SILENT HILL 2: An Autopsy Of The Greatest Horror Story Ever Told...And My Guiding Light

I told myself I wasn't ever going to do this.

There are more than enough videos on YoutTube that spend hours (literally) breaking down the deeper psychological implications of Silent Hill 2, countless character autopsies of James Sunderland's cracked psyche and what it all means in some grand, cosmic yet human persepctive. I don't want to add another one to that list.

But I've had a lot of readers lately mention the connections that my own work seems to have to the Silent Hill series, and the fact that readers have made that connection makes me feel really good. I like to wear my influences on my sleeve. Adam Nevill, Shirley Jackson, Mike Flanagan, they all should be easily seen in what I put out.

But above all else, Silent Hill 2 holds the top spot in the echelon of my influences. I've referred to it on more than one occasion as my north star. My guiding light. The single more influential piece of horror media to what has become my own work.

So, I thought I'd do a different kind of autopsy. I want to talk about why Silent Hill 2 works for me as horror. Not a psychological deep dive in Jungian psychology, but rather a look at what sets it, and the series itself, apart from its contemporaries and why it matters so much to me.

Fair warning: Here, There Be Spoilers...

The first thing you need to understand about horror is that it is BY FAR the most varied and versatile of any genres, rivaled only distantly by sci-fi. Its a chameleon, able to blend effectively into both pulp and literary genres. It spans a gamut of tone from the quiet to the visceral. For every The Others quietly walking down dark hallways, there is a Texas Chainsaw Massacre screaming hysterically as it swings its buzzing chainsaw around and around and around in a manic implosion. Horror stories usually fall somewhere within that spectrum. Sometimes they even make there own category. But usually, an author or director will pick a lane and stay mostly within it. Sure, they may waver from time to time, but they usually keep to the track. Its effective and the more consistent the narrative and tone is, the more effective the scares are. Using my example from earlier, if someone goes into The Others expecting Texas Chainsaw Massacre, they are probably in for disapointment. Conversely, if TCM were to slow down and become looming gothic dread for 30 minutes after Leatherface makes his grand entrance, its gonna feel disjointed.

So how does Silent Hill 2 manage to pull off that feat? How is it able to effrotlessly transition from quiet dread to visceral horror and then back again while hitting all the notes inbetween?

Simply put? Silent Hill makes a unique decision right from the get-go. It focuses exclusively on atmosphere and unease. It doesn't really point you in any kind of direction. It holds its ground and gives you something simple.

"In my restless dreams, I see that town...Silent Hill. You promised me you'd take me there again someday. But, you never did. Well, I'm here there now. In our special place."

We learn from the get go that our protagonist James is going to the town of Silent Hill after receiving a letter from his dead wife. That's it. We know she's dead, and yet somehow is calling him to this place.

Now, think of ALL the ways that basic set up could go. Serial killer? Yep. Zombies? Of course. Hauntings? Sure. I could go on and on and on. The point it, the set-up itself is fairly simple and universal. There's nothing special about it.

But there's something else too. This feeling of...unease. Disquiet. It lingers in a way that other stories just don't. It doesn't rush into the narrative, but rather sits and watches you. The long walk into town is populated by sounds from things you can't see, but also can't place.

Silent Hill 2 is far from the first story to start like this, but what makes it land is how everything builds atop its basic premise. Both high octane, visceral action and quiet, tender scenes both manage to make sense within the framework of the narrative. Angela's quiet, depressed, and psychologically scarred character makes as much sense in this world as Pyramid Head's looming horror. Every interaction you have in the game is...off. Strange. Lingering in your memory. There is a dreamlike quality to it all, A dream that consistently and without warning descends into a nightmare.

And you buy it. It all fits the framework like puzzle peices that are just the right fit. The uncertainty that plagues your every step. Every interaction. Every decision and story beat. It's like you're being guided through a dark forest by someone who doesn't know where they are going....or worse yet, knows exactly where they are going.but don't feel like telling you.

Could be good.

Could be bad.

So, Silent Hill 2 builds on this foundation of mystery and unease, of disquieting uncertainty, and then makes its choices. It looks at the spectrum of horror and decides where it wants to go. And it leans HARD into every choice. When it goes body horror, it doesn't dabble. You get horrid images of figures stuck in straight jackets made of skin. Nurses with mutilated faces. Mannequins made of two sets of feminine legs sewn together. They are all not just disturbing, but truly unnerving in just how dark and twisted they are. And the juxtaposition between those moments and figures, and the quiet ones just makes it all that much more effective.

