Editorials
How ‘Amnesia: The Bunker’ Gets Open World Horror Right
Humanity has been telling tales about simulated realities since the very dawn of storytelling, so it makes sense that modern audiences are absolutely fascinated with open-world gaming. Be it fantasy role-playing titles that allow you to step into the shoes of a more magical version of yourself or crime sims that encourage you to live out your most violent daydreams upon unsuspecting NPCs, franchises like The Elder Scrolls and Grand Theft Auto are the closest we’ve come to the immersive digital worlds that were promised to us by science fiction.
However, when it comes to horror games, the genre usually benefits from a highly curated experience with little room for side adventures. Give players too much free reign over their monster slaying and item collection and you usually end up with a gameplay loop that doesn’t mesh well with virtual frights. That’s why open world horror titles don’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to balancing freedom with scares, with initially promising titles like the ill-fated Days Gone being criticized for dampening the horrific elements that made these projects interesting in the first place.
Fortunately, it’s not all doom and gloom when it comes to open world horror, as quite a few recent titles have learned from the mistakes of the past and are giving large scale scares another chance. The latest of these sandbox terrors comes in the form of Frictional Games’ ambitious sequel Amnesia: The Bunker (read Reyna’s full review here), a first-person thrill-ride that traps players in the shoes of a French soldier imprisoned in a World War I bunker with only a demonic man-eating predator to keep him company.
And while the game is impressive enough with its innovative use of physics puzzles and a genuinely terrifying narrative mostly told through epistolary tidbits, today I’d like to discuss what other developers could learn from Frictional’s labyrinthian experiment. But before we dive into the specifics of what makes The Bunker such a compelling sandbox, I think it’s worth looking back on the evolution of open world horror as a whole.
More impressive than the original GTA!
With the exception of text-based adventures (which usually allowed for more player freedom due to the lack of complex graphics), the first open world titles were mostly relegated to top-down RPGs. It was only with the advent of easily accessible 3D technology that developers began to show more interest in adding sandbox elements to other genres. However, the ever-increasing costs of development meant that more niche experiences like horror games rarely received the financial push necessary to produce a convincing open environment.
In fact, I’d argue that Konami’s original Silent Hill was the first real Survival Horror pioneer when it comes to immersing players in an explorable three-dimensional world. While the game is still mostly linear, with Harry Mason being forced to complete a series of urban “dungeons” in order to progress and having no real reason to explore the rest of the town other than collecting extra resources, the developers at Team Silent still managed to push the PlayStation to its absolute limit when crafting a believable all-American town. Sure, the game takes a few shortcuts by blocking off certain areas, but it was still a sign of things to come.
The new millennium brought with it an obsession with open worlds sparked by the massive success of Rockstar’s GTA sequels, and it wasn’t long before developers were attempting to revamp existing horror franchises with this new and expensive approach – usually with mixed results.
In 2008, we’d see Eden Games’ baffling revival of the Alone in the Dark series, which attempted to combine an episodic structure with sandbox exploration as players were forced to scour an apocalyptic rendition of Central Park for items and monsters. Naturally, the result was an unfocused experience that couldn’t capitalize on neither its scares or its blockbuster elements (though I admit that I have a soft spot for the game’s clunky fire-based combat and clever inventory management system).
A few years later, Silent Hill: Downpour would expand the franchise’s iconic setting into a fully-explorable map, complete with hidden areas and optional side-quests. Unfortunately, the added padding and recycled assets ended up diluting the experience while also making the main story feel less urgent (and consequently less terrifying). This would become a recurring theme in future open world horror titles like The Sinking City, with optional content often including more traditionally game-y elements that ruin the immersion that makes gaming ripe for scares in the first place.
We saw some improvement during the survival boom of the 2010s, with titles like DayZ and The Forest boasting gigantic maps and encouraging exploration while still factoring in resource management and disturbing enemies as a part of their core experiences. That being said, the collaborative nature of most of these titles mean that their scares were often hampered by online interactions – after all, it’s hard to feel truly frightened when you’re having a good time with your friends (or when you’re being trolled by strangers, for that matter).
Bigger world, bigger problems!
While these aren’t the only examples of horrific open worlds gone awry, most of these misguided titles tend to share a common thread when it comes to conflicting design choices. After all, a real horror game shouldn’t feel like a leisurely adventure, it should feel like grueling trip through hell. That’s why I think Frictional Games did right by the Amnesia franchise when they managed to find an entertaining middle ground where players could explore to their heart’s content (with clear inspiration from Metroidvania titles) while still having an ever-present Lovecraftian horror keeping them on their toes.
