How the uncanny takes shape in Silent Hill 2.
Intro
My most recent obsession has manifested itself in the most bizarre form. Taking its shape in the online phenomena of liminal spaces. Now firstly, for those unfamiliar with this term, allow me to clarify. It is a phenomenon best defined by the feeling of eliciting, and I use this word loosely, an ‘uncanny’ feeling within the viewer. This is done through images of areas that stir within us a sense of ‘i’ve been here before’. Uncanny, right? The term is rather apt here. As so many of us are able to look upon these odd estimations of areas or slightly ‘off’ locations and relate them back to a memory of our own childhood or a vibe we detect from the mere act of viewing them. Yet it is that very link to our childhoods which I find so compelling. These images are met with endless troves of comments detailing their varying memories relating to the imagery presented before them. This phenomena appears to rouse within us all a collective sense of nostalgic attachment to a memory that perhaps never was. It is uncanny. But just what exactly does this term mean? And why does it relate so strongly to another piece of art that relies upon this warping of architecture and vacated spaces to infer a sense of horror and tension. I am, of course, referring to the acclaimed Silent Hill 2. The originator (at least intentionally so) of liminal horror in gaming. Intrinsically linking to the nature of memories, repression and recollection. Yet these facets of our memory become so much more terrifying, when our collective fears are made manifest and the uncanny is weaponised to reflect this. Pertaining no more to fond or dour recollection, but personified terror, trawling forth our darkest urges that manifest before us as we take control of our reluctant protagonist, James Sunderland. So let us delve deep into the instances of the uncanny, as seen in Silent Hill 2.
What is the uncanny? A brief intro
Before we continue, it is imperative to note that the uncanny as a term, is itself largely indefinable. Though its etymological birth is traceable, it is better to understand its definition as a fixture upon which other elements both attach and pertain to. Its etymological beginnings find their roots in the German word for the unhomely (unheimlich), an antithetical to that which exists outside of the home, thus being alien, unfamiliar and unencountered. This concept was then expanded upon by Sigmund Freud in his essay on the uncanny and Ernst Jentsch in his work the psychology of the unheimlich, both of whom sought to anatomise the term, thus birthing the varied facets of the uncanny. Its primary subcategories can be divided into: the uncanny valley, the unheimlich (in the traditional sense of the term) and doppelgangers. For these are terms which are rooted in that which is deemed to be uncanny. Their essence and our understanding of these facets are inseparable from the uncanny when one delves into the emotions stirred within us by their effects. The etymology of the uncanny when separated from these is both definable and traceable, yet as its effects are bolstered in modern media and art alike, it becomes this rather obtuse umbrella term for which the aforementioned categories fall under. These elements of it, and the term itself, shall be the basis for which I shall dissect Silent Hill 2 and its utilisation of the uncanny elements.
Team Silent, their approach and all its oddities.
To understand how the uncanny was interwoven into the project, I feel it is first important to assess the influences that guided the designers approach and aesthetic decisions made throughout. The main players involved in this segment (whose work I shall be referring to) belong to the eponymous (and now, quite rightfully, deified) Team Silent. The monster and enemy designer Masahiro Ito, Takayoshi Sato the man responsible for the epitomising of the uncanny in his CG cutscenes and co-writing of the female characters, and lastly Akihito Imamura, who served as producer for the project. The team is unique in the sense that Sato described them as being “artists and programmers first and mainly artists. Silent hill 2 is not a typical game because most of our staff didn’t grow up playing games. Because of this we hope to provide the gamer with a different sort of game”. It is this perspective that gifted us the unrepeatable soul of Silent Hill 2. As opposed to drawing upon contemporary influences in the form of gaming competitors, the team looked toward the world of art, literature and film for their inspirations.
