I wanted to shoot this off ere I read one of the chapters in one of the new books I bought (don't laugh...too hard), The Undead and Philosophy: Chicken Soup for the Soulless. Okay, so it's a little bit gruesome, but you know what they say about judging a book by its cover. Also, this little book has a bit of a past with me: I am part of an intelligent and helpful writing group, the members of which spend a good deal of personal time shifting through my drivel and telling me that they like it. One member even takes time to peek in on this blog, which is probably indicative of a type of literary masochism. I don't know.
Anyway, one of the authoresses of the group was/is writing a vampire novel (think Twilight for grown-ups...and better), and I noticed the aforementioned philosophy book at Borders. I flipped through it and laughed, thinking that Bekah could really benefit from some of the essays about vampires that the book has to offer. I put it down, told her about it, laughed, and forgot.
Then, in (large?) part because of the release of Resident Evil 5 for the PS3 and Xbox 360, I came onto another zombie kick. I've always had a fascination with zombies, which is a little double-standarded (real word?) of me, since I don't watch rated-R movies and generally skip over parts of super explicit violence in books. Some video games I won't play because the violence is too extreme (Dead Space and Grand Theft Auto IV spring to mind, though the latter title has additional content that I find unappealing). Because of this persistent interest in the undead, I have even concocted (read: stole) an idea for a fun thought excersize that I do with my students at school. So I have zombies on the brain--though not eating them, fortunately.
When I was at Borders recently picking up a copy of Paradise Lost, I stopped in the philosophy section, as I normally do. I noticed the Undead... book and thought, Hey, this could be interesting! I looked at it again, less to see if it would work for Bekah and more if it would work for me. Sure enough, it is filled with fascinating discourses into what philosophers think about the kinds of stigmas that are attached to two particular types of undead: Vampires and zombies.
Cool.
With my teacher's discount, I get anything from Borders for 25% off, any day of the week.
Double cool.
So I picked it up and have read three or so chapters. It's really good, which isn't a surprise. Most of these 'Pop Culture and Philosophy' titles are well done, so I'm content with my purchase. One of the chapters that I noticed touches on a theme I've wanted to develop, so I thought I'd better write down my own ideas before I get infected by the other author's thoughts (an apt image, considering what we 'know' of zombies...)
Evil in Residence
First of all, a quick bit about my history with the Resident Evil titles. When I was in 9th grade, my almost-next-door-neighbor Mark bought a copy of RE2 for the PlayStation. We played that thing so many times I can't even count. It was probably a nightly thing for us to be blowing away zombies, lickers, and other sundry monsters created by the Umbrella Corporation. It was, frankly, an integral section of my childhood (and, parenthetically, one of the reasons why I refuse to believe that video games are leeching children of valuable childhood experiences; but that's an essay for a different time).
So I've been a victim of the T-Virus since 1997 or so. I own a number of paperback novelizations based upon the games, a number of the games themselves, a tee-shirt, and countless drawings of zombies in various states of second-death at the hands of a smoking gun, all of said drawings coming from me. Gruesome.
But I've grown up. Violence for violence's sake no longer attracts me to a title as it once did. I am glad to be able to say that, by the way. However, one of the things that has been persistent in my following of the Resident Evil series is the entire subject that the game was originally based upon: Fear.
Fear of Extinction
My good buddy Chris once confessed that he slept with a stake next to his bed while in junior high. Why? In case of a vampire's attack, of course. He didn't want to play the Resident Evil games (or even Castlevania, if I remember correctly) for a long time because they scared him. And it wasn't just the fear of blood-draining or flesh-eating that frightened him: it was the loss of his identity.
When you're bitten by a zombie (or vampire, which is an interesting correlation, too), you may as well consign yourself to one of two fates: complete death by lobotomy (the brain scrambling can be done in different ways, but the end result is the same); or undeath by reanimation (the body then doing everything it can to feast on flesh). Whatever may be what you consider you will be irrevocably gone.
Okay, so there are arguments about what constitutes the self anyway--that's part of what the Undead and Philosophy book explores. But let's just go with our typical, instinctive reaction to the idea of becoming a 'monster,' and point out out that that is what frightened Chris. And, frankly, that's what frightens me.
Yes, it's terrifying to conceive of being cannibalized, but survival of a zombie attack could very well mean that what you once were is completely gone. It is the fear of extinction--a complete ontological evaporation--that creeps about in the dark alleyways of your mind.
