The village of Gravoi, somewhere in Sardinia, is a jumble of cobblestone alleys, concentric staircases and shady nooks where respite tourists may escape the heat. In the scorching sun, overlooking the shimmering Mediterranean, this is the ideal backdrop for an Instagram shot: Floating dresses, floppy straw hats, long-legged prawns spread out on a white china plate. At night, however, Gravoi provides the blueprint and backdrop for the nightmare. Its architectural swirl of cul-de-sacs, religious shrines, and silhouetted bars describes a hellishly claustrophobic Warren. In the latter reality, Saturnalia is a survival horror game primarily set in a mobile village. Described by its makers as a “programmed death maze,” it’s a physically and psychologically terrifying place to which the game’s four protagonists are relentlessly drawn.
The group came to the village for the St. Lucia Festival, a masked gathering full of Catholic symbolism that coincides with the winter solstice. Everyone goes through it for different reasons. Anita – your starting character – is a geologist who has spent the past year evaluating the mine below town for potential buyers. Anita, who is pregnant with the child of a local priest with whom she has a secret affair, is desperate to escape the wreckage of her latest choice. Paul is a photojournalist and orphan who left the village as a child. He hopes his return will add substance to the translucent memories of his late parents. Drug addict Sergio also left Gravoi years ago, ending a relationship with an older gentleman lover. The split left lasting emotional scars. He has returned to the village for emotional reckoning. Finally there is Claudia, the daughter of a local bar owner, La Principessa, who has long ignored the bizarre circumstances of her aunt’s suicide. Each character has a secret they are trying to hide or wish to reveal.
Two obstacles stand in the way of the cast’s emotional goals: night and creatures. Silent Hill is foggy; Saturnalia has darkness: a nasty, slimy substance that reduces visibility to a few feet and makes navigating the village very difficult. There are road signs, maps and small campfires around every corner, but even after hours of familiarity, finding your way can be awkward. Light a match, and the squirming lights will give you a few feet of visibility, but matches are a scarce commodity best kept to explore in mines with no ambient light.
Darkness is timely and manageable. Biological is not. The embodiment of the town’s complex secrets, this masked monster tirelessly roams the streets of Gravoy in search of curfew violators. It gradually indicated its presence with the rattling of dried beans, an audio cue that didn’t lose the slightest bit of its petrifying power during the game’s dozen or so hours of runtime. Every movement—walking, running, opening doors, breaking windows—creates sounds, paints the sky with neon paint, and draws the attention of creatures. Any of the four characters you control at the time can cover his or her eyes to avoid detection, or try to escape, but once the monsters start chasing, you’ll curse the village, with its dazzling layout, and dripping Falling darkness.
Captive doesn’t mean death – not immediate death, anyway. When you’re caught, your character will be dragged to a crematorium, and if you’re quick and quiet, one of the remaining characters has a short chance to rescue them. Failing this, the four protagonists will all die one by one. Remember that the layout of the village is only of limited use. In Game Over, Gravoi is reborn and quickly rearranged into a new hellish configuration – a design choice that will anger guide writers and please YouTubers.
