Resident Evil is the game that all other Capcom games are measured. I mean Dino Crisis was essentially Resident Evil “with dinosaurs”. Onimusha was Resident Evil “with demons”. And Devil May Cry was originally intended to be a Resident Evil game, until it became Resident Evil, but with “different demons”. So you’d expect a company that diversifies its product with minimal conceptual alterations to struggle in retaining a player base that is not only fickle, but somewhat demented. This is of course a very sweeping statement, but one aimed at those that appear to savor the acrimony of a negatively reviewed game. And though Capcom has taken a few missteps with Resident Evil, they always seem to take note of the criticism. Analysing what went wrong. Whether it’s the sterility of the experience of Resident Evil 6, that allowed Capcom to maneuver back to its horror roots with the exemplary Resident Evil 7. Or pivot from the antiquated controls of Resident Evil 3 or “Code Veronica”, and reinvent the genre they helped popularize, with the beloved Resident Evil 4. And I think that’s why Capcom is the only reliable game developer left.
I think it’s important to note however that they remain the independent publisher they are. The last thing we need is Capcom being “acquired” by the likes of Sony or Microsoft. Consolidated into their militarized contingent of acquired IPs, that are ultimately butchered, monetized or left to rot. Capcom has always been the one impartial uniformity. Boasting success on almost any console they release for. Sure they develop the occasional exclusive for one console or another, but moreover these “exclusives” are usually timed. They understand the importance of diversifying their products to maximize player availability and as a result, greater consumer interest. They stick to their vision too. Whether it’s Resident Evil, Monster Hunter or Devil May Cry, there is always a clear direction, that may not always be original, but it is always engaging. And it’s not like they rush out sequels either. There are substantial sabbaticals between sequels. A lesson Ubisoft should have learned!
There are scant few developer’s I trust to release a game that isn’t broken, boring or motivated by some socially inflammatory agenda. Even a game as monumental as GTA, that has always been a reliable series for me, strikes a sense of uncertainty I’ve never experienced before. Capcom I, neigh, WE need you to continue on this path of autonomy that has allowed you to release games players want to play, and developer’s feel passionate about!
Finally. After pleading to what appeared to be a vacuous nothingness for decades, with not so much as a whisper from those that could provide satisfaction to my prayers, a follow up in the “Onimusha” franchise has finally come to fruition. Now I’m sure there will be many Capcom enthusiasts that were disappointed that “Resident Evil 9” or perhaps “Dino Crisis” were not shown at this year’s Game of the year awards. But I don’t think there are enough adjectives in any language, let alone my limited grasp of English, to amply express my surprise as well as my delight for the revival of this long dormant franchise. I was beginning to believe that Capcom had forgotten all about it. Choosing instead to focus on the clearly profitable franchise leaders in Resident Evil and Monster Hunter. In fact, this feels like an announcement made purely for my benefit. As if it were a game made to shift precisely 1 copy. For me, and me alone.
As a teenager, riding the crest of the prestigious wave that was the PS2’s greatness, having been blessed with some of the generations defining games, Onimusha always stood out to me. Despite being considered a Resident Evil clone, just with a feudal Japan setting and replacing “Resi” Zombies with demons, there was such a distinct style and combative fervour that I just couldn’t get enough of. There are few mechanics that elicit the same visceral satisfaction of slashing an enemy “genma” to the ground, piercing their torso with your ornate blade, presumably where their hearts would reside if they had one, and absorbing their souls into my oni gauntlet. The sequel “Samurais Destiny” was my personal favorite, one that featured many recurring characters. Particularly the eccentric and eclectic rogues gallery featuring the main threat in “Nobunaga”, the flirtatious but hideous “Jujudormah”. As well as my favorite, overly dramatic swashbuckler “Gogandantess”, the greatest swordsman of all…..demons.
The mere notion of jumping back into a franchise that I was convinced was not only forgotten by Capcom, but ostensibly ignored, provokes such astonishing joy in me. My only concern, as far as this being a kind of reboot, is that it will be influenced by the Souls like games that populates the industry at the moment. I respect the genre and the challenges these games demand of its players, but for Onimusha to become just another proportionate contemporary, rather than it’s own distinctive style would do a disservice to its sudden resurgence. Onimusha was a difficult franchise, but not one predicated on being strenuous. Really though, this is an outlying consideration. At this moment in time, I’m just happy to see this franchise return. And if Capcom’s recent comments are anything to go by, this might not be the last returning series.
