Editorials
A Classic Reborn: How the ‘Resident Evil’ Remake Improves on a Horror Game Icon
Unlike movies, it can sometimes be hard for newcomers to enjoy classic games. Sure, movies can look dated, but older video games can be plagued by issues that make the play side of it unpalatable to modern audiences. Not only can old graphics offer less clarity, but archaic control styles or design philosophies can challenge players used to modern conveniences. This makes the video game remake an interesting proposition. How do you update a game without sacrificing what made the original so unique and beloved? What ways can you add to the core concept without making it a completely new experience? It’s a tough line to walk, and even 20 years later, few games have done it with the skill of the 2002 remake of the first Resident Evil.
The GameCube remake started production in 2001, just five years after the original game was released on the PlayStation. While the technology leap between those generations was one of the most pronounced in gaming history, design philosophies had not evolved as much. At that point, the mainline Resident Evil games were still using tank controls and fixed cameras, having not yet reached the game-changing fourth entry. In RE Remake, fixed camera angles are still present, but a different control option was added to the mix that does away with the tank controls many found fairly clunky. This meant that the remake was more of a refinement than a reinvention, retaining a lot of the charm and tension of the original while creating a smoother experience with its own identity.
The atmosphere is one of the strong suits of the remake, taking the iconic locations of the original and recreating them with higher fidelity pre-rendered backgrounds and 3D models. The developers made smart use of full-motion video layers and particle effects in order to keep the backgrounds from looking too static, bringing the Spencer Mansion to life with unprecedented clarity. The new console generation also meant they could do a lot more with lighting, creating the perfect rendition of the creepy old mansion. The extra horsepower and space allowed them to add in areas and subplots that were cut from the original, creating surprises for long-time fans who believed they knew exactly what to expect without straying too far from the experience they were used to.
Along with the enhanced visuals, there were many quality-of-life improvements made to the gameplay. Aside from the aforementioned non-tank control options, players were also given a free slot in their inventory to carry a default item for their character, like a lockpick for Jill. Even though inventory management was part of the fun and challenge of the original, this helped the player by not forcing them to decide if they wanted to lug around a starter item they don’t use often in one of their precious inventory slots that could be used by an important key or ammunition. Another inventory adjustment was the inclusion of a defensive item, which could be used to fend off a zombie as it grabbed you. It’s a welcome change that gives you a great in-the-moment choice to make: is this encounter desperate enough that I need to use my defensive item, or do I just take the hit and hope I can survive?
To me, Resident Evil is all about making compelling inventory decisions like that, and none are more compelling than the ones created by the best new addition to the game: the crimson head zombie. After a certain point in the game, zombies that you’ve killed have the possibility to come back as faster, more deadly versions of their previous form. Players have two options to prevent this from happening: decapitating a zombie when you initially kill it or burning its corpse with a fuel canteen and a lighter.
The sheer amount of tension-increasing decisions this change makes is staggering. Previously, as you progressed through the mansion you would analyze each fight, determining if it was worth it to clear a zombie out of a hallway or just save the ammo and run around it each time. Now, the choice to kill a zombie forces you to think more about how you want to do it. Should I wait for it to get close and hit it with a precious shotgun shell in the hopes I take its head off? Do I just put it down from a distance with my plentiful handgun bullets and use one of my few canteen charges to burn its body? Or the even more tense options, do I kill it, leave its corpse and deal with the consequences later? It’s the perfect evolution of the franchise’s iconic enemy that ups their difficulty and forces you to think even more about each time you run into one.
Obviously, this wasn’t the last time that Capcom remade an entry in this long and storied franchise. The remakes of RE2 and 3 decided to go a different route and update the game to a more modern third-person camera, bringing it in line with the RE4-6 style of gameplay. There were some great changes, like the stalker behavior of RE2’s Mr. X, that had big impacts on the design of the game, but I still can’t help but wonder if something was lost by giving the player more control of their view. Fixed camera angles give the developers so much authorial control over the tension in the game, while a player-controlled camera can sometimes cut into the “what’s around that next corner” feeling of the earlier games.
I don’t know if it would have been what players wanted, but the combination of the classic perspective with some more modern design sensibilities sprinkled in could have made for an experience more in-line with what made the originals, and the Resident Evil Remake, so great. It’s tempting for a remake to smooth off all the rough edges of its source material, but Resident Evil Remake knows exactly what to keep without losing its charm. While it won’t be possible to do with the upcoming Resident Evil 4 Remake, which already had the third-person controls modern players are used to in its original form, I would love for Capcom to take a risk and do a remake of Code Veronica in the classic fixed camera style as an experiment to see how audiences would take to it.
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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