Two cases in point.

1. The Abstract Daddy. The most disturbing thing I've seen in horror. Yeah I've seen gore and murder and guts and all that. But the abstract daddy boss in Silent Hill 2 takes the cake. A flesh covered monstrosity featuring two figures lying atop what appears to be a bed while a mouth on the lower figure opens and screams horrifically as it shambles in rhythmic motions. The. noises it makes. The way it seems at war with itself, as though the two figures that make up its form are engaged in some horrific struggle (cause they are). And what makes it work is that Silent Hill 2 doesn't show it to your without context. You know EXACTLY what is going on there...and God, that makes it so much worse. The original game was bad enough with the room full of firing pistons you have to fight it in. But the remake is something else entirely.

   
   

   See, what makes it work is how that shocking display contrasts with everything else about the character of Angela. She's the quietest person in the story. Every interaction with her seems secretive, hushed. James almost talks to her like he's afraid he'll be too loud. But then when her horror is on display in the form of the abstract daddy, the tone switches gears like a Lamborghini and suddenly there is this conflict between the quietude of Angela and the screaming agony of the abstract daddy. And you literally are chased through her childhood home, hiding in her memories from a monster birthed directly from them. Its loud. Intense. Distrubing. All juxtaposed with the quiet, tender, and sad realities of Angela's character that all of a sudden make so much sense. And as the mystery resolves itself, its answer makes sense with the earlier framework. Its consistent, even in this weird and inconsistent world of clashing tones and uneven auras.

   
   
   
   

2. The Hotel. So following the prison/labyrinth area where you fight the abstract daddy, the game takes you to its endgame. The hotel. The special place your wife mentioned in her letter. Here, where a normal narrative would turn up the heat, Silent Hill 2 decides to downshift. Everything gets quieter. Softer. More tender. Sure there are enemies to fight, but they aren't nearly as numerous, and the environment follows suit. The otherwold here isn't decorated with cages and rust and hellscapes. Instead, its filled with water. This juxtaposition is shocking and eerie and puts you on edge, even when you're at arguably the easiest part of the game. Because now youre inside James's nightmare. No rage. No wrath. Only guilt. Guilt laid bare.

   
   

   See, here we find out that James's wife didn't die from a disease three years ago. She died at his own hands three days ago. That blanket you saw in the back of his car at the very beginning of the game was covering up something. Her body. The monsters you've seen? Manifestations of his own decimated psyche and his guilt over what he'd done. The framework all locks into place. Everything makes sense.

   
   

   And then things get really quiet, and Silent Hill 2 pulls off its greatest trick yet.

   
   

   Because the game all of a sudden feels different. James feels different. The controller in your hands feels different. Somehow, the human heart is darker than all the horrors you've seen throughout the story. Pyramid Head hulking figure and his great knife is suddenly nowhere near as terrifying as James with a pillow.

   
   

   You've been playing as a monster.

   
   

   But the game isn't done. Because this isn't so simple. Life rarely is. As James has his revelations, the hotel contorts into a maze of water where doors lead to impossible hallways. His guilt consumes him. His wife appears to him with a message, a message to forgive himself for what he's done. She was sick after all. She felt like a weight on him, except for the times when she didn't. She wanted to die, except for the times she didn't.

   
   

   See. There it is again. The uncertainty. The narrative has built its entrie structure atop that foundation. And here, at the end, it is as strong as ever even as the winds of reality and the darkness of the human soul batter and ram at its walls.

   
   

   Their meeting concludes with a line that is equally as haunting as it is beautiful. As James takes responsibility for what he's done, saying he wanted her dead so he could get on with his life. So he could crawl out from the weight of her illness. She tells him "James, if that were true. Then why do you look so sad?"

   
   

   All this time the game has thrown us horrors beyond the darkest of minds. And yet, in the end, it reveals itself to be a shockingly human story about the uncertainty of being human. The juxtaposition between our actions and our intentions. The darkness in our hearts against the backdrop of the guilt of our souls.

   
   

   That's what Silent Hill 2 has always meant to me. And that's what I hope to capture in my own work. Sure I love the foggy streets, the liminal plane between worlds and the horrific monsters, but I respect its ability to walk a tightrope between the real and the unreal better than anything else ever has, as well as how effortlessly it somehow leans all the way towards one side without falling off the rope.