had only been playing bioshock for 15 minutes and I was already shaking like a little girl.
It’s hard to unravel what precisely it was that was scaring the hell out of me. Maybe it was hearing the rumbling moans of a nearby Big Daddy and realizing he was looking for me. Maybe it was the way those disgusting genetically modified humans appeared out of nowhere, dressed, improbably, in Victorian garb and creepy clothes. Eyes wide closed clown masks Or maybe it was their strangely confusing dialogue: how they yelled, “Get away from me!” while cutting myself with lead pipes.
The fact is that I as be scared to death. I’m one of those weaklings who scares easily but generally enjoys the sensation. Since I was a kid, I’ve loved a good horror movie. I turned off the lights and scared myself with classics like Hallowe’en, friday the 13th either The exorcist.
Here’s the thing, though: For several years now, I’ve discovered that my favorite horror experiences no longer come from movies. They come from games.
Because? Partly it’s because movies have become much less artistically interesting. With some exceptions, such as the magnificent the ring — I have discovered that modern horror films offer less and less suspense and more and more gore. Perhaps it is due to the overwhelming success of Sawwhich gave rise to the current trend towards elegant torture and metric tonnage of blood in horror films.
On the contrary, the best horror game designers have quietly perfected the interplay of tension and release that creates a truly heart-pounding horror experience. In a sense, they have become even more faithful interpreters of the horror film tradition than Hollywood directors.
In bioshockFor example, audio editors are experts at creating free-floating anxiety. As you wander through the game’s ruined city, whispering voices enter and exit your skull. It’s often the semi-lucid/semi-crazy chatter of the gibbering human “splicers,” but either way, it makes you feel as crazy as they are.
Even worse is the sound of ultra-Freudian evil girl Little Sisters. Every time I ran into a dark room and heard one of them say “What’s that sound, Mr. Bubbles?” With his cheerful voice and gargling blood, the hair on my neck stood up. It was partly because, well, mean girls are scary, and partly because I knew she was about to hurt me. delivered me.
