Although a significant departure from the themes and events of the video games being adapted, director Christophe Gans' Silent Hill does capture something of the actual, linguistic experience of a player puzzling through this type of interactive story. Screenwriter Roger Avery even apes the structural and narrative devices employed by both Konami's Team Silent and the similar, largely Japanese development studios who specialised in survival horror during the PlayStation 2 era. To wit: expositional flashbacks instantly impose themselves on the unfolding action following the activation of some inscrutable trigger and Radha Mitchell's despairing mother, Rose, finds herself in a safe, congratulatory space after having surmounted a climactic danger. Keys are also crucial to Rose's basic progress within an environment that is smothered with low resolution textures and shifts in then out of relative safety. These solutions are scavenged and context-sensitive; premised around the tiny, everyday inventory that Rose is able to hold. Of course, these items are then immediately lost after their use. Whereas other video game adaptations work hard to translate the sprawling mess of interactive entertainment into a tight, three-act structure, Silent Hill instead attempts to emulate the dissociative quality experienced when playing Japanese video games that are themselves inspired by an American film or television series. Those messy, parapsychological doomsdays that have been transcribed and reinterpreted back-and-forth between two languages that read in completely different directions. Gans' film, which centres around a Bible Belt town's revulsion at the idea of a messiah born out of wedlock, even finds time for the listless wandering that occurs when players are unfamiliar with their brand new maze.
