Although the appeal is diminished by the slow tempo and simple character interactions, there are still some scary moments.
Time and tragedy equal… mythology? The current cultural obsession with real crime and serial murderers is well-established, and The Devil in Me seems at ease drawing inspiration from this 1800s history. Though his legend claims him with owning the “murder castle” complete with traps and torture devices, “America’s first serial killer” and serial fraudster may never have had one, The Dark Pictures Anthology uses this story for their escape-room slasher entry.
The Devil in Me opens at the renowned “murder castle” of Sherlock Holmes, where a hilariously caricatured Holmes serves as the host and indulges in menacing wordplay that his guests, a couple of goofy newlyweds, let sail over their heads. While creeping about, I fail an early heartbeat-rhythm quicktime event and see the wife break out in laughter. This earns me a dramatic irony-dripping warning from Holmes: we wouldn’t want to tumble and break our skulls open, would we? The two lovers are doomed even if I barely escape that destiny thanks to a better-timed QTE—after all, they are the prologue heroes.
The format of the Dark Pictures Anthology episodes is well-known, and The Devil in Me stays true to it. Before you really meet the cast of people you’ll be playing with, the prologue prepares you for the scares you’ll encounter. Whether it’s a split-second “run or hide” decision or a slow-burning trust issue, the decisions you make will determine whether they survive or not.
After the prologue, The Devil in Me slows down as it introduces its cast, a documentary crew traveling to capture a contemporary version of the murder castle, erected inside a fog-filled island where cell phones are prohibited. (This arrangement is met with only the mildest of protests, since nobody realizes they’re in a horror story—a concept I still find endearing.)
However, it becomes evident that I’m able to push these individuals far less than I did in prior episodes as I get to know them better—the independent grip, the bashful audio technician, the insecure presenter, the harsh director, and the conflict-averse cameraman. I max out – or completely tank – character connections in a single scene, and I have significantly fewer dialogue choices spread across far fewer talks.
To be open and honest: Seeing characters make bad choices due to their own dreadful flaws and inclinations or because they don’t realize what genre they’re in is one of my favorite things about horror movies. When a killer walks up at someone’s front door, there’s a certain suspension of disbelief that horror feeds on, and I love it when it can make me shudder or want to watch from behind my hands.
After ranting at his team all day for not having a smoke, what happens when director Charlie gets lured into an obvious trap because there’s a box of cigarettes in the center of it? I adore that, therefore I don’t care if there wasn’t actually another option at that particular moment. However, the most of the time, my level exploration is entirely uninspired, both inside and outside of the world.
Nobody seems to be making any kind of choice. Not because I have to get to the other side, but rather because I know that the key to moving forward is identifying the appropriate area of the environment to engage with, that’s why I’m searching for a box to shift about, a switch to toss, or a gap to wriggle across. Although The Devil in Me places a lot more emphasis on exploration, these passages feel forced and detract from more character-driven moments.
Still, not every exploratory episode moves at the same leisurely pace. I had to duck behind cover every time the murderer and I were about to cross paths in one section where I could only navigate from room to room utilizing the red light from a camera sensor. I felt nervous even after successful QTEs, and I was conscious of how much of my field of view I was willingly excluding every time I peered into the camera. I really liked how detailed the QTE accessibility options are in these areas. In games where there is a binary on/off choice, I typically have to choose to turn them off, which would take away all of the suspense.
Seeing and observing are themes that recur throughout The Devil in Me. There’s a constant reminder that someone is watching even in the manner the current cast is initially presented via test film. Throughout the game, the images of the actors being observed unsettlingly reappear as they scrub through it, and we zoom beyond their professional experience to their genuine weaknesses.
With traditional spyholes and contemporary technologies bridging the time gap, we regard both the historical Holmes and our villainous clone as voyeurs. The similarity seems apparent given that our cast is made up of real criminal documentarians, especially after watching some deliciously sensationalist teasers of the team’s work. Though it’s hardly subtle theming—the villain’s refuge is even referred to as “a director’s suite”—it seems to end there.
The game urges you to play detective even while people quarrel about whether it’s proper to do so. Although the crew’s conjecture about “is he mad, or does he have mother issues” sounds like something from a true crime podcast, you may piece together biographies by acquiring the appropriate artifacts if you’re interested in finding out for yourself. Traveling is horrible, unless you’re looking for achievements, right?
Everything was set up for this first season’s finale to go out on a high note, complete with a villain who could spin a mustache, an increased scope, and a pivotal question regarding our commitment to genuine crime. It’s surprisingly duller, rather than messier, despite its ambitious failures to make The Devil in Me work less effectively. It’s extremely B-movie. The Dark Pictures excels at mess: messy decisions, messy people, and the peculiar, unexpected conclusion. In the past, this added appeal to the anthology has been maintained.
Its larger, better surroundings mostly leave vast open expanses that, albeit wonderfully depicted, show squandered chances, even when it occasionally delivers on thrills. Ultimately, the most brilliant moment in The Devil in Me occurs when it abandons any higher ambitions and asks, “Hey, wouldn’t it be messed up if you were being chased by an axe murderer?” Sign me up for four more of those, please.