On Resident Evil
The fifth Resident Evil game came out in March. Gayle and I played it all the way through in 10 hours or so, and have made significant progress through it the second time (this time with infinite ammo!). It plays similarly to RE4 in that the controls are familiar and the action is pretty incessant. It's different in that the entire game, you are no longer playing alone--there is always someone there to help you out.
I won't review the game here, though I will say that it stands on its own merits very well, deserves its place in the Resident Evil canon, and is a LOT of fun to play. Instead, I want to focus on how the Progenitor Majini and Las Plagas Ganados (from RE5 and RE4 respectively) work toward the same goal as the zombies from earlier titles.
Essentially, the fear that I have going into 4 and 5 is not as powerful as going into the remake of the first game, or Zero for that matter. The tension, atmosphere, and overall impossibility of the situation is lost in the later games. In short, it's the superficial, "Anyone can be scared by this because the monsters jump out at you!" type of fright.
Resident Evil 5 seems to push it into a much more subtle and nuanced type of fear--a shift that, predictably, pushes less-observant gamers away. This is the fear of assimilation. This is a fear of nihilism. This is a fear of permanent loss of selfhood, the kind of ontological shock that can actually cripple a person who is afflicted with it. Instead of being the revolting type of scary that most horror (books, movies, games, you name it) try to foist upon you, the type of fear in these games probes deeper.
Here's where the problem lies: You have a lot of ammo. Literally, you have hundreds--thousands--of rounds to dispatch anything that moves. When the ears are ringing with the dead echoes of fired bullets, and the screen shakes with the force of your punches, and the righteousness of your quest to find your fallen comrade overrides your authority's commands, all of that nuance is lost. In the sensation overload of the game, the quiet whisper of a dead man's call is lost. You fail to hear what it is you're fighting against, for you are too busy fighting against it.
This applies to RE4, though the palpable fear is amped up by isolating the player, putting a box around normally social creatures. Leon has to brave the endless hordes of Ganados by himself; Chris always has Sheva there to keep him alive.
Another point surfaces here: The quantity of enemies (and, you might argue, the quality, too) in the last two games of the franchise is much higher. In Resident Evil 2, you could go for upwards of an hour (or more, if you got lost) without firing so much as a single bullet. With the limited amount available, that can be a good thing.
Similarly, the fear of extinction still abides in the previous titles--when dealing with the undead, the terror of a self's dissolution remains. As I said before, the earlier titles of the franchise play more with the mood of the gamers by using atmosphere, lighting, music, and camera angles to create the effect. In a sense, these techniques served as a mask for the true horror that the game explored.
When Resident Evil 4 came out, it was (rightly) met with almost universal acclaim. Not surprisingly, however, there were a remote few who panned the game--most notably for the lack of zombies to destroy. Replaced by smarter, tool- and weapon-wielding Ganados, the gamer was forced to take extreme measures to ensure survival. These smarter enemies--who infected the Majini in 5--strike a chilling chord into what being an individual constitutes.
Evil in Name Only
On a spectrum of selfhood, a continuum of identity, we would have on one side the dead (no consciousness, no capacity to choose, no ability to move). On the other side is the living (consciousness, free will, mobility). Somewhere in between that are the typical undead (no consciousness, no capacity to choose, yet ability to move--and eat). Now the lines of what it means to be alive or dead get blurred. That's (one of the reasons) why they're scary.
Then we get the Majini (a Swahili word for 'evil spirit') and Ganados (a Spanish word for 'cattle'). The line between undead and living suddenly gets blurred. On the continuum, the Majini are conscious, have no capacity to choose, and the ability to move. Even additional criteria point toward the idea that Majini are still alive--they are infected with a parasite that then controls them--yet they don't necessarily die, much like the undead. All definitions of living and dead are skewed and skewered by the psuedo-intelligent Majini.
This leads me to my last point: the name of the series. In Japan, Resident Evil was originally titled Biohazard. In fact, it still bears that name. It is a fit title, considering that all of the action happens because Umbrella Corporation has a biohazardous leak of its lethal, zombie-making viruses.
But when we stop to consider what it is that we consider evil, the more we may start to hold the zombies and Majini and Ganados blameless for their actions. It seems to me that one that has no consciousness can't really have a conscience, and that it would be inaccurate to label a conscienceless creation as 'evil.' The evil in residence is not the endless horde of flesh-eaters--it's the fear already within us. It's the question of nonbeing.
