Editorials
‘Resident Evil’: How the Franchise Has Mastered the Art of Horror Through Perspective
Horror is one of the trickiest genres to master in any aspect of fiction. Even when the discussion of subjective horror is left out, horror is at its best when the artists behind their respective projects not only understand how to make something aesthetically scary, but there must also come an understanding of what makes something scary, how it scares different groups of people, and what audiences will ultimately take away from the story.
Horror has long been one of the most profitable genres of fiction due to horror artists tapping into the collective fears of their respective audiences, which has increased tenfold with the introduction of video game horror. Starting as early as the 1980s, video games began experimenting with the horror genre, often being relegated to using text-heavy mechanics to make up for the lack of the graphical fidelity needed to bring some of the more ambitious ideas to life. Early horror games more closely resembled visual novels, but the seeds were planted for horror to take over the game industry.
A large part of its success had to do with the shift in perspective that became more frequent in the 90s. Though gamers were well aware that the character they were controlling was completely standalone in their creation, the horror became incredibly visceral simply having the players themselves control the actions of their protagonist. Suddenly, we were the hapless dopes walking down a dark hallway.

It wasn’t until Alone in the Dark was released in 1992 that “survival horror” began to take shape in video games. Though undoubtedly rough around the edges by modern standards, the game’s use of 3D models in a hostile environment served as a true breakthrough for horror in video games. No longer were horror games confined to textual scares, as the horror came at the player in real-time, offering up what felt like the most realistic depiction of a fight against zombies ever conceived.
Although Alone in the Dark planted the seeds for horror through perspective, the Resident Evil franchise perfected it for decades to come.
Resident Evil, first released in 1996, is often credited as the father of survival horror and while it wasn’t the first, it popularized the idea and continued to build on it thanks to the first game’s commercial and critical success. What followed were two decades full of sequels, spin-offs, movies, and a helping hand in perfecting the survival horror genre that continues to be lucrative well into the 21st century.
But a decades’ worth of games all focused on the same concept of zombies trying to kill you sounds like a recipe for burnout, right? It’s foolish to believe that countless sequels building on the same concept won’t get old after a little bit. What was scary at first might not feel as scary with the second, third, and fourth game, no matter how many new enemies are added to spice things up. In order to stay fresh, a franchise should do whatever it takes to keep up with the latest gaming trends.
This is something that the Resident Evil franchise has thrived in, surviving 5 generations of gaming by consistently upping the ante. I’m not simply speaking in terms of the overarching lore itself. While the increasing government conspiracy-heavy story has made for loads of memes in today’s digital age for people to enjoy, Resident Evil has kept a tight grip on its most simple and popular concept: fight your way through monsters while trying to stay alive.

From the very first incarnation to Resident Evil 7: Biohazard and the recent remakes of 2 and 3, your goal throughout every game is to survive each respective ordeal with the various weapons at your disposal. It’s a thrilling concept even at a surface level, letting you feel in control of the monsters and zombies trying to kill you. That may seem like a simple thing for any action-horror video game to understand, but Resident Evil’s masterful handle on perspective gives it a leg up over a good chunk of the competition.
Perspective is one of the most crucial aspects of not only video game design, but deciding exactly how a game world will be viewed by the players. Artists can think up of some crazy and ambitious game worlds, but the perspective of the players will dictate whether those worlds will go to waste or not. While this seems like a mere aesthetic choice, the changes in perspective throughout the franchise not only reflect the gaming capabilities of their respective time periods, they demonstrate a masterful handling of survival horror and the various tones the games have gone through over the years.
The first Resident Evil took heavy inspiration from Alone in the Dark, adopting a similar look with 3D models operating in real-time overlocked and pre-rendered backgrounds. Playing as Chris Redfield and Jill Valentine, players would navigate through a twisty mansion filled with zombies and other nightmarish creatures while trying to figure out the mystery behind the mansion.
The original game is undeniably dated, spawning countless memes surrounding the infamous voice acting (Jill Sandwich) and the now crude graphical quality. 3D gaming was picking up steam, but it was very much a work-in-progress at the time of Resident Evil’s release, hence why the camera is locked down for every angle shown in the game. Though that presented an obvious limitation to what the developers were reasonably able to do, it would also play an important role in creating the core scare factor of the franchise.
What the franchise, and eventually Silent Hill, would succeed in is fear through unpredictability. The monsters could pop out at the player with a simple change in angle. Perhaps the room the player has explored is empty, so they proceed to the hallway. After the famous loading screen with the opening of a door finishes, you can either be greeted by an empty hallway or a bloodthirsty zombie shambling towards you.

