagan, Bill Clinton, Vladimir Putin, Barack Obama, and Donald Trump, have all had the label placed on them by various circles. Even religious leaders like Billy Graham have not escaped being called the Antichrist.
Lindsay and modern dispensationalists are certain the Antichrist will be a 21st-century individual as they are equally certain that the Rapture, Tribulation, and return of Christ are imminent, likely within their lifetime. Many scholars and theologians, however, interpret these passages as symbolic representations of the Roman Empire and the first-century Caesars who persecuted, tortured, and murdered Christians and Jews who refused to submit to Imperial rule and worship them as gods. For example, that the Beast from the sea in Revelation has seven heads is symbolic of the famous seven mountains of Rome, with the 10 horns referring to rulers and magistrates of the Empire.
But this is all really of no matter to Seltzer and the story of The Omen. Instead of being concerned with any historical or theological accuracy, he instead built his own lore, which sends Robert Thorn and photographer Keith Jennings (David Warner) on a globetrotting investigation into the nature of the Antichrist and how to stop him. Some of this lore includes the child being born of a jackal, the reaction of animals, the protective cult that arises around Damien, the daggers of Megiddo, and maybe most interesting of all, the peculiar flaws in Jennings’s photographs that presage the ways certain individuals will die.
All these aspects are where the paranoid thrillers come in, as films like Blow Up (1966), Z (1969), The Conversation (1974), The Parallax View (1974), 3 Days of the Condor (1975), and All the President’s Men (1976) were all the rage at the time. Especially in the wake of the Watergate scandal, the idea of journalists (like Jennings) as ordinary heroes who could bring down the powerful, nefarious forces in the world was exactly what audiences craved. And what greater hidden evil force was there than the Devil? This is also why the device of the daggers of Megiddo is so important to a movie like this. If Damien is indeed the Antichrist, there must be a way to stop him, though in the Biblical text, the only power capable of destroying the Devil is God Himself.
The Mark of the Beast, 666, and the Film’s Most Famous Religious Symbolism
The piece of lore created for the movie with the most solid Biblical grounding is the Mark of the Beast. Revelation describes a mark on the forehead or hand of those who worship the Beast and his image. Again, this is symbolic language differentiating those who belong to the power of the Roman Empire and those who belong to Christ, who have the Mark of the Lamb. In Seltzer’s hands, the mark is very literal, a birthmark that is borne by not only the Antichrist but all his followers, meaning they are marked from before birth as belonging to Satan, and there is no escaping it. This is all rather distressing to the priest Father Brennan (Patrick Troughton), who betrays his mark by warning Thorn about Damien and pays the price by memorably being impaled by a spire that falls from a church steeple after being struck by lightning.
Why is the mark three sixes? Again, this is drawn from a passage in Revelation that states that the Beast can be identified by calculating his number. In Biblical scholarship, this is believed to be the sum of the name of a man transferred into Hebrew numerology, a practice in which each Hebrew letter also represents a number. Using this method, the number of the name Caesar Nero, which many believe to be the most logical choice, is six hundred sixty-six. In the film and elsewhere, this number is changed to three individual sixes. According to the film, this represents the Diabolical Trinity (a designation also unique to the film) made up of Satan, the Antichrist, and the False Prophet. That Damien carries this unique birthmark under his hair convinces Robert that the child is the Antichrist, and it’s up to him to destroy him.
Part of what makes The Omen great is its ambiguity. Damien could be the Antichrist, or he could be at the center of a series of coincidences. Director Richard Donner stated in interviews that he believed Robert Thorn had gone insane by the end of the film, which, to Donner, is the only explanation for why Thorn would attempt to kill an innocent child. However, that enigmatic smile in the final shot suggests that Damien does embody a spirit of great evil. The sequels, however, all but erase this ambiguity.
In audiences, The Omen sparked a renewed interest in the concept of the Antichrist and the dispensationalist interpretation of the end times that continues to echo throughout the last five decades. Around the time of the film’s release, even Elvis Presley was photographed brandishing a paperback copy of Seltzer’s novelization. Dispensationalist authors like Hal Lindsay, Tim LaHaye, and John Hagee have made millions publishing books and giving lectures about the Antichrist and the end of the world.
The Legacy of The Omen, 50 Years Later
Though A Thief in the Night (1972) preceded The Omen in initial release, it gained quite a resurgence (along with the ability to create three sequels) in the wake of the popularity of The Omen and went on to scar the psyches of Evangelical children for decades. Hal Lindsay was also able to release a film version of The Late Great Planet Earth in 1978, complete with narration and a brief onscreen appearance from Orson Welles.
In the 1990s, the Left Behind series became a cultural phenomenon, spawning twelve books in the core series, a YA spinoff series, video games, and a movie series (2000-2005) starring Kirk Cameron. A bigger studio adaptation of the first book was released in 2014, starring Nicolas Cage. 20th Century Fox and The Omen got in on the renewed “end-of-the-world” vigor by releasing a remake of the original film on June 6, 2006. The franchise was revived once again in 2024 with The First Omen, which explores ideas of the Antichrist and the motivations of those in power in our current religious, social, and political context.
But despite all the sequels, spinoffs, rip-offs, remakes, and “end times” money grabs of the last 50 years, the original version of The Omen remains untouchable. Its greatest strength is that it seeks, first and foremost, to entertain. And it does so admirably.
After half a century, its influence can be felt in horror, the culture at large, and even in various faith circles. It is a testament to the power of story and film that, consciously or unconsciously, fans of The Omen and those who have never seen it alike are, to this very day, marked by the Beast.
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