Ultimately, Resident Evil 5 asks us the question that mankind fears the most: Am I anything at all?
Anyway, one of the authoresses of the group was/is writing a vampire novel (think Twilight for grown-ups...and better), and I noticed the aforementioned philosophy book at Borders. I flipped through it and laughed, thinking that Bekah could really benefit from some of the essays about vampires that the book has to offer. I put it down, told her about it, laughed, and forgot.
Then, in (large?) part because of the release of Resident Evil 5 for the PS3 and Xbox 360, I came onto another zombie kick. I've always had a fascination with zombies, which is a little double-standarded (real word?) of me, since I don't watch rated-R movies and generally skip over parts of super explicit violence in books. Some video games I won't play because the violence is too extreme (Dead Space and Grand Theft Auto IV spring to mind, though the latter title has additional content that I find unappealing). Because of this persistent interest in the undead, I have even concocted (read: stole) an idea for a fun thought excersize that I do with my students at school. So I have zombies on the brain--though not eating them, fortunately.
When I was at Borders recently picking up a copy of Paradise Lost, I stopped in the philosophy section, as I normally do. I noticed the Undead... book and thought, Hey, this could be interesting! I looked at it again, less to see if it would work for Bekah and more if it would work for me. Sure enough, it is filled with fascinating discourses into what philosophers think about the kinds of stigmas that are attached to two particular types of undead: Vampires and zombies.
Cool.
With my teacher's discount, I get anything from Borders for 25% off, any day of the week.
Double cool.
So I picked it up and have read three or so chapters. It's really good, which isn't a surprise. Most of these 'Pop Culture and Philosophy' titles are well done, so I'm content with my purchase. One of the chapters that I noticed touches on a theme I've wanted to develop, so I thought I'd better write down my own ideas before I get infected by the other author's thoughts (an apt image, considering what we 'know' of zombies...)
Evil in Residence
First of all, a quick bit about my history with the Resident Evil titles. When I was in 9th grade, my almost-next-door-neighbor Mark bought a copy of RE2 for the PlayStation. We played that thing so many times I can't even count. It was probably a nightly thing for us to be blowing away zombies, lickers, and other sundry monsters created by the Umbrella Corporation. It was, frankly, an integral section of my childhood (and, parenthetically, one of the reasons why I refuse to believe that video games are leeching children of valuable childhood experiences; but that's an essay for a different time).
So I've been a victim of the T-Virus since 1997 or so. I own a number of paperback novelizations based upon the games, a number of the games themselves, a tee-shirt, and countless drawings of zombies in various states of second-death at the hands of a smoking gun, all of said drawings coming from me. Gruesome.
But I've grown up. Violence for violence's sake no longer attracts me to a title as it once did. I am glad to be able to say that, by the way. However, one of the things that has been persistent in my following of the Resident Evil series is the entire subject that the game was originally based upon: Fear.
Fear of Extinction
My good buddy Chris once confessed that he slept with a stake next to his bed while in junior high. Why? In case of a vampire's attack, of course. He didn't want to play the Resident Evil games (or even Castlevania, if I remember correctly) for a long time because they scared him. And it wasn't just the fear of blood-draining or flesh-eating that frightened him: it was the loss of his identity.
When you're bitten by a zombie (or vampire, which is an interesting correlation, too), you may as well consign yourself to one of two fates: complete death by lobotomy (the brain scrambling can be done in different ways, but the end result is the same); or undeath by reanimation (the body then doing everything it can to feast on flesh). Whatever may be what you consider you will be irrevocably gone.
Okay, so there are arguments about what constitutes the self anyway--that's part of what the Undead and Philosophy book explores. But let's just go with our typical, instinctive reaction to the idea of becoming a 'monster,' and point out out that that is what frightened Chris. And, frankly, that's what frightens me.
Yes, it's terrifying to conceive of being cannibalized, but survival of a zombie attack could very well mean that what you once were is completely gone. It is the fear of extinction--a complete ontological evaporation--that creeps about in the dark alleyways of your mind.
On Resident Evil
The fifth Resident Evil game came out in March. Gayle and I played it all the way through in 10 hours or so, and have made significant progress through it the second time (this time with infinite ammo!). It plays similarly to RE4 in that the controls are familiar and the action is pretty incessant. It's different in that the entire game, you are no longer playing alone--there is always someone there to help you out.