One of the most famous jumpscares of the game comes from a zombie dog breaking through a window as you walk down a seemingly safe hallway, ripping away any remaining sense of comfort in the mansion for the player. But what makes these scares so discomforting is the stationary position of the camera. No quick movements, pans, or perspective shifts apart from a different angle of the same room.
The camera sits completely still, forcing the player to witness their avatars get chased by zombies as though being viewed on a security monitor, not unlike something out of a found footage film, which itself was rather uncommon in 1996. This type of distance from the character creates a fleeting sense of control through this 3rd person lens and when you factor in the clunky controls of the time, your character is close to helpless, even with weapons at their arsenal.
This is a strategy that would become a staple for the next two big entries in the series with Resident Evil 2 and Nemesis. Even with some minor graphical improvements, the two sequels would implore the same 3D-style gameplay over a locked pre-rendered setting, with the added bonus of having new giant creatures chase the player down: The Tyrant (or Mr. X, if you will) in 2, and Nemesis in 3. Even as the setting changed, the perspective still felt cold and strained as the players were conditioned to not feel safe in any corner of any map.
Though something like this is now a staple of most horror games, the first three Resident Evil games both popularized survival horror and had the accidental advantage of limited 3D play mechanics to help manipulate perspective against the players. But now that this format was familiar to players, it was inevitable that the scares would become less frequent. It’s only natural that players would adjust to the game world, risking potential burnout if the series continued in this direction.

But Resident Evil was aware of that, leading to the refreshed sequel that is Resident Evil 4, released in 2005. No longer hindered by dated developmental tools and with an updated graphics overhaul, 4 introduced the third-person “over the shoulder” perspective that is still going strong in 2020. Instead of the usual fixed camera angles, the perspective of the player was closer than ever to the main character while upping the violence to an action-horror level, straying away from survival horror in the process.
But just because the title was supposedly less “scary” than the first three games, manipulation of perspective still benefited the game by thrilling and scaring players through sheer chaos. While the first three games were pretty wild in terms of their violence, the shift of the camera meant that the player’s perspective was much closer to the action. The first three games were cold in their presentation of the monsters attacking the player, but here, there was a new level of intimacy that would create a whole new batch of nightmares.
The horror still tied to an unpredictable environment working against the player, but the new camera shift meant that the area behind you was a new source of caution. You’ve killed everything in front of you, but are you sure that there’s not something else lurking behind you? The fixed camera of the first three games at least gave the player a look at the layout of the room (from that angle anyway), but in 4, you control the camera, meaning that confronting the horrors of the village was almost entirely dependent on you. This could make for a more thrilling action game and as the likes of Uncharted and Just Cause have shown, it works well for the action genre.

