I’d wager my first vivid memory of Resident Evil is probably – if you’re of a certain age at least – pretty similar to yours. First floor, east wing, sudden pant-soiling cacophony. Need I say more? Admittedly, it’s a close call between that and the indelible image of the series’ very first zombie slowly turning its decomposing face to camera, but either way, there’s no denying that 1996’s Resident Evil was a formative game. I don’t, admittedly, remember too much else about it, except it was the first time I’d played anything that felt genuinely scary – or at least, capable of instilling the kind of relentless, sweaty palmed panic I hadn’t even imagined games could do back then. And it’s been a wild Resident Evil ride ever since; so 30 years on – after countless reinventions – I can think of few series more deserving of a victory lap like the one we’ve just had in Resident Evil Requiem (naturally, some spoilers will follow…).
When I think back on my 30 years of Resident Evil, it’s not so much the games I remember as a series of moments. Raccoon City PD is a haze when I try to recall Resident Evil 2, for instance, but I can vividly recollect its dank (extremely spider-y) descent into the sewers. Resident Evil 3 is pretty much just a snapshot of dimly lit subway carriage interior, while Code Veronica, weirdly, is a lot of different moments: Steve Burnside’s fringe, the twist reveal, the way a spooky mansion gives way to an even spookier mansion somewhere behind it, high on a hill.
Resident Evil 4, meanwhile, has been flattened down to an endless exhale when I finally made it into the village clocktower; 5, I’ll admit, is mostly Chris Redfield arms. 6 is, well… admiration for its ambition maybe?, and 7 – confession time – I haven’t played much at all (I got as far as the family dinner scene and my nerves just couldn’t take it anymore). As for 8, it’s still a bit too fresh to have calcified into distinct moments, but it’s probably a close call between mutant baby and, somewhat predictably, Castle Dimitrescu. And that isn’t even touching on Capcom’s endlessly odd spin-offs (hello under-appreciated Resident Evil Revelations series – I love you).
But for me, these aren’t just Resident Evil memories, they’re milestones of sorts; each moment inextricably associated with other memories – of where I was, what I was doing (school, university, first flatshare, first job!), and who I was hanging out with at the time. So playing through Resident Evil Requiem for review recently wasn’t just triggering admiration for Capcom’s masterful craft, it was firing off all sorts of nostalgia neurons too. So many easter eggs, so many nods to the series’ past! And for all the dismissive talk of “fan service” aimed at Resident Evil Requiem, I can’t think of many series more deserving of – and an anniversary more fitting for – this kind of victory lap. After 30 years together – half a lifetime practically! – what some might see as self-indulgence, to me felt more like fond reminisces with a long-time friend.
And, honestly, I love Capcom’s approach to nostalgia here, the way it frequently finds its way into the core mechanics of Requiem. In Alyssa Ashcroft, for instance, we’ve got a returning character from a weird spin-off – one old enough to be a proper deep cut – that gracefully (if you’ll pardon the pun) finds a throughline in her daughter’s lockpicking skills. Meanwhile, some of the connections are pure vibes; Rhodes Hill Chronic Care Center, for me at least, is absolutely Spencer Mansion coded, even without an explicit link. And the shift between Grace and Leon in the first half masterfully pays homage to old and new era Resident Evil in all sorts of ways; in its different default perspectives, even its old- and new-school tone – Grace bringing the pure, modern-day horror and Leon, with his ludicrous hatchet-swinging mayhem, recalling the series at the height of its infatuation with action and at its most classically camp.
But there’s more! The two inventory systems – two clear nods to two very different eras of the series – aren’t just about eliciting a tingle of nostalgic recognition; they feel entirely fitting for each protagonist’s distinctive playstyle. Even Leon’s initial return to Racoon City, with its endless fights in tight spaces, feels like tumbling back in time to the series circa Resident Evil 4/5. There’s loads of this mechanical pilfering to go with the lore winks and easter eggs (was I reading too much into the fixed camera angles appearing on a wall of monitors at one point?), and it’s deployed not just with a sense of fun, but also elegance and care – 30 years of reinvention repurposed and repackaged into a wonderfully coherent, cohesive whole.
And even when Requiem goes full-on memberberries in its second half, it still feels earned. Honestly, after 30 years in Capcom’s completely dotty universe, Leon isn’t the only one who needs a bit of closure on Raccoon City. And besides, any video game series that’s endured this long, while still finding ways to remain fresh and relevant, deserves to give itself a celebratory pat on the back as far as I’m concerned. So yes, bring on your giant spider; dazzle me with your ridiculous mutant plant; slip sneaky backward release dates into your fake OS version numbers; let’s high-five as Mr. X gets his encore, shed a tiny tear for that team photo tucked away in the police station, and, sure, why not throw in a bunch of creepy kids too?
As for broken, beautiful Leon with his ridiculous, gravity defying bike-on-skyscraper escapades and action hero quips, he too has earned his happy ending and quiet retirement (whoever it might be with) after nearly three decades of Umbrella’s nonsense. So good work Requiem; good work Capcom. Maybe we don’t need to do this every outing, but if we manage to make it to Resident Evil’s fiftieth, I’ve got my party hat primed and ready to go.
