 Before we begin with this one, please note that this article consists of enormous spoilers for Resident Evil VIII: Village, in particular the infamous House Beneviento sequence. Unlike most entries, House Beneviento relies upon player ignorance in order to maintain its peculiar species of escalating tension and the truly horrific surprises that lie within its shifting corridors, so, reader discression is earnestly advised. With that said, we're hurtling bang up to date for this entry. Resident Evil VIII: Village is the latest in the Resident Evil franchise and, like VII before it, marks a significant experiment on behalf of the creators: Unlike previous entries, which maintain a certain consistency in tone, style and the nature of horror they employ, Resident Evil VIII goes entirely off-piste, introducing a scenario that -as the game's storybook opening sequence implies- is more of a macabre fairy tale than the science fiction and horror B-Movie plots of yore. Foregoing the the ethos of any previous entry, Resident Evil VIII forces the player to sit up and take notice by introducing elements that -initially- seem almost antithetical to established Resident Evil tradition, but which, when the back-mythology starts to become apparent, tie in beautifully to the previous entry and the history of the entire series. Part of what makes Resident Evil VIII: Village so unique amongst the franchise's many, many entries at this point is its inclusion of various different strains of horror: each sub-section of the game evinces its own peculiar aspects and qualities, from the action, combat-oriented chaos of Heisenberg's factory to the gothic stylings of Castle Dimitrescu (more on that later in the series). Each area boasts its own unique style of gameplay and is redolent of a particular sub-genre of horror, meaning that there is no point at which the game becomes familiar or formulaic. Players have to adjust their expectations, assumptions and style of play on the fly, responding to conditions that change so suddenly, that transition in itself becomes a source of sublime panic. Perhaps the most infamous sequence in the game -certainly the one remarked upon by those of us who enjoy the atmospheric dread so redolent of earlier entries in the series- is House Beneviento. Unlike most areas in this game -and certainly any that precede it-, House Beneviento is a marked removal from expected gameplay in a Resident Evil title. If anything, it is more redolent of what a present-day Silent Hill game might exhibit: a descent into quiet psychological horror that pays homage not only to various films, novels et al but also numerous independent video games that have massively influenced horror as a whole (there are references here to everything from P.T. to Layers of Fear, from Amnesia: The Dark Descent to Condemned: Criminal Origins). After passing through the gate that leads to the long and winding track to House Beneviento, player character Ethan Winters finds himself almost hopelessly lost in a mist-shrouded wood, the path uncertain, strange sounds and motions passing through the surrounding undergrowth. There are no enemies here; nothing to shoot or pose overt threat; only the cawing of crows, the pervasive mist and a lingering sense of escalating dread, as we wait for the inevitable axe to fall. At one point, the way starts to echo scenes from the iconic Blair Witch Project, the trees strung with various dolls that twist and shift in the breeze. A strangely ritualistic grave boasts a broken plaque embossed with the name of the Beneviento family. Beyond, a door demands that Ethan give up his memories in order to proceed. This is where a photograph of Ethan and his family that the player has been carrying in their inventory since the beginning of the game comes into play: Feeding the photograph through the slot causes the door to open, revealing a murky, underground passage that leads to an elevator. It's here that Resident Evil VIII demonstrates its removal from previous entries in the series to the Nth degree: Ethan's giving up his memories of his family is a symbolic act, the like of which one would expect to find in a Silent Hill title, and that chimes with the pervading themes of parenthood, family and the tensions that exist between one generation and the next that weave throughout the narrative. By feeding House Beneviento his most beloved memories, Ethan inadvertantly provides it the weapons with which it will inevitably assault him, but also commits an act of self-purgation: here, he relinquishes hold of something that he can never have and that will never be his again; a dream that has been shattered, along with his delusion of a life. The elevator is where things start to take a turn for the decidedly weird: an extremely long ride up is haunted by flickering lights and phantom voices, every time the light fails revealing more and more strange missives scrawled on the walls of the elevator by unknown hands. This is where the player might start to doubt what is happening; as different as Resident Evil VIII is from previous entries, it still functions in the same universe which, despite its many grotesque absurdities, is still a rational one: there is no magic, there are no demons or ghosts or supernatural entities here. Everything is a product of biology, to one degree or another. However, here, arguably for the first time, that certainty is thrown into profound doubt. After emerging from the woods into a strange, derelict garden, Ethan is faced with the spectre of Mia, his wife who was apparently murdered in the game's opening sequences. The spectre demonstrates itself to be nothing but an hallucination, accusing him of abandoning her and their child before dispersing entirely. Following the path, Ethan eventually comes upon a beautiful, cliffside vista, in which an immense waterfall flows endlessly in the distance, and the quaint, picturesque House Beneviento perches on the mountainside, almost inviting in its domesticity. Upon approaching the house, Ethan finds that everything he's been carrying up to this point is gone, including his weapons. Everything starts to take on a quietly dreaming quality; the interior of the house itself concertedly normal, so much so as to be uncanny. Everywhere Ethan wanders, there are signs of lives being lived beyond the horrors he has faced in the eponymous village heretofore, very little that is overtly sinister or threatening save, perhaps, the myriad dolls that infest every room and corridor (numerous documents gathered up to this point have obliquely referenced a “doll maker,” and Ethan has had a brief, confusing encounter with the woman herself during a communion that he barely escaped with his life). Trespassing deeper, he finds an elevator which leads down into the sinister cellar of the house, and it's here that things