This tapestry took form in the shape of Francis Bacon’s work, an English painter, whose pieces focused primarily upon contorting and the distortion of the human form, in order to create an uncanny estimation of the human shape. Secondly, the thematic influence of Dostoyesky’s novel, Crime and Punishment, along with their filmic influences being comprised of works pertaining to David Lynch and the Adrian Lyne masterpiece, Jacob’s Ladder. Lastly, the works of the now divisive and scrutinised logic of Sigmund Freud, particularly the notion of the ‘death (Thantos) drive’ he established, no mention of the phallus though, thank god. The death drive was a term defined by Freud as the root of the human drive sharing an inseparable symbiosis with the collective yearning for pleasure. This is best epitomised by the Greek God’s who are representative of these elements and as linked to his ‘pleasure principle’ along with the antithetical life, or Eros principle. It seeks to uncover what is at the heart of us, the fuel to the furnace of that which drives one’s soul toward the allures of destruction, success or chaos. The aforementioned themes of course being the primary addressee’s for any great piece of psychological horror. A genre that is inherently reliant upon the anatomisation of our collective desires. Laying before us those impulses we wish to conceal to both ourselves and others. That is why the majority of content in Silent Hill 2 feels so visceral in nature. We all have these buried desires, yet for protagonist James Sunderland his reality is one of desire made manifest, albeit warped into something unnamable, resembling his most primal and darkest thoughts.
Uncanny valley and that which lurks within our mind:
The effect of the uncanny valley is arguably the most commonly weaponised facet of the uncanny. It is utilised most potently in the realm of horror media. Be this in the form of the twins and their vacant expression as seen in the Kubrick adaptation of the Shining as they greet Danny from the conclude of a corridor, their features barely discernible, making them appear almost doll-like, inanimate even. Or whether it be the warping of human features in Ari Aster’s Hereditary, best evidenced in a notable scene which sees the younger (spoilers) deceased sister, Charlie lurking in the shadows as her head falls from her shoulders, becoming a beach ball which rolls forth to spook Alex Wolff’s character Peter. The term ‘uncanny valley’ itself was defined by robotics professor Masahiro Mori, and is best summarised as follows; a referential term pertaining to the point at which the inanimate and the human become indistinguishable from one another, thus entering the ‘valley’ in which one can no longer, or finds themselves struggling to define that which is living and that which is not. This can be achieved unintentionally through means of aged CGI (looking at you Dwayne Johnson as the scorpion king), automatons animating in ways deemed eerily human, or intentionally so to invoke a deep sense of unease within those who view them or with unwavering intentionality. Tapping into something, a fight or feeling perhaps, so deeply ingrained within us all, to trawl forth unshakable feelings of unease.
Such was the case with Silent Hill 2’s monster designs, as Masahiro Ito summarises in his aesthetic choices, “my basic idea in creating the monsters of Silent hill 2 was to give them a human aspect, in the beginning the game player would believe they are human. And then I proceeded to undermine this human aspect by giving weird movements to these creatures based upon the mannerisms and movements of drunk people or the tentative walk of very young children”. It is this dichotomy between the human shape and the grotesque juxtaposition illuminated upon further inspection that creates such opposition within the mind of the player. Each enemy encountered requires a degree of discernment in order to reach the conclusion that the shadows we so mercilessly bludgeon, left to lay writhing upon the floor like a fella who’s a couple cans deep, are indeed, not. As the assurance in our actions and this unshakable feeling of recognising the human shape is what catalyses the feeling of dissonance within us. A dissonance that relies upon our ability to both loathe and at once sympathise with what was once human, yet now is so altered that it can longer be categorised as such.
Further to this notion of dichotomy, Ito goes on to say that “the team’s consensus on the monster’s look was that of soured flesh”. Soured flesh, yum. The flesh of course being the fabric that clings to our vessel now rendered rotten yet still animate, so beyond the human form, yet so true to it. Akin to those malformed subjects of Bacon’s work. The enemies aesthetic itself is an uncanny dichotomy, the use of flesh implying that which is animate, human even, and the soured nature of it denoting death, or at least a partial decay, of that which was once living. A definition which occupies a space of liminality. Tracing a point between death and life, placing the enemies we encounter firmly in the trough of the uncanny valley. For our understanding of the enemies humanity is rooted in the innate human ability to tell the living from the dead. A primal instinct that makes us wary of the dead themselves. I believe the fear we feel throughout the game is best understood as a chaotic duality between the discernment of these opposing elements. A feeling best encapsulated by Ernest Jentsch’s definition of the uncanny valley, “doubt as to whether an apparently living being really is animate and, conversely, doubt as to whether a lifeless object may not in fact be animate – and more precisely, when this doubt only makes itself felt obscurely in one’s consciousness”.
