Silent Hill 2 returns to the fog without losing its grief

I still remember the opening walk from the original Silent Hill 2. James Sunderland leaves his car at an overlook, steps onto a forest path, and follows it through a fog that seems to swallow the world a few meters ahead of him. Nothing dramatic happens for a while. There is only the sound of his shoes on wet ground and the growing sense that turning back would be the sensible thing to do. On the PlayStation 2, that silence felt almost accidental. In the 2024 remake, it feels carefully preserved.

Bloober Team has rebuilt one of the horror genre's most closely examined games without stripping away the discomfort that made it endure. The new Silent Hill 2 is longer, more physical, and far more conventional to control. It is also oppressive, sad, and unexpectedly restrained when it needs to be. Not every addition improves the journey, and the increased amount of combat sometimes drags attention away from the story. Yet I came away relieved by how often this remake understood the original rather than merely copying its landmarks.

The town looks more tangible now, but it has not become easier to understand. Abandoned cars sit in the road. Shop windows show the remains of lives that seem to have ended mid-sentence. The fog moves between buildings rather than simply hiding them, and the narrow beam of James' flashlight makes every interior feel larger than it really is. I spent more time searching side rooms than I needed to, partly for supplies and partly because Silent Hill still creates the feeling that something important might be waiting behind an ordinary door.

Returning to Wood Side Apartments brought back a very specific kind of dread. I remembered the broad shape of the building, but not enough to feel comfortable. Hallways have been expanded, rooms rearranged, and old solutions disturbed just enough to make memory unreliable. The remake occasionally acknowledges familiar locations with brief visual echoes, small moments that feel aimed directly at players who spent years carrying the original around in their heads. They are not loud references. They feel more like the town remembering with me.

The larger areas do stretch the pacing. Some buildings now take longer to cross, and additional enemy encounters occasionally fill space that did not need filling. Still, the expansion usually gives the town room to settle around James. I was not rushing through a faithful reconstruction. I was walking through somewhere I recognised while slowly realising that recognition could no longer protect me.

James was always an uncomfortable protagonist. He arrives after receiving a letter from Mary, his wife, despite her having died three years earlier. He speaks softly, reacts strangely, and carries himself like someone who has already spent too long rehearsing what he will say when challenged. The original performance gave him a dreamlike stiffness that became inseparable from the game's identity.

Luke Roberts plays him differently. This James feels tired in a more immediate way. His face tightens when conversations move somewhere he does not want them to go, and his voice carries the awkward politeness of a man trying to remain composed while everything around him grows less believable. The performance is natural without making James comfortable company. I understood him more clearly, but I never felt completely close to him.

The rest of the cast benefits from the same approach. Maria is more present during the stretches she shares with James, commenting on places and occasionally cutting through his silence with a warmth that never feels entirely safe. Angela's scenes are difficult to watch without becoming theatrical, while Eddie's discomfort grows gradually instead of arriving all at once. The remake changes the delivery of several iconic moments, and not every line has the strange force of the original. Taken as a whole, though, the performances give the story a painful human weight without explaining away its ambiguity.

Combat was never the reason I returned to Silent Hill 2. In the original, James swung a wooden plank like a man who had no business fighting anything, which suited him even when it made encounters clumsy. The remake keeps some of that panic but gives me far more control. James can dodge, aim over his shoulder, and move around enemies with enough precision that each fight feels deliberate rather than accidental.

The creatures are aggressive enough to stop the system becoming comfortable. Mannequins hide behind furniture and wait for me to pass. Nurses close distance with an ugly, unpredictable rhythm. Even a basic enemy can turn a narrow room into a frantic exchange of dodges and badly timed swings. The radio's static still warns me that something is nearby, but the sound rarely tells me whether it is across the hall or crouched beside the next doorway.

There are simply too many encounters. By the time I reached the game's later areas, killing another creature could feel like housekeeping. The extra combat also changes James. No matter how desperate his animations look, he becomes increasingly efficient through repetition. Horror loses something when fear turns into routine, and the remake occasionally forgets that an empty corridor can be more disturbing than a crowded one.

Akira Yamaoka's music returns in rearranged form, but the remake understands when to leave it alone. Familiar melodies surface at moments that brought back memories before I could place the track. Elsewhere, the score recedes and lets the town speak through humming lights, distant metal, wet footsteps, and sounds that seem to come from rooms the map says do not exist.

Playing with headphones changed the way I moved. I would stop in a corridor because something scraped behind James, turn around, and find nothing there. In Toluca Prison, the darkness and sound become so dense that the space feels occupied even when I cannot see an enemy. The original could make poor visibility frightening through technical limitation. This version has far more control over what I can see and chooses to withhold it anyway.

The puzzles have also been rebuilt rather than transferred unchanged. Their difficulty can be adjusted separately from combat, and the stronger ones ask me to read notes, examine objects, and understand the grim little logic of the room around me. A few solutions involve more wandering than thought, but I appreciated that an old walkthrough could not carry me through the town. Silent Hill 2 should never feel completely solved, even by someone who remembers where the bodies used to be buried.

The 2024 Silent Hill 2 does not replace the 2001 game. The original has a rough, half-remembered quality that modern lighting, detailed faces, and smoother performances cannot recreate. Its strange acting, grainy image, fixed viewpoints, and abrupt transitions feel tied to the experience rather than separate flaws waiting to be corrected. I still want that version preserved and made properly available.

What Bloober Team has made is another way into the same nightmare. It is more accessible, more frightening from moment to moment, and often more emotionally direct. The longer runtime and heavier combat weaken parts of the journey, but they do not smother the grief at its centre. New players now have an excellent way to understand why James Sunderland's trip to Silent Hill has stayed with people for more than two decades. Returning players have something rarer: a town they know well enough to miss, rebuilt so that it can make them feel lost again.