start to take a turn: Donna Beneviento -whose full name we don't learn until much later-, the presiding mistress of House Beneviento, has been affected by the “gift” of the game's antagonist, Mother Miranda, in a markedly different way than her “siblings:” Whereas they have all been physically transformed in extremely profound ways, Donna's corruption is more subtle: whilst there are indeed physical transformations beneath her black veil and funeral garb, they are incredibly subtle in comparison to those evinced by the piscine Moreau or draconic Lady Dimitrescu: Donna's dubious “gift” is a shift in psychology and perception: her mind has been broken, warped and reshaped by Miranda's touch, resulting in a fractured reality that she can inflict on others when in close proximity (and with the help of various hallucinogenic flowers that she cultivates in her expansive garden). Unwittingly having inhaled their toxins on his way to the house, Ethan is afflicted with visions and hallucinations that gradually escalate in intensity and that tap into his subconscious dreads and neuroses regarding his newborn daughter and his own capacity as a parent: Here, the themes of the game are made overt in the puzzles and horrors that Ethan experiences, from symbolic imagery that -frankly- shames most Silent Hill titles to a climax that is so horrifying, many players -including myself- shriek out loud upon first experiencing it. As well as a mannequin of Mia that Ethan must carefully dissect and dismember in order to find the keys and solutions to various puzzles -symbolism!-, he is constantly afflicted by phantom sounds, shades that pass by frosted windows or lurk around corners, paintings that change, corridors that transform or distort when he turns around and myriad other seemingly-supernatural occurences that feel almost out of place in a Resident Evil title. One particular puzzle sees Ethan having to reconstruct a home-video sequence which tells the story of his daughter Rose's life up to this point. Upon completing the puzzle, a projector will play the scratchy, distorted film of a descending stone cavern -Freudian symbolism certainly not lost on the developers here- to a sinister well. Opening a door that requires the keys and solutions from the other puzzles in the area brings Ethan directly to the mouth of that same tunnel, his descent into the dark accompanied by the crying of a child, whispers at the edge of perception. In the room with the well, he finds a crib gently rocking, but no child. Having no choice but to descend into the well, he does so, finding an item in the depths that will help him progress. This is a moment of sublimely orchestrated tension: of course the player anticipates something in the bottom of the well, something that, perhaps, rises from the filthy water or that lurches from the shadows.  But there is nothing; the well is a red herring, meaning that the tension continues to escalate as they climb the ladder again, and the baby's crying takes on a violent note, a calamity above consisting of slammed doors, the crib being audibly knocked over, something vast throwing its weight around the small chamber. Rising out of the well, Ethan finds the room in disarray; the crib toppled and shattered, everything else it contains hurled around or otherwise vandalised. Most distressing of all, what can only be identified as an immense umbilical cord leads from the crib back up the staircase, into the room where the mannequin of Mia previously lay. Now, the mannequin is gone, the table in which it lay obscenely bloody, and a pulsating, red light lends events a Dario Argento-style feverishness. Following the umbilical cord into the darkened network of corridors leading to the elevator, Ethan is faced with the manifestation of all his fears and doubts regarding Rose, his daughter, and his own capacities as a Father: A burbling, gelatinous, foetal giant, the creature laughing and crying “Dadda!” in hunger as it crawls towards him through the corridors. This is the most tense, terrifying moment not only in House Beneviento, but arguably the entire game: owing to the darkness in which the creature occurs, the raw panic it induces, it is incredibly difficult to make out more than suggested details. This in itself lends the creature a degree of perversity that the more overt monsters in the game lack: the player will be so busy running away, so panicked, they often won't ever stay still long enough to get a clear view of the entity (and, if they do, they're likely condemning Ethan to a grizzly, patricidal devouring). If the entity does catch up, it stretches its gelatinous maw, burbling “Dadda!” all the while, and devours Ethan whole (the Freudian symbolism of this, I'm sure, bears no comment). If the player manages to escape, their only option is to play a hideously tense game of cat and mouse, hiding in various cupboards and cabinets as the creature violently seeks them out, making moves only when they are sure it has passed. The object is to circle around the entity, make a way back to the elevator and the fuze box attached to it, at which point they will find that it no longer operates; a replacement fuze is required in order to make it work. This can be found in a bedroom behind a previously locked door. However, when Ethan is making his way back, the foetus-monster will burst through a door ahread of him, giggling at having found its “Dadda,” and chase him back to the bedroom, where it is necessary to hide under the bed, wait for the slouching, unformed monster to circle around then bolt back for the elevator as fast as Ethan can run. Even as the elevator doors close, the thing approaches, dragging its way towards Ethan before hurling itself at the gate that seals it out. Ethan's ascent from that hideous cellar marks far more than an escape from a monster: in classic Silent Hill style, it is a symbolic event, demonstrating that he has faced the culmination of his fears as a parent and escaped from them intact, and is now ready to face the many trials that will lead him back to his daughter. The “baby” is not only one of the most disturbing entities in the game, it marks a turning point in the entire series: this is Resident Evil trespassing in the long-defunct Silent Hill's territory, proclaiming that, not only can it do all of the psychological, deep and dark, symbolic horror that series is so renowned for, at this point, it can do it better. A bold claim, and one that it hopefully fulfils in future entries. Check out the other articles in George's series on Resident Evil TOP TEN RESIDENT EVIL MONSTERS PART 1: THE CERBERUS TOP TEN RESIDENT EVIL MONSTERS PART 2: THE LICKERS FEATURE: TOP TEN RESIDENT EVIL MONSTERS NEMESIS (RESIDENT EVIL 3 REMAKE) CHECK OUT TODAY'S OTHER ARTICLES ON GINGER NUTS OF HORROR
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