TL;DR: Silent Hill f takes the series to 1960s Japan, ditches guns for melee, and doubles down on grotesque monsters and psychological horror. Against all odds, it works. A haunting, replayable survival-horror gem that proves Silent Hill can still terrify in new ways.

I’ll be honest with you: when Konami first pulled the curtain back on Silent Hill f, I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly gave myself vertigo. A Silent Hill set in 1960s Japan? With melee combat instead of the franchise’s awkward-but-beloved arsenal of clunky firearms? And whispers of it being Soulslike in spirit? It sounded less like a new entry in a beloved horror series and more like a marketing experiment designed in a boardroom. Yet after sinking nearly eight hours into Hinako Shimizu’s fog-drenched nightmare—and then immediately diving back in for another round—I can’t deny it. Silent Hill f isn’t just good. It’s one of the boldest, most disturbing, and strangely beautiful horror experiences I’ve had in years.

Leaving Small-Town America Behind

Silent Hill as a franchise has always been about atmosphere, about the way dread seeps into the corners of the mundane. From the ash-snow in Silent Hill 1 to the oppressive greys of Silent Hill 2, the series carved its legacy in American small-town decay. So, when Konami announced we’d be trading in diners and strip malls for tatami mats and shrines, I was skeptical. I grew up associating Silent Hill with the industrial malaise of late-20th-century America, not the eerie quiet of rural Japan.

But here’s the thing: the shift works. Hinako’s hometown of Ebisugaoka is not just a reskin of Silent Hill, it’s a setting dripping with its own texture. The fog rolls through bamboo groves, old houses creak with forgotten history, and shrines loom like they’ve been standing watch for centuries. What initially felt like a gimmick reveals itself to be a stroke of genius—Silent Hill isn’t a fixed dot on a map. It’s a sickness. A spreading rot that doesn’t care if you’re in Maine or Miyagi.

Hinako, the Girl with No Gun

Hinako Shimizu is not a soldier, not a cop, not even a particularly athletic teenager. She’s just a girl trying to survive a waking nightmare. And Konami drives that home by ripping away the security blanket of firearms entirely. No pistols. No shotguns. Just whatever blunt or sharp object happens to be lying around.

At first, the melee combat feels laughable. Hinako’s dodge is so exaggerated it borders on Looney Tunes. I smirked my way through early encounters, thinking, “Oh, so this is what Silent Hill looks like if directed by the creators of Dark Souls after a night of too much sake.” But the more I played, the more the design clicked. Her stamina meter prevents endless dodge-spamming, forcing me to think about every sidestep. Tight spaces turn even weak enemies into deadly threats. And when my makeshift steel pipe snapped mid-swing, I realized Silent Hill f had mastered something survival-horror often forgets: the art of vulnerability.

This isn’t power fantasy. It’s controlled panic. It’s praying the kitchen knife you just found doesn’t shatter against the bloated, shrieking mass of grey flesh barreling toward you. And when you realize sometimes the smartest move isn’t fighting at all but hiding, running, conserving your last few hits of weapon durability—it feels quintessentially Silent Hill.

Monsters That Haunt After the Console Shuts Off

Silent Hill has always been known for its grotesque creature design, and Silent Hill f might just house the most imaginative horrors the franchise has spawned in decades. There’s one enemy, a slithering, sagging blob of… let’s say “flesh and suggestion,” that spits bile while laying eggs. Another, a patchwork mannequin with a knife, stalks you through claustrophobic houses. And then there’s the childlike nightmare that hopscotches on skeletal remains like some hellish playground game. These aren’t just jump-scare fodder. They burrow into your brain, lingering long after the credits roll.

I don’t know if any of them will achieve the cultural longevity of Pyramid Head—arguably horror gaming’s Michael Myers—but in the moment? They’re terrifying. They’re grotesque. They’re everything a Silent Hill monster should be.

The Sanity Trade-Off

Silent Hill f adds an unexpected twist with its sanity meter. Lose it completely, and Hinako collapses into madness and death. But here’s the kicker—you can willingly burn through sanity to deliver stronger attacks. This mechanic creates a fascinating push-pull dynamic. Do I sacrifice a chunk of my mind for a decisive blow, or play it safe and risk the fight dragging on? It’s a gamble that feels right at home in the cruel world of Silent Hill, where every choice carries weight and compromise.

Welcome to the Dark Shrine

The Otherworld has always been Silent Hill’s ace up the sleeve, and Silent Hill f delivers what might be the most oppressive version yet: the Dark Shrine. Every time Hinako loses consciousness, she wakes up in this surreal, suffocating realm where the rules twist. Weapons vanish. Enemies respawn unless killed in very specific ways. The space oozes menace, daring you to test your limits. It’s one of the most memorable interpretations of the franchise’s parallel dimension, and honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if future Silent Hill entries borrow heavily from this.

A Story That Cuts Deep

What surprised me most about Silent Hill f wasn’t the combat or the monsters—it was the story. Konami could’ve played it safe, rehashing old traumas and archetypes. Instead, they went for something layered, grotesque, and shockingly emotional. Hinako’s journey feels both intimate and universal. Trauma is personal, but Silent Hill makes it monstrous, literalizing grief and shame into crawling nightmares.

It’s not spoon-fed, either. Like the best entries in the series, Silent Hill f invites multiple playthroughs to untangle its full meaning. On a surface level, you can enjoy it as a brutal tale of survival. Dig deeper, and you’ll find themes of generational guilt, cultural repression, and the way personal shame festers when unspoken.

Built to Be Replayed

My first run through Silent Hill f clocked in at 7 hours and 47 minutes—a near-perfect runtime for survival horror. Just long enough to immerse, just short enough to encourage another go. And trust me, you’ll want that second playthrough. Multiple endings beckon. Higher difficulty levels demand mastery of its systems. New Game+ lets you tweak your puzzle and combat settings, inviting experimentation.

Silent Hill f is designed for repetition, but not the kind that grinds you down. More like an old horror movie you rewatch, noticing new shadows every time.

The Verdict

Silent Hill f is a brutal, beautiful rebirth of the franchise—one that dares to discard nostalgia in favor of fresh nightmares. It’s not perfect, but it’s unforgettable. Fans should embrace it, skeptics should give it a chance, and newcomers may just discover why Silent Hill is a name whispered with both reverence and fear.