NB: There are no jokes about that Tommy Wiseau movie.

Next year will be the tenth anniversary of Silent Hill 2 and while it’s definitely a cause for celebration, it’s sadly been an albatross to the franchise since then. None have had to deal with that bird more so than Silent Hill 4: The Room. You’ve probably heard by fans that it “wasn’t in the spirit of Silent Hill”, but you have to question what that means sometimes.

“In spirit...” can be narrow-mindedly the same as “playing it safe”.

In fairness, The Room was critically derided for some bad design issues on release; a retread of locations in the second half, an inventory where space negates size and backtracking fetch quests. Though truth be told, if Silent Hill 2 or Deadly Premonition can be lauded for their themes despite the flaws, why hasn’t The Room been treated with similar respect?

Unconcerned with the usual survival horror tropes, the developers for The Room seemed far more interested in commenting on mundane trappings and it’s progression into voyeurism, whilst existentially questioning what the difference is between ‘houses’ and ‘homes’. Horror films and videogames are usually about the invasion of personal sanctuary, yet with The Room, it’s a story about wanting to get out.

A home ceases to be one when it’s deemed just a living space; a literal prison. In the opening sequences, you’re confronted with chains on the front door. While portrayed as a visual set-up, it’s also a reinforcement of the narrative themes. Eventually, when you leave Room 302 for Otherworld, you’ll always find bigger enclosure waiting for you.



Room 302 is lifeless, mundane and plain; nothing particularly important and yet elevated to being special by the antagonist, to the point where he labels it as a person (“Mother”). It’s a dead place, even before you start exorcising spirits. Theoretically, maybe the developers were trying to point the domestic nihilism that’s prevalent to anyone when they first move in.

Except with added ghosts.

Then, of course, there’s the discovery of a hole in the bathroom that leads to twisted, colourful versions of the outside world. It’s such a wonderfully rich idea that’s somewhat unexpected of a videogame.

Even in these worlds, you’re not really required to do much other than witness several murders. As Henry Townshend, you’re the final victim in a serial killer’s ritual and all you can do is watch, learn and figure a way out. So, The Room is heavily dependent on voyeurism. More so than your usual shutterbug videogame, like Dead Rising.



Throughout the story, you helplessly watch tenants in the hallway, have a restricted view of the street and eventually use a crack in the wall to catches glimpses of Henry’s neighbour, Eileen Galvin. It’s unsurprising that you visit a panopticon prison tower and the apartment building, South Ashfield Heights, shares a similar design aesthetic.

As a player, you become interested in seeing what the other tenants do after each completed trip; yet they’re usually acting normal, against your horror preconceptions. Take away the imprisonment factor and it’s still fascinating to watch virtual people act out everyday tasks. Voyeurism is a part of human nature and The Room plays up to that idea at every turn, making sure to involve you at every turn.

Fans decry Henry Townshend as a blank protagonist and that’s the point. He’s solely required, like the player, to acquire knowledge of the situation by watching events unfold. For it to work, the majority of the narrative is played out in a first person perspective.

Technically, that’s not really Henry obsessively spying on Eileen, that’s you.

It’s a compelling way of becoming close to a supporting character and intimately putting the player into Henry’s predicament. Akira Yamaoka has gone on record as saying that cast were weak, but it’s hard to agree with him when you help Eileen and learn more about the antagonist, Walter Sullivan.

Walter is deranged enough to believe that Room 302, the room he was abandoned in as a child, is actually his mother. It might seem intentionally post-modern for the sake of the plot, but there’s a sense that it comes from a nihilistic way of thinking; how we label objects and give them emotional weight. There’s a provocative parallel at work too that makes it a horror story for both the protagonist and antagonist; one wants out of the trappings of a lonely apartment and the other wants in because he’s afraid of the real world, respectively.



There’s so much more to discuss about The Room and even after all these years, a replay can still highlight new insight, e.g. literally going down into a killer’s mind, the secret room, the web of relationships between the tenants, etc.

It’s also a perfect companion to Silent Hill 2, aside from the direct connections. Scratch the vague metaphorical surfaces and both videogames are really about the trappings of domestic life.

It’s just a shame (that old chestnut) we, as gamers or critics, sometimes pick and choose what survives derision based on peer comparison or design choices. Personally, there’s a firm belief that there will never be another game like Silent Hill 4: The Room. It’s thoroughly unique, and while we shouldn’t whitewash the flaws or demand “some goddamn respect” like John Malkovich in In The Line of Fire, we should always remember why it hasn’t been emulated since.