For the unmistakable element of humanity the enemies possess, we too possess an understanding of that which faces us was once akin to us in form. This realisation as a means for creating sympathy for the devil, so to speak, is effective in the sense that what we face cannot be separated by means of dissonance and instead, as previously stated, requires discernment of its shape. Our means of dealing with enemies is rather brutal too. James haphazardly bludgeons the creatures whilst they lay upon the floor. Failure to do so results in them rising once more to give us a taste of our own medicine. We cannot detach this means of dispatch from our own sympathy. As such our emotional response enters a valley of its own. Ito states that “the player has to make this judgement. But that person is far from human and very dangerous. You might be surprised or feel pity destroying it. I tried to give enemies an element of humanity”. This facet of humanity that remains despite their evident decay is what places the enemies in the firm spot of psychological horror.
I liken this estimation of the human form to that seen in one of Silent Hill’s enduring influences, Jacob’s Ladder. The film sees Tim Robbins’ character Jacob enter a spiral of his own. Navigating through fragmented pocket realities populated by his repressed fears, desires and hopes alike. Sound familiar? Even the aesthetic of the infamous hospital scene seems highly reminiscent of the one also depicted in Team Silent’s precursive 1999 title Silent Hill. Both titles share thematic elements with the film, Silent Hill 2 appears to borrow its approach to monster design from the film as opposed to the environmental aesthetic. Silent Hill 1 saw the town being used as a catalyst that manifested the dreams and nightmares of another, Alessa. Silent Hill 2 functions to mirror the repressed thoughts of James’ mind. With that established, I draw your attention to the image below of the ‘shakers’ as seen in Jacob’s Ladder. These uncanny souls are manifestations of Jacob’s mind and also indicative of his repressed memory, pertaining to his time in Vietnam.
For James and Jacob alike, it is the fear of that which was once human and has since been warped beyond recognition, or chosen to alter its form beyond it, that imbues such terror in the viewer. Yet the shakers, though sharing kinship in the visual sense, do not elicit a feeling of sympathy from me, terror and dread yes but sympathy, I’m not so sure. They are contorted yet still physically functional and exhibit no signs of agony in their movements. The monsters of Silent Hill 2 however, range from lumbering executioner’s a la Pyramid Head, to bow-legged nurses and the shambling gait of the Lying Figures. All of the aforementioned enemies appeared pained by each movement that they commit themselves to. They sway uneasily, shuffling with both legs dragging upon the floor or adorned in the metallic pyramid. Ito specifically clarifies that its design “suggests the possibility of pain”. We sympathise with that which we dispatch. An emotion layered with the combined effects of aesthetic weaponization, animation and the employment of the uncanny valley. This is no power fantasy, rather an act of pity. Yet still, despite it all I was thoroughly repulsed, horrified and enduringly sympathetic to the frail targets I laid the beat down on.
The doppelgangers in all their forms:
Yet the instances of the uncanny valley do not cease there. Pyramid head, the unwitting mascot of the franchise (much to the reluctance of its creator) is not the only definable doppelganger. Maria, or is it Mary? Is the corrupting element of James’ repression that exists to entice him further into the bowels of the town, only to be murdered. Repeatedly, I may add. Subsequently resurrecting to berate, belittle and goad James into overcoming and confronting his repression. These doppelgangers are dual elements to the whole that is James’ mind. Yet doppelgangers are not mere mirror images, rather they seem to possess a degree of telepathy. Freud notes that doppelgangers often utilise or are imbued with a “Spontaneous transmission of mental process from one to the other – what we would call telepathy – so that the one becomes co-owner of the other’s knowledge, emotions and experience”. Much as Maria appears to possess a degree of omniscient clairvoyance regarding James’ emotions towards his wife, Mary. She can detect those nefarious desires he wished she would have fulfilled in the end of her days and the allure he holds towards Maria as a doppelganger of his wife.
