As I sat down for the first of many discussions with the Silent Hill f team during my trip to Konami’s Tokyo headquarters, longtime series composter Akira Yamaoka mentioned there was one philosophy in particular that guided his work on the upcoming title: wabi-sabi. Though I certainly won’t claim to be the best person to succinctly summarize this ideology, as I have always understood it, wabi-sabi is about finding beauty in the transient nature of life–in imperfection, impermanence, aging, and even decay. According to Yamaoka, capturing “the feeling of the passing of time” was something he strived to do with his music; based on the time I spent with the game and music I encountered I think he succeeded. But more than that, Yamaoka made me realize just why Silent Hill f was so affecting, and why I can’t stop thinking about the time I spent playing it two weeks later.
In Silent Hill f, beauty and decay are interwoven; flowers melt flesh; clotted rot devours once-proud structures. And yet, all of this grotesquerie is gorgeous, both visually and in the sense of somber it stirs. I was moved by Silent Hill f’s visuals and the sheer artistry on display. But beyond that, I was also moved by how the series’ signature examination of the human mind–which in this case, honed in on the psyche of a young teenage girl being violently thrust towards womanhood–brought me back to my own adolescence; to a time I’ll never again return to and was as isolating and horrifying as it was precious and fundamental. To a part of me that, in a sense, has decayed. Not every game can invoke such a response, especially in just under six hours, and yet, Silent Hill f did.
I walked away both enamored and impressed by the time I spent with Silent Hill f. Despite the success of Silent Hill 2’s remake last year, it’s safe to say there was still some speculation as to if the series was truly “back.” I’d now go so far as to say it’s not only back, it’s stronger than ever, and that Silent Hill f has the potential to be the best game in the series.