TL;DR: Resident Evil Requiem nails the shooting, scares, and dual-character design, but plays it safe with its big anniversary themes. It’s one of the smoothest, most mechanically refined entries in years, even if it doesn’t push the series forward in a meaningful way.

I’ve been playing Resident Evil games for so long that I can practically hear the inventory menu sound in my sleep. The soft clink of item management is my ASMR. So when Resident Evil Requiem arrived as Capcom’s big 30th anniversary entry, I booted it up expecting something bold. Something messy. Something that looked back at three decades of survival horror and maybe asked, “Okay, what now?”

Instead, Resident Evil Requiem mostly asks, “Remember how good this used to feel?”

And here’s the frustrating part: it still feels incredible.

This Resident Evil Requiem review is going to sound conflicted because I am conflicted. Capcom has absolutely mastered the mechanical language of this series. The shooting is tight. The horror is oppressive. The pacing between dread and release is calibrated like a Swiss watch made of infected flesh. But for a game that positions itself as a generational handoff, a reflection on legacy, and a convergence point for old and new heroes, it plays things surprisingly safe.

It’s the best kind of retread. Which is also the problem.

Two Protagonists, Two Eras of Resident Evil

At the heart of Resident Evil Requiem are two playable characters: Grace Ashcroft, the terrified newcomer, and Leon S. Kennedy, the world-weary poster boy of zombie eradication. Their stories intersect at the Rhodes Hill Chronic Care Center, a decaying monument to Umbrella’s lingering sins.

Playing as Grace feels like stepping back into the raw vulnerability of early survival horror. Her inventory space is painfully limited. Crafting isn’t empowering; it’s desperate. Every bullet feels like a moral decision. When a zombie shambles toward her, I don’t think, “Free headshot.” I think, “Is this worth the ammo or should I run and pray?”

Her sections in Resident Evil Requiem are where the survival horror truly thrives. There’s no late-game power fantasy. No rocket launcher moment. No sudden shift into action blockbuster territory. Even hours in, Grace is fragile. The monsters remain bigger than her. Smarter than her. Louder than her heartbeat, which I swear I could feel through my DualSense.

And then there’s Leon.

Switching to Leon is like swapping from a horror movie into a controlled action power fantasy. The same corridors that had me inching forward as Grace become shooting galleries. Leon’s arsenal is generous. His animations are stylish to the point of parody. When he reloads, it’s less “combat necessity” and more “gun commercial directed by someone who loves John Wick.”

The contrast is deliberate. It’s also brilliant. Resident Evil Requiem doesn’t just alternate characters; it alternates philosophies. Grace represents the franchise’s survival horror roots. Leon embodies the action-forward swagger popularized by Resident Evil 4. And when you traverse the same environments from different perspectives, seeing the aftermath of your previous character’s choices, there’s this satisfying sense of interconnected design.

At its best, this is the most elegant fusion of horror and action Capcom has ever delivered.

The Shooting Feels So Good It’s Almost Distracting

Let’s talk about the gunplay in Resident Evil Requiem because it deserves praise. Capcom has refined over-the-shoulder shooting to a razor’s edge. Headshots pop with weight. Kneecaps crumble exactly the way you want them to. Enemies stagger in ways that feel both predictable and reactive.

As Leon, I felt borderline unfair. Zombies became tactical puzzles rather than existential threats. I’d sweep a room, drop a few infected with clean headshots, and finish the stragglers with an axe swing that felt deeply disrespectful. The sound design is grotesque in the best way. Wet, crunchy, unapologetic.

But here’s the tension: while Leon’s combat is exhilarating, it also shifts the emotional temperature of the game. The fear recedes. The power fantasy takes over. And while Resident Evil has lived in that action-horror hybrid space for years now, Resident Evil Requiem initially sells itself as something more introspective.

Leon isn’t just blasting through hordes for fun. He’s grappling with the idea that the infection he’s fought for decades may still be inside him. There’s weight there. Regret. Exhaustion. The ghost of Raccoon City hanging over every trigger pull.

The problem is that this introspection rarely changes anything. It’s gestured at, not explored. The game flirts with existential reckoning, then retreats back into comfortable territory where the guns shoot good and Leon still looks fantastic in a fitted shirt.

Legacy, Lore, and the Danger of Playing the Hits

As a long-time fan, I should have been eating this up. Resident Evil Requiem digs into decades of Umbrella fallout, dangling references like candy for lore sickos like me. It wants to feel like a convergence point. A meditation on trauma. A passing of the torch.

And for a while, I believed it.

The early hours are loaded with promise. Grace’s arc suggests transformation. Leon’s storyline hints at finality. The setting itself feels symbolic, like a mausoleum for everything this franchise has endured.

But somewhere along the way, the boldness softens. The narrative stops short of meaningful upheaval. By the time the credits rolled on my first eight-hour playthrough, I had this strange sense that nothing fundamental had shifted. Resident Evil Requiem had examined the past, nodded respectfully at it, and then carefully put it back on the shelf.

It’s not that the story is bad. It’s that it feels cautious.

For a series celebrating 30 years, caution feels like a missed opportunity.

The Lopsided Split That Undermines the Promise

One of my biggest surprises, and not in a good way, was how uneven the screen time becomes. Resident Evil Requiem initially positions Grace as central. Her vulnerability is the hook. Her perspective feels like the future.

But as the game unfolds, Leon’s presence expands. His segments stretch longer. His arc takes priority. Grace, who starts as the emotional nucleus, gradually recedes.

And that imbalance hurts the game’s central thesis. If this is supposed to be about convergence, about old and new standing side by side, then why does it ultimately feel like the veteran takes the spotlight while the newcomer watches from the wings?

It’s not that Leon isn’t compelling. He absolutely is. But the promise of generational transition feels diluted.

A Technically Excellent, Emotionally Hesitant Entry

From a technical standpoint, Resident Evil Requiem is polished to a mirror sheen. On PS5, the lighting is oppressive and beautiful. Shadows stretch like accusations. Textures are grimy enough to make you feel like you need to wash your hands after playing.

The pacing between Grace’s hide-and-seek terror and Leon’s controlled carnage keeps the experience dynamic. I never felt bored. I rarely felt frustrated. The moment-to-moment design is airtight.

But when I zoom out and look at Resident Evil Requiem as a milestone entry, I can’t shake the sense that it chose comfort over courage. It perfects what already worked. It celebrates the past. It refines the mechanics.

It just doesn’t meaningfully redefine anything.

And maybe it didn’t need to. Resident Evil is in a strong place. The formula works. The audience is loyal. Reinvention is risky.

But anniversaries are supposed to be a little risky.

Verdict

Resident Evil Requiem is an expertly crafted blend of survival horror and action that proves Capcom still understands exactly why this series endures. Grace’s vulnerability delivers sustained tension, Leon’s combat feels phenomenal, and the dual-protagonist structure is mechanically brilliant. But as a 30th anniversary statement piece, it stops just short of true evolution. It reflects beautifully on its legacy without daring to meaningfully reshape it. The result is a highly polished, deeply enjoyable entry that feels more like a victory lap than a bold new chapter.