Maria is imbued with all that James wished his wife could embody. And whilst Mary is draped in her muted, monotone garbs, Maria presents a looseness and an appearance modelled upon Christina Aguilera’s teen choice awards outfit. This frames her as a looser figure willing to entice him and scold him for his meek nature. This duality of hers is best illustrated in the prison scene. Which sees James, having plunged, literally, into the abyss of Toluca prison enters a cell, where he stumbles upon Maria, sitting candidly upon a chair. They share an exchange in which James enters a grapple of his own with the uncanny. Maria, at once herself and the next Mary, toys with this idea of dual halves. She Weaponises her omniscience over James’ lust and seemingly embodies Mary in spirit. In two lines she switches from the scolding tones of “I’m not your Mary”, to which James inquires if she is indeed Maria, as she coyly retorts “I am, if you want me to be”. Flirtatious, scolding, omniscient yet still preying upon the hapless pursuit of James. Maria is a doppelganger who within this scene becomes the receptacle to Mary’s thoughts yet so vehemently denies that she is her.
The opaque lines of her duality only continue to blur further, yet it is in the aforementioned instance where, prior to her physical transformation, she wholly embodies James’ desire. This dichotomy of the doppelganger is only furthered by Sato’s animation which aptly weds with the presentation of her as both Mary and Maria. She is animated to depict the posture of a reserved woman, years beyond what Maria seems to be, and in her next utterance, reenters the role of Maria, a woman whose posture and movements ebb and flow with her every word. At once reserved, at once freed. Yet omniscient and aware of the desire each of these guises presents to James. In all the absurdity that envelops this scene, the precursive geographical descents, numerous that they are, and the traversal through the impossible design of the prison does not dissuade James from taking further pursuit of Maria. His overriding desire is so potent in its nature that he simply cannot refute this feeling. This leads to further subjection of himself to inevitable suffering in the aim of retribution or relief of one’s desires. The unshakable power of his repression has led him here and shall not dissuade him from delving further into the abyss in order to rise from the depths of his own mind.
Yet still he is plagued by the omniscient thought of Silent Hill’s doppelgangers that allows them to prey upon James’ fears. Pyramid head operates upon this logic in the sense that he acts not as a beholder of James’ thoughts, but rather, embodies them. He is the monument to his desire for punishment, signifier of his lust and righteous executioner acting out his need for self-flagellation. James, whether he realises this during his journey or not, is the epitome of his yearning for cruelty enacted unto himself. Pyramid head, in all his juxtaposing angles, his hobbling gait and grossly over-proportioned butcher’s knife still seeks to desecrate each and every female form he encounters. He swings blindly at that which comes before him and relentlessly pursues James. A repressed facet that refuses to relinquish its own desire to enact punishment. Thus the embodiment as opposed to the transference of thought is evident here. Their aesthetic differentiation is clear yet their cyclical thoughts of lust and punishment share in their own symbiosis.
As opposites must function, so too must they form a whole. For Pyramid head is James’ personal thanatos, a death drive made manifest and Mary embodies his yearning for pleasure. Though this desire is thwarted at every instance where he could indulge in this fantasy. Each equilibrium that is established with Maria at his side is cut short, quite literally, by the righteous swing of Pyramid Head. Denial, at every instance of the opportune until at last the repressed must be confronted and James must forgo his manifested doppelgangers in order to confront that which he refuses to see. It is the removal of the opaque filter which conceals the obscured window of the mind, catalysing what was once murky into the discernable by means of mutating the view he once so vehemently clung to. Only with this realisation can he reach his own apotheosis and grant himself the power to relinquish his hold upon the scars of his past.
Bending of the rules – The Fairytale and the rules of fantasy.