It helps that the title has a solid foundation rooted in its main character’s predicament, with the game handing you a singular objective (escape) and allowing for organic scares along the way. The Bunker’s unpredictable antagonist means that you never feel safe as you explore the titular environment, though the game also rewards inquisitive players that think outside the box, achieving a rare balance that feels like a natural evolution of the franchise’s focus on environmental manipulation and the freedom to experiment with unorthodox problem solving.
In some ways, one might argue that The Bunker is the ultimate evolution of the ideas that were first introduced in Frictional’s Penumbra games all the way back in 2007. Even though some of the mechanical limitations feel arbitrary (like how you can shoot padlocks but not chains), the game’s focus on unscripted terrors proves that player freedom can also be used to create organic scares that wouldn’t have the same effect had they been planned beforehand.
At the end of the day, not all horror games can (or should) take the sandbox route, but when they do, I believe the winning formula is to allow enough freedom for player choices to matter, but not so much that they lose sight of the horrors at hand. And if future horror titles can apply the lessons learned by The Bunker to their own open world adventures, I think we’re headed for an interesting era of horror gaming.
College kids, strippers and vampires—those were Donald P. Borchers’ only requirements when he approached Richard Wenk about writing and directing a movie for New World Pictures. As requested, Wenk cooked up Vamp (1986), a tailor-made blend of the decade’s teen movie craze as well as its horror boom.
Grim and earnest stories were still very much a part of the ’80s horror landscape, yet Vamp is something of a comedy. One difference between it and, say, Saturday the 14th, though, is the former avoids using schtick. Wenk’s movie proves that horror comedies also don’t have to subtract thrills from their recipes. Of course, it takes a minute before reaching that point; college antics and culture shocks preface this one macabre misadventure.
Vamp‘s initial setup is apt for a typical college-set, sex-driven comedy; to bribe their way into a fraternity house, two pledges (Chris Makepeace, Robert Rusler) go looking for some adult entertainment. Without wasting time on any further exposition, the characters embark on an all-in-one-night trip that quickly detours into terror.
To procure their elusive MacGuffin—a stripper willing to gyrate for some frat boys—Keith (Makepeace) and AJ (Rusler), plus a third wheel named Duncan (Gedee Watanabe), trade the safety of their remote college campus for the seediness of some unnamed city. The setting is recognizably L.A. by day, but as soon as night falls, downtown, along with the characters, slips into a kind of surreal universe. Director of photography Elliot Davis gave this early entry on his prolific résumé an unusual yet distinctive look; that Mario Bava-esque, magenta-green lighting is omnipresent, so much so that it’s almost its own character.
Chris Makepeace and Robert Rusler in Vamp
The faint comparisons to Martin Scorsese’s After Hours are merited, although not just because of Vamp’s distinguishing nighttime aesthetic. Save for the primary characters, the supporting roles in Wenk’s movie are also quite colorful and transactional in their behavior. The difference here, though, is the additional urge to ruin Keith and his friends at every turn. Some of that harm is humorous and tolerable enough, whereas the moment Vamp dishes out its first fatality, it’s abundantly clear how this movie qualifies as horror.
Vamp falls into that category of horror movie that reveals its genre with a scream rather than a series of whispers. The opening scene can function as a hint of what lies ahead—things are not at all what they appear to be—but otherwise, Wenk is more than happy to hold off on the horror. When that time does come, though, it catches the viewer off guard. In addition to the pure shock value is that sudden decision to upend the movie’s foremost feature. Or so it would seem.
If afraid of major spoilage, those new to Vamp would be wise to stop reading here. There’s just no skirting around the fact that the central fellowship in this buddy movie hits a serious snag when AJ is killed. That development causes the story to become more of a “long, bad night” journey for Keith and his romantic interest. So while Wenk scores points for subverting expectations, there is also a touch of sadness in his decision. Because if Vamp does anything well, it’s making the characters likable.
Something that comes easily to Vamp—and other teen horror movies from this same era—is its ability to invent young characters worth caring about, or at the very least, are interesting and not so immediately off-putting. More impressive is how Wenk did all this without actually fleshing out those characters. Still and all, Keith and his kind are a grade above cookie-cutter, and in some cases, aren’t completely devoid of growth.
