Resident Evil

Almost three decades on, the defining survival horror game has much more to offer than scares

- By ED SMITH

Resident Evil feels like a horror game. You don't have many bullets, you can't carry many guns, and each zombie, Cerberus, Hunter or Chimera has the power to kill you quickly, and often unexpectedly. In addition, you can only save your game a finite number of times and in specific locations. Given these stressors and pressures, you are directed to avoid rather than embrace action, to stay out of combat and use brains at least as often as brawn. Sit idle on the main menu for long enough and there's a short clip of in-game footage with an accompanying, advisory message:

Not much ammo, dangerous enemies, the risk of losing progress – these elements, combined with the inscrutable and often lethal environment of the Spencer Mansion itself, create a profound sense of disempowerment, a feeling that you are unprepared. The makers of Resident Evil even seem capable of anticipating bravado and turning the urge against you. If you rush to grab the shotgun from the first-floor mantelpiece, you'll trigger the overhead crusher and, if you're playing as Chris, probably die. New weapons in videogames are typically an invitation to enjoy new combat mechanics too, to bask briefly in the feeling of increased power conferred by a better gun, sword or spell. The shotgun trap, in contrast, urges caution, even meekness. It's one of Resident Evil's subtler ways of telling you that what you're playing is horror, not action; the conventions of the action game if you see a cool gun, grab it and let rip! don't apply here.