Before reaching what is arguably salvation from his own depravity and repression, James must traverse the fog-strewn town of Silent Hill and its accompanying labyrinthian interiors. These range from apartments to hospitals, hotels and prisons. Yet there is a nature of duality at play within these areas too. Freud remarks upon the rules that are outlined by a writer in the realm of literary fairy tales as a means of dictation for what is deemed uncanny and normalised, yet I think this bears relevance to the ‘normal’ and ‘other’ worlds as seen in the game. He states that our understanding hinges upon whether a writer chooses to “present a world that conforms with the reader’s familiar reality or one that in some way deviates from it. We accept his choice in every case”. Yet unlike Alice, who embarks upon her odyssey into Wonderland, where there is a demonstrable change in the rules of what is deemed normality and that which is fairytale, Silent Hill plunges us in and out of the depths of James’ mind with unrelenting impulsivity. It is hard for us to discern the rules that are applicable to each world due to their unsignalled shifts.
These shifts into the other world were harkened by a siren in the first Silent Hill which signalled to the player that they shall be entering into a different dimension. Silent Hill 2 however forgoes the siren and instead opts to allow the player to discern between reality and the other. Now it’s easy to get lost in the reeds of analysis here as one can argue which section of the game adheres to the definitions of either, yet I think the uncanny intrigue lies in the dichotomy as opposed to the definition. What is established in one is at once transferable, and not. The other world bleeds out into normality and normality itself becomes far more transient as the title’s runtime extends. James, who first stumbles upon the fog riddled town eventually finds himself battling the reanimated corpse of his wife in the concluding confrontation. You see where I’m going? Reality is already established as a fragile concept and one which James himself seems to question from the introductory cutscene. His odyssey, far removed from Alices’ motivating desire, is incited by his receiving of a letter written by the hand of a cadaver.
James himself is the one who manifests these aesthetic shifts, yet we must define what is reality. Our narrator is unreliable, already unhinged from the initial moment we take control of him and thus we must understand that discussion of reality and the rules that pertain to this rest upon the vision of a fragile mind. James’ reality brings with it its own rules. It is a world populated by doppelgangers, fog, emotionless killers in the form of Eddie, and the letter he received from Mary, his long deceased wife. The concluding revelation may grant clarity as to whether our journey occurs in reality and the rules that tie to it yet, for my experience at least, provided no resolute answer as to what was and wasn’t real. The dichotomy of these worlds acting at once in unison and opposition, serve only to further confuse us, perhaps intentionally so. Referring back to Freud’s statement upon the rules of the fairytale, I do indeed trust that Sunderland’s journey was felt, yet the dual worlds in which we proceed through are armed with their own rule set and a defining boundary which continues to blur.
This discernment, as so commonly necessitated by the game’s obtuse nature raises questions once more. Who are we to trust? When Alice enters Wonderland there are objective rules, a boundary that is crossed and a reality that is returned to. For James, he is a mind who finds comfort and is thwarted continually by his covetous desires pertaining to Maria. He wishes to grasp that which was lost, yet the reality we are plunged into presents no definable rules. This is the uncanny acting upon us to further imbue within a deep sense of confusion and intrigue directed unto this misanthropic world. Even the very layout of areas we have previously explored is subverted by the shifts into the other world. Once safe routes become populated with enemies, doors become sealed and in the case of Toluca prison we are forced into probing thought over whether these numerous descents are manifestations of an ailing mind or are physical occurrences that are happening in reality. The shadowy juxtaposition leads us to answers that shall differ from one player to another. Innumerable arguments have and shall continue to be held over whether the game is a dream from its initial outset.