Grace Jones in Vamp
Vamp appeals with an assorted cast of characters. No two are the same, nor are they operating on the same wavelength. The cinematically extroverted AJ, whose actor conveyed charm and vulnerability in near equal amounts, comes alive when he’s at his most undead. Makepeace then makes the chronically cautious Keith a sympathetic fellow, even as he’s more and more affected by the night’s bizarre events. Meanwhile, Duncan is indeed the designated loser of the whole bunch, but Watanabe still manages to humanize him. As a bonus, the role didn’t require him to pull a Long Duk Dong.
As for Dedee Pfeiffer, she is plain adorable as the mysterious After Dark server nicknamed “Amaretto”. She spends all night fixing her dress strap while at the same time trying to get Keith to remember how he knows her. As their offbeat romance grows, it becomes another highlight of this movie. Whether or not Pfeiffer’s character is really a vampire also creates some welcome tension in the story.
Like a lot of its contemporaries, Vamp went on to become a bit of a cult classic. That current status is determined by several factors, but without a doubt, the casting of Grace Jones is the most considerable. The image of her writhing on that unique-looking chair, a Keith Haring original, springs to mind whenever this movie is brought up.
Chris Makepeace, Billy Drago and Paunita Nichols in Vamp
Prior to that first display of unequivocal horror, local vampire queen Katrina (Jones) took to the stage and delivered a strip show like no other. One would expect nothing less from that renowned model and performance artist. By now reports of Jones’ tardiness on set are no secret, yet it’s also hard to deny her commitment to the part of Katrina. It was, in fact, Jones who took charge of her character’s appearance—on top of Haring painting her body and that now-iconic chair, she had Andy Warhol handle her costuming. And not too many actors could seize a room’s attention without saying a single line of dialogue.
In 2022, Vamp received a retrospective novelization from Encyclopocalypse. This literary union of preexisting source material—Wenk’s original screenplay—and new ideas from author Christian Francis amounts to a more comprehensive visit to the After Dark Club. The basic story there is no different than what’s shown on screen; however, Francis gets creative with the characters’ origins and designs, and he enhances a number of key scenes.
The novelization expands on the urban and social decay of the main setting, and supplies a background for the After Dark Club. Sandy Baron’s character, Katrina’s emcee and familiar, is given ample motivation for sticking around; up until the fiery end, he is loyal to his friend and former business partner “Squeak”, who looks like he was “fed through a combine harvester, and left as nothing more than a heap of mangled remains”. Then there is Billy Drago’s character Snow, the leader of a street gang called The Dragons. His reason for menacing Keith and AJ is more altruistic than in the movie; he and his peers act tough to scare off any potential food for the vampires.
Lisa Lyon in Vamp
If not for all the backstories, Francis’ Vamp would be a hell of a lot shorter. Instead, this tie-in read dives into how AJ met Keith—the orphaned Anthony Joseph hailed from a broken home back in Brooklyn—and how their friendship flourished over the years. Keith’s archership is no longer just an assumed part of his entire being; it’s a confidence-building extracurricular for a boy who got picked on before coming into the protection of the new kid in town. These supplemental, in-depth looks at the protagonists, plus their close connection, are maybe unnecessary. The movie already did a fair and concise job of addressing their platonic intimacy without the need for flashbacks and insights, specifically in that scene where AJ lays it all out as he sacrifices himself.
Where the novelization gets off course is its approach to the minor characters. Intermittently backstorying the likes of Katrina’s indentured servants, Seko (Leila Hee Olsen) and Vlad (Brad Logan), ends up disturbing the flow of the writing. Was it absolutely essential that readers know Vlad was the Grand Duke of the House of Romanov, or how Snow’s accomplice Maven (Paunita Nichols) became so dentally challenged? No, not really. However, one’s mileage with these random biographies may vary.
The novelization is a more substantial experience, but for a movie like Vamp, less is more. And as plentiful as they are, it never simply coasts on its campy charms, either. The character work sits comfortably in that realm between cursory and meticulous, the script is sharper than first realized, and Greg Cannom’s vampire makeup is straightforward yet effective. Most of all, the movie didn’t squander its out-of-the-box concept. Richard Wenk made his vision of a “comic nightmare in which just about anything that can go wrong does” come true, and it is very enjoyable.
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