In the beginning, Silent Hill made me ask questions. Simple and poignant questions. The desire to have them answered was what made wading through the wounded alleys and hateful hallways so compelling. What made it possible to push forward in spite of perfunctory combat and the tedium of door-knob jiggling and dead-ends at the mouths of streets torn asunder. With each subsequent release in the franchise, the pertinent questions, the questions that matter, lose a little more of their potency.
And with this Homecoming, there is precious little remaining.
A friend of mine remarked that success of the original Silent Hill was an anomaly, and he was on to something. Its world was hell seen through the fragile veneer of normalcy; hell which you could touch and through which you could tread when the veneer thinned out completely in places. The Question that first game elicited would never again be so pure and resonant:
What the hell is this place?
By the second coming, we knew pretty much what 'this place' was, but the creators asked us to ponder on something else not clearly explained in the original -- Question #2: Why us? And James Sunderland’s tragic lot furnished a wholly satisfying if melancholy answer.
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