Shattered Memories: A Eulogy
Okay, this apparently went live Tuesday on the front page of Kombo.com, but I was too distracted by my recently defunct computer to notice. Anyway, I hope you take a moment to hop over to Kombo and check out my first guest article for them!
Over the years, my obsession for the Silent Hill games has nestled into my life like an infection. Akira Yamaoka’s music, which balances so beautifully against Mary Elizabeth McGlynn’s and Joe Romersa’s haunting vocals, effortlessly spreads its tendrils under my flesh. The gritty visuals poison my veins, the nightmarish town rots my bones, the psychological illusions deceive my brain, and the lingering terror grips my soul in my sleeping hours. Despite its deathly visage, I can’t help but experience a sort of inexplicable, Gothic fascination for the series whose stories have always rattled me. But when the recent Shattered Memories caused my dry throat to constrict and my eyes to wet, I knew the usual horrors weren’t culpable.





But why do video games suffer from such a notorious reputation? Is it a crummy budget, bad casting, or just a bad batch of filmmakers and so-called creative minds? Maybe. But we all know that there’s too many awful video game movies out there to blame it on a handful of random factors. Books seem to revel in the highest adaptation success rate, with comics close behind and gaining speed fast. So is it just the medium? Video games aren’t always known for stellar storytelling, but die-hard fans are eager and willing to take up arms to defend their beloved games that, well … don’t suck.