Yet there’s something visceral about the perspective of Resident Evil 4 and the following two sequels that feels like an update on the franchise formula without losing sight of its pulpy horror core. Even as the games switched to a more action-oriented tone, the terror of feeling overwhelmed by a seemingly endless wave of feral monsters made for a worthwhile substitute to the stilted security camera perspective of the first three games.
But soon, video game horror extended beyond the third-person.
Don’t get it twisted, 1st person horror was far from new even during the span of the first three games. Games such as Doom, Wolfenstein, System Shock, and Half-Life had already been experimenting with 1st person action-horror, slowly reinventing the video game format in a manner that we still see today with the likes of Call of Duty, Overwatch, Halo, and story-heavy walking simulators like Gone Home and What Remains of Edith Finch.
Although horror had dabbled in the first-person, the 21st century saw a rise in first-person horror that would eventually come to define the survival horror genre. Games like F.E.A.R., Condemned: Criminal Origins, and Bioshock helped revolutionize first-person action-horror for the modern era, achieving the heights that just weren’t in reach two decades earlier. With first-person, over the shoulder became through the eyes, further bringing the player closer to the game world.
Amnesia: The Dark Descent, released in 2010, provided the launching block for first-person horror to enter untapped territory with the character being almost completely helpless to the terrors that players could once combat in more action-focused titles. Amnesia and soon games like Slenderman, Outlast, and P.T. put a stronger focus on atmosphere and helplessness over dynamic action gameplay and with Resident Evil 6 receiving mixed reviews for its lack of scares in 2012, it seemed as though the franchise had finally reached burnout.
Amazing what a fresh perspective can do to change all of that, huh?

In 2017, Resident Evil entered brand new territory for the franchise with the release of the sequel/soft reboot, Resident Evil: Biohazard. Though technically taking place in the RE universe, Biohazard took the players away from the crazy government conspiracy story from before and only sprinkled it in here, making way for a standalone story about a man named Ethan Winters who searches a seemingly abandoned residence to find his missing wife, Mia. I’m sure we know by now that Ethan discovers that the house isn’t exactly empty.
What was namely an action-horror franchise about government corruption is mostly replaced with a contained escape story told entirely in the first-person. The nightmare that is the Baker residence is experienced in a new level of immersion by forcing the perspective through the character’s eyes. This applies to the cutscenes as well, playing out in front of Ethan’s and by extension our own eyes, applying a mean and visceral atmosphere to the House of Horrors that does everything in its power to throw everything at the player.
By 2017, first-person horror games were among the most popular in the market, largely thanks to YouTube Let’s Plays surging the demand for these games. The closest modern comparison to Biohazard is Outlast, given that both are first-person games from the perspective of an overeager man walking into the middle of a nightmare in a seemingly abandoned building. But Biohazard gets a leg up by adding a revamped combat system that brings with it a new level of unpredictability.
The guns and melee combat may not seem too different, but the 1st person perspective retrains the player to take everything they know about Resident Evil gameplay and apply it to Biohazard’s confrontational lens. Monsters are no longer just overwhelming the character you’re playing onscreen, now they want YOU and will chase you down in a manner not unlike the fear many have of staring down a darkened hallway, anticipating something to jump out at them.

It truly is no wonder that Biohazard is considered a return to form for the franchise, updating its gameplay and going back to its survival horror roots sorely lacking from the recent installments. It’s this type of pure unadulterated pulpy horror that helped the Resident Evil 2 and 3 remakes succeed by keeping a firm grasp on survival horror, even as the remakes returned to over the shoulder third-person. The response to Biohazard only solidified this new direction for the Resident Evil franchise and the upcoming sequel, Village, and its 1st person perspective is concrete proof of this.
Additionally, it’s the proof that Resident Evil, in its near 20-year lifespan, has managed to use the power of perspective manipulation to consistently reinvent itself for an ever-changing audience. The start of the franchise was humble, yet influential for the state of survival horror in general. When audiences craved a nice mix of action and horror, 4, 5, and 6 delivered on that front and when 1st person horror became the next boom for video games, Biohazard came in late and still capitalized with a purely Resident Evil game in a new format.
To attribute the success of the franchise to shifting perspectives would be foolish, but the constant attention for a refreshed way to experience Resident Evil just shows the love and care poured into making RE a timeless horror franchise. Shifts in perspective can make or break a story and Resident Evil’s willingness to change up the presentation while keeping the formula of the franchise makes for a bold approach to video games, one that has paid off tremendously in the long run.
Editorials
Neon-Soaked Cult Classic ‘Vamp’ Starring Grace Jones Still Has Bite 40 Years Later
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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