The notion of ‘dream logic’ for lack of a better term is applicable here, for absurd occurrences happen for inexplicable reasons and yield indiscernible results pertaining to what appears to be a reason of none. The question arises once more. Just what is definable reality in Silent Hill 2? Yet I argue that defining what is and isn’t reality does not clarify anything nor aid us in any manner. Dream or not, we occupy the mind of Sunderland, who as a narrator presents not a tabula rasa for us to project our own thoughts and feelings upon but rather a fractured mind whose trauma and desires we are tasked with anatomising. When one views the world through broken eyes, through altered visions, what is and is not reality no longer truly matters. It might just be one big bad trip man, but that doesn’t help us either. I think a clarifying thought is to understand that reality is not a concept that is known to Sunderland anymore, at least not in the way that we view our own reality. He arrives at the town on the supposition that his deceased wife wrote him a letter and leaves in either acceptance or succumbs to his grief. It is also notable that when the lines of reality are fractured, to understand whose mind these thoughts emanate from shall aid analysis far more than discerning the reality it births. For Sunderland’s reality is not our own, nor can we bestow our morals and concrete understanding of it upon him. A broken mind can be understood to a degree, yet the narrative they present to us shall always bring with it a modicum of deliberation over what is and is not reality. As such the discernment of the uncanny and the human also hinges upon this notion of our dwelling within his fractured mind. We are demanded to accept the existence of doppelgangers, of fear made manifest and also required to dictate that which is reality within the game-world. Yet this murkiness is only bolstered further by the supposition that we occupy the headspace of a repressive murderer, en route to locate the very woman he killed.
Now that’s out of the way, let me just quickly draw a line between the game world and Freud’s definition, along with the Alice in Wonderland example I’ve given prior. The world of Silent hill 2 is imbued with rules as ordained by the development team. Sure there’s mechanics and basic design principles acting upon us but for our experience of their narrative they have handed it to James, who by now we have seen is on the verge of losing his sanity. I liken the rules and our understanding of them to the aforementioned Jacob’s Ladder. There is indeed a narrative at play, a series of instances presented to us, yet our discernment of the real and the dream world rests upon us as the viewer. Freud does indeed state that we accept the rules presented, but what of the alteration of the rules? Or the ill-defined alterations of the rules at play in a singular narrative? Then our understanding is warped, no longer can we accept these rules but we are invited to interrogate them and refute the reality presented, thus we enter into a dialogue with the art itself in order to discern what is and is not the truth. And as we have seen occurring with increasing repetition. Understanding the fragments of an ailing mind only further muddies the already tenebrous waters of audience understanding. Jacob, much like James, navigates through their own realities; it is for us to decide whether the rules that are applicable to our own understanding are indeed transferable when analysing a mind fraught with decay or madness.
Silent Hill 2 as the uncanny metaphor – Conclusion.
The permanence of the uncanny as a catalyst for eliciting fear, producing confusion and evoking sympathy detail their enduring ability to at once unnerve us and stir within a deeper sense that our own desires have been addressed or brought forth. This, at once indicates both a sense of repression that dwells within us all and an innate ability to conceal such thoughts from others, and secondly, the prominence and emotional impact of addressing the human psyche. The works of Francis Bacon draw forth feelings of both sympathy and repulsion alike. As does the experience of playing Silent Hill. Our capacity to sympathise is exploited, leveraged against. Turning what once represented a call to action or cognitive recognition of suffering, into a fear of that which could possibly do us harm. Psychological horror and the uncanny share an inseparable symbiosis with one another. Freud defined the uncanny as a “long familiar to the psyche and was estranged from it only through being repressed” a notion which weds almost perfectly with Sato Takayoshi’s mission statement of stirring within and addressing the fact that “everybody is thinking and concerned about sex and death everyday and if I want to scare or shake or touch the users or spectators then we have to think deeply about those things”. And thus our rumination upon these subjects indicates the repression of emotions and desires within our own selves. James Sunderland’s journey is understood through his eyes, yet the themes are familiar to us all. The nature of duality, of joy and sadness, of lust and death are the alabaster pillars that comprise the thinking mind. It is the power of psychological horror to take a hammer to those pillars, thus bringing the walls crashing down. What remains is our ability as the audience to reflect upon our repressions, joys and woes. Some may be shaken, yet I believe in such dire reflection of the human spirit is the life affirming need to continue on. To confront that which has been repressed or gnaws at our latent thoughts. To overcome necessitates acknowledgement of the thought or behaviour, though maybe not in the form of fighting your reincarnated wife eh? We’ll leave that one to James. The rest of us will just go on, in our own realities.