We occupy a world imbued with such a wealth of potential. A quality of such enduring reverence and one of such natural resplendence, that its almost admirable how society is so instinctively predicated to such a wanton aptitude for misery. We take such pleasure inflicting virilant apathy on other’s, that moment’s of levity foster a visible nausea of incredulity and revulsion. There seems to be a reciprocal correlation between disliking something and actively desiring this specific umbrage to fail. Preferring to deride rather than sympathise. With cynics well versed in the anticipation of failure, attaining some sort of sick satisfaction from its inevitable decline.
Take the much maligned reboot of “Saints Row”. A game that, if the reviews are to be believed, is a perfunctory reboot that relies on the derivative framework of its predecessors, while neglecting to refine its additional generic elements. A reverberating critique reciprocated by a significant portion of its fan base. Then there’s the cancellation of Netflix “Resident Evil” series. An adaptation that’s titular “evil” found itself neighbouring Dawsons Creek rather than Raccoon City. With a script as schizophrenic as Netflix series approval policy. Dialogue that permeates with all the vigor of a fallen tree branch, that’s incongruous tone implies it was written by an algorithm rather than humans, with any passing familiarity with the source material. Delivered by an insufferable cast dedicated in their pursuit to mimic the scripts baffling dissonance.
Both of these properties are somewhat deserving of there public derision and ridicule. But it’s a persecution that becomes problematic when skeptics aren’t just anticipating failure, but hoping for it. Almost relishing in the misery of others. I’m as personally ambivalent towards Saints Row, as the Tory government is towards the poor. But I certainly don’t take any pleasure in it’s perceived ineptitude. With Netflix botched Resident Evil adaptation I wasn’t encouraged by the trailers. But I was always hopeful that it was going to surprise me. Alas my low expectations were somehow under shot, once again leaving many fans bereft of a solid cinematic experience. But there is a subtle yet critical distinction between being disappointed and angry. You can be one without the other. Certainly without venting that frustration as premeditated affirmation for your own repugnant nihilism.
You have to question the mental faculties of individuals who possess such an inherent proclivity to want things, as benign as a game or television series, to fail. But it only takes a cursory search through Twitter to see the incorrigible social discourse, that generates a litany of reciprocal euphoria among the cynics well versed in the anticipation of failure. To celebrate the failure of something because of some biased satisfaction they get from seeing something fail, is worse than failure. Put the knives down and just walk away.
Oh and good luck “Rings Of Power”. Regardless of your quality, you’re going to need all the help you can get.
“Itchy, Tasty: An Unofficial History of Resident Evil” is Alex Aniel’s debut book, chronicling the inception and subsequent success of the Resident Evil series. An extensive account documenting the long, sometimes storied history of one of Capcom’s most revered gaming franchises. Alex, a long time fan and industry expert, consulted many principle individuals privy to the development of these games, including creator Shinji Mikami. With each giving a personal insight into not just the adversity of creating Resident Evil, but establishing survival horror as the standard industry epithet.
Its clear from the offset that this has been compiled by someone passionate about the franchise, particularly its formative development. Someone gifted with a knowledge that can only be obtained having survived the enduring horrors depicted in the games. You have to commend Alex’s attention to detail and extensive research, as well as his dedication to the subject. The effortless way he formulates an overarching narrative, rather than just a fastening a series of anecdotes sequentially.
What strikes me most is his fluency with Japanese, that isn’t only utilised as a means of translating conversations with the native speaking designers he interviews, but also clarify spelling or punctuation differences that has influenced the Resident Evil verbiage. Such as H.U.N.K, the clandestine special operative, being all caps. Even the forward, written by Mark Julio, another revered industry expert, reflects my own nostalgic sentiments to the point that it almost feels plucked from my own memories.
One of the most interesting aspects that the book examines is the original games prominent facile dialogue. An eminent if much maligned dialogue, ridiculed for both its intent and delivery. Though oddly enough the simplicity of the efforts was at least a partially intentional decision. One influenced by the desire to make the game as linguistically accessible to a Japanese audience as possible, due to the absence of any native dubbing.
Reading “Itchy Tasty”, it’s remarkable the number of variables required to ensure the original Resident Evil was even released, let alone the commercial and critical success it eventually became. Capcom at that time was not the multifaceted company it is today. The proposal of a “Horror” focused game like Resident Evil was an inherent risk, one that threatened to escalate potential bankruptcy already looming over the developer. A property inspired by prior ventures that had failed to capitalise on their unique, if niche premise. Resident Evil was really the delayed result of Fujiwara’s patient resolve in waiting for the industry to catch up to his vision. As up until then hardware was lacking the necessary polygons to render the kind of gratuitous horror he had envisioned.
Some of the more obscure tangents in the book include a partially deaf composer, drafted to produce a soundtrack to the re-release of Resident Evil, that were not only universally derided, but also written by a man who had for many years been taking credit for somebody else’s work, whilst also not being as deaf as he appeared. Also some of the principal character’s names were actually inspired by those featured pornographic magazines.
Almost every game in the series suffered some kind of complication: Resident Evil 3 was initially intended to be a spin-off that was later expanded. The original Resident Evil 4 became Devil May Cry. With the subsequent version enduring several drastic revisions, that eventually led to the unceremonious departure of Shinji Mikami. Resident Evil 2, my favourite in the series, was well into development when the script was amended by an outside consultant, and swiftly cancelled. Leading to a complete overhaul of the existing game, resulting in a year long delay. Not to mention a technical accident that led to Resident Evil 2 being shipped with 2 disc’s, when it was quite possible to fit on one.
We also learn about Capcom as a conglomerate and how they collaborate with each platform. The publishers agnostic approach to game development. Their rather covert development of Resident Evil offshoots. The emphasis that if Resident Evil could have been developed for toaster, Capcom would have. Censorship by newly established rating organisations that would appraise the content of these games, certifying Resident Evil as, well, evil! How they never created games exclusivity for one preferred platform. The intervening year’s proved costly, as did their unwavering commitment to Nintendo’s Gamecube. Despite the quality and quantity of Resident Evil games being exclusively developed for the failing console, it was not enough to encourage consumers buy a console solely for Resident Evil.
There is so much history here, narrated with such personable affection that it feels more like a story than archival publication. Giving a broadening context to a nostalgia I can associate with, centred around Resident Evil. If you don’t share that same enthusiasm for this series, then there is probably little incentive to read this. But as a fan, Itchy, Tasty truly illustrates the considerable efforts and sacrifices made by the people that created this series. And just how thankful I am they did!
As a kid I was fascinated by the horror genre. Much of this infatuation, during my formative years, can be attributed to obsessive accumulation of R.L Stine’s pantheon of Goosebumps novels. Subsequently flourishing into other forms of media, particularly movies and games. This, an admittedly morbid curiosity, was only compounded by my mother’s persistent refusal to let me watch a film about a horribly disfigured child murderer, who in death manifests in the dreams of those that inhabit a singular suburban street in Springwood Ohio. More commonly referred to as “A Nightmare On Elm Street”.
Far be it for me to dispute the nurturing sensibilities of what I deemed to be the irrational ramblings of an overprotective mother, I complied, insisting that I wouldn’t ask again. Instead I waited until my mother was asleep before defying her very explicit instructions. Sneaking downstairs at roughly the time the movie was airing, having memorised a secure route that avoided every loose floorboard and scattered obstacle that littered the way from my bedroom. Ensuring a safe passage to the living room. Once I’d established that my clandestine descent hadn’t roused my mother from her cheese induced slumber, with her laboured and piercing snoring a clarifying indication. I switched on the TV prepared for whatever horrors await…..But I was not prepared!
I was 10 years old when I watched A Nightmare On Elm Street for the first time. Sure I’d missed the opening act. The crucial details regarding Freddy’s inherent dream invading abilities, but I wasn’t here for narrative logistics. It was the horribly mutilated facade of Freddy and his signature knife finger glove I was here to see. I didn’t have the stomach to watch this movie in its entirety though, choosing a “craven” (pun intended) abdication from the enduring terror, shortly after Tina’s misjudged Spider-Man attempt. It wasn’t until years later that I found the courage to watch Nightmare in its entirety, though by that point I was more acclimated to the evocation of fear elicited by horror movies. After a time you become desensitized by the predictability of the gore and the irritating tedium of jump scares, which sadly diminished my experience somewhat. Only 3 things since have provoked a similar emotional apprehension: Resident Evil 2, my girlfriend given birth and most recently Resident Evil 7. The “Delivery Evil” sandwhich if you will.
I felt the same foreboding anxiety that arrested me the night Freddy Krueger sadistically severed his own fingers with almost comical glee, before plunging his rudimentary talons into the gut of helpless Tina Gray, when I played Resident Evil 7. The gut crippling fear that almost paralyses you into stopping. Forcing you into brief, sporadic interactions. With the added immersion of a game that only compounds that fear. And this is probably the first Resident Evil game that actually features Evil Resident’s!
There’s something nostalgic and strangely comforting about being a 30 something year old father, curled up in the fetal position on the sofa, worried that your family, infected by a virilant mold (a legitimate fear considering we had mold in our bathroom!), that could at any moment scuttle down the stairs, babble a rasping death rattle and murder me to death! Good times.
Game, Complain, Repeat 