Silent Hill f

Leaving America Behind, Fog Still Intact

The most obvious departure here is the setting. Instead of the misty, mid-century Americana of previous games, Silent Hill f shifts us to 1960s rural Japan. Specifically, a fictional town called Ebisugaoka, loosely inspired by the real-life Kanayama. It’s a place where tradition and modern feel like they’re in quiet conflict, and that tension becomes central to the game’s atmosphere.

And yes, the fog is still very much present. But this isn’t just aesthetic continuity. It’s a narrative tool. Watching protagonist Hinako wander the town’s abandoned streets feels like a metaphor for cultural and personal oppression. It’s a clever pivot: keeping the core DNA of Silent Hill. Creepy atmosphere, isolation, surreal transitions, while exploring it through an entirely different cultural lens.

A New Kind of Protagonist

Hinako isn’t a rugged cop or grieving father. She’s a high school student, slight and quiet, caught between teenage awkwardness and something far more dangerous. From what I’ve seen, she’s not a character built around combat or competence. She’s someone who seems emotionally distant, forced to navigate a world that turns her internal anxieties into very real, very dangerous threats. It  leans hard into psychological horror rooted in social pressure. Especially the kind young women in 1960s Japan were expected to silently endure. The result feels like Silent Hill by way of post-war Japanese literature. Domestic expectations, school gossip, rigid gender roles. It all bleeds into the horror in ways that feel intimate, even painful.

One of the most disturbing moments I saw in the footage wasn’t even a monster attack. It was a brief scene in which Hinako stares at a mirror while audio clips of radio broadcasts and beauty magazines bombard her with messages about marriage, youth, and worth. It’s the kind of horror that lingers longer than any jump scare.

Combat Is Close, Dirty, and Melee Only

Combat in Silent Hill f is entirely melee based. It’s not fast or elegant. Hinako isn’t swinging swords like a trained fighter. Most of what she uses looks improvised: broken sticks, gardening tools, maybe a kitchen knife. Everything breaks. You’re meant to feel vulnerable.

There’s some real depth, though. Players can choose between light and heavy attacks, dodge at the last second to trigger slow-motion counters, and even activate special attacks by spending focus. Enemies signal their moves with color-coded auras, creating a visual language for combat that feels more strategic than reactive.

One smart touch: narrow Japanese streets and confined temple corridors make encounters feel claustrophobic. There's not much room to run, and that forces confrontation. The game doesn’t let you cower in corners forever, you have to fight through, even if the combat system is built to make that feel desperate rather than empowering.

Puzzles That Serve the Story

While combat is more active, Silent Hill f’s puzzles seem just as thoughtful as its predecessors. In one early sequence I watched, Hinako has to interact with a series of scarecrows to unlock a passage. But each scarecrow isn’t just a puzzle piece. They're narrative objects, filled with messages that reflect different fears or suppressed memories. It’s a smart move. Every action you take in Silent Hill f is in service of the mood, the themes, and the world.

The Otherworld Is Familiar, But Not Recycled

Silent Hill f’s Otherworld is where things get more surreal. Unlike the rust-and-blood industrial nightmare seen in earlier games, this version draws heavily on Shinto shrines, Japanese funeral rites, and folklore. It’s not necessarily a more frightening space, but it feels uncanny in a different way. Architecture warps. Natural elements bloom and rot in impossible ways. There's a beauty to the horror. A reflection of the game’s interest in decay and transformation rather than just destruction. And while it leans away from traditional monster design, don’t think the creatures are lacking. The designs are grotesque, but also organic. Bloated, petal like growths, faceless masks, and limbs where they shouldn't be. One enemy seems to track Hinako by sound alone, creating an eerie quiet before it snaps into pursuit.

One Playthrough Won’t Be Enough

One of the more intriguing revelations is how the game treats replayability. Your first run through Silent Hill f will follow a largely linear story. But subsequent playthroughs introduce new boss encounters, different dialogue, and branching paths that alter the story’s emotional core.

Multiple endings are confirmed. Including the traditional absurd “UFO ending” but it sounds like Silent Hill f will lean into narrative loops in a much more deliberate way. It suggests the game isn’t just playing with fear. It’s playing with memory and repetition.

Final Thoughts: A New Direction That Still Feels True

Even without playing it myself, it’s clear Silent Hill f isn’t just another sequel. It’s an experimental reinvention that still understands the core principles of the series: psychological horror, narrative ambiguity, and internalized fear. The Japanese setting isn’t just for show. It’s fundamental to the kind of horror the game wants to tell. The visuals are striking. The writing has weight. The horror, when it hits, feels earned. It’s too early to say if Silent Hill f will live up to the series’ high points, but from what I’ve seen so far, it’s not trying to replicate the past. Instead, it’s carving its own path and if nothing else.