I won't review the game here, though I will say that it stands on its own merits very well, deserves its place in the Resident Evil canon, and is a LOT of fun to play. Instead, I want to focus on how the Progenitor Majini and Las Plagas Ganados (from RE5 and RE4 respectively) work toward the same goal as the zombies from earlier titles.
Essentially, the fear that I have going into 4 and 5 is not as powerful as going into the remake of the first game, or Zero for that matter. The tension, atmosphere, and overall impossibility of the situation is lost in the later games. In short, it's the superficial, "Anyone can be scared by this because the monsters jump out at you!" type of fright.
Resident Evil 5 seems to push it into a much more subtle and nuanced type of fear--a shift that, predictably, pushes less-observant gamers away. This is the fear of assimilation. This is a fear of nihilism. This is a fear of permanent loss of selfhood, the kind of ontological shock that can actually cripple a person who is afflicted with it. Instead of being the revolting type of scary that most horror (books, movies, games, you name it) try to foist upon you, the type of fear in these games probes deeper.
Here's where the problem lies: You have a lot of ammo. Literally, you have hundreds--thousands--of rounds to dispatch anything that moves. When the ears are ringing with the dead echoes of fired bullets, and the screen shakes with the force of your punches, and the righteousness of your quest to find your fallen comrade overrides your authority's commands, all of that nuance is lost. In the sensation overload of the game, the quiet whisper of a dead man's call is lost. You fail to hear what it is you're fighting against, for you are too busy fighting against it.
This applies to RE4, though the palpable fear is amped up by isolating the player, putting a box around normally social creatures. Leon has to brave the endless hordes of Ganados by himself; Chris always has Sheva there to keep him alive.
Another point surfaces here: The quantity of enemies (and, you might argue, the quality, too) in the last two games of the franchise is much higher. In Resident Evil 2, you could go for upwards of an hour (or more, if you got lost) without firing so much as a single bullet. With the limited amount available, that can be a good thing.
Similarly, the fear of extinction still abides in the previous titles--when dealing with the undead, the terror of a self's dissolution remains. As I said before, the earlier titles of the franchise play more with the mood of the gamers by using atmosphere, lighting, music, and camera angles to create the effect. In a sense, these techniques served as a mask for the true horror that the game explored.
When Resident Evil 4 came out, it was (rightly) met with almost universal acclaim. Not surprisingly, however, there were a remote few who panned the game--most notably for the lack of zombies to destroy. Replaced by smarter, tool- and weapon-wielding Ganados, the gamer was forced to take extreme measures to ensure survival. These smarter enemies--who infected the Majini in 5--strike a chilling chord into what being an individual constitutes.
Evil in Name Only
On a spectrum of selfhood, a continuum of identity, we would have on one side the dead (no consciousness, no capacity to choose, no ability to move). On the other side is the living (consciousness, free will, mobility). Somewhere in between that are the typical undead (no consciousness, no capacity to choose, yet ability to move--and eat). Now the lines of what it means to be alive or dead get blurred. That's (one of the reasons) why they're scary.
Then we get the Majini (a Swahili word for 'evil spirit') and Ganados (a Spanish word for 'cattle'). The line between undead and living suddenly gets blurred. On the continuum, the Majini are conscious, have no capacity to choose, and the ability to move. Even additional criteria point toward the idea that Majini are still alive--they are infected with a parasite that then controls them--yet they don't necessarily die, much like the undead. All definitions of living and dead are skewed and skewered by the psuedo-intelligent Majini.
This leads me to my last point: the name of the series. In Japan, Resident Evil was originally titled Biohazard. In fact, it still bears that name. It is a fit title, considering that all of the action happens because Umbrella Corporation has a biohazardous leak of its lethal, zombie-making viruses.
But when we stop to consider what it is that we consider evil, the more we may start to hold the zombies and Majini and Ganados blameless for their actions. It seems to me that one that has no consciousness can't really have a conscience, and that it would be inaccurate to label a conscienceless creation as 'evil.' The evil in residence is not the endless horde of flesh-eaters--it's the fear already within us. It's the question of nonbeing.
Ultimately, Resident Evil 5 asks us the question that mankind fears the most: Am I anything at all?
Comments