Or something like that.
The point: video games aren’t art, or more aptly, they don’t have to be. Not because they lack artistic merit – but because video games don’t really need that moniker.
Rebirth is a recurrent theme in the hero’s mythological journey – the way they used to be isn’t what we need now. Not anymore. To survive, to conquer the darkness on the horizon, our seminal protagonist must be transformed.
And should they fail to embrace that change – should they fail to shed their former selves – they’re doomed to failure. Their journey ends.
You traverse a stone staircase, its twisting trail leading into a dark abyss. A monstrous creature leaps from an alcove in the wall, its talons piercing your flesh. You die.
Resident Evil 7: an experience heralded by many as a return to form. Specifically, a first-person mutation of the series’ original form. Hallways, herbs, pistols, shotguns, puzzles – Capcom’s latest scare-fest is a slow-paced trek through a veritable house of horrors.
Absent from the list of things many consider ‘classic Resi’ is the series’ pervading sense of tragedy, something that’s almost impossible to itemise. A half-decent crack at it might include its foreboding musical score, its identifiably human foes and those small, seemingly inconsequential notes.
See that semi-colon all the way down there?
You can actually scroll down to that semi-colon.
It may not actually be all that interesting – it’s there solely for the sake of a silly post introduction. But it is there. You can put your cursor over it, too.
Said semi-colon isn’t an especially well-developed, mechanically rich piece of punctuation, mind you. It’s something to go and do for the sake of going and doing something.