If you take nothing else from me today, just take these three words: stick with it.
Silent Hill f review
- Developer: NeoBards Entertainment
- Publisher: Konami
- Platform: Played on PS5
- Availability: Out 25th September on PC (Steam), PS5, Xbox Series X/S
If you’d sidled up to me halfway through Silent Hill f, I probably would’ve dropped my voice and advised you to wait for a sale. All the whiny teenage angst is winding me up, and is also more than faintly reminiscent of Silent Hill’s free teaser, The Short Message. I don’t like the combat. For the last hour, I’ve been unsuccessfully playing Inventory Management Sim, spent an embarrassing amount of time lost in a field, and I still can’t really work out what the hell is going on. The (also embarrassing) time I’ve spent wandering through the misty streets of Silent Hill over the years is seemingly of no benefit here, either. In fact, if it wasn’t for Akira Yamaoka et al’s score – which is less recognisably Silent Hill than I’ve ever heard before – I wouldn’t have thought Silent Hill f was a Silent Hill game at all. Which is kind of weird. You know. For a Silent Hill game.
I don’t say that to be difficult. I’m not the fan who only ever wants Silent Hill 2 over and over again (although let’s face it, Remake was exquisite), I don’t automatically despise anything that’s been made by a western studio, but I also don’t blindly accept that everything with Silent Hill on the cover is any good, either (sorry, Ascension). So I came into Silent Hill f cautious, but optimistic.
But first, some context! Silent Hill f places us in the neat school shoes of teenager Hinako. For reasons that may or may not be explained later, her provincial town, Ebisugaoka, is suddenly submerged into a mysterious fog. The pavements bubble and blister with strange crimson flora, and sinewy strings hang from rooftops like macabre bunting. Unidentifiable fleshy lumps sit about, all haphazard and bloody, as though discarded by a lazy butcher in the sky, but it’s the flowers you need to look out for. One wrong step, and something will curl around your ankle, and you’ll be trypophobia-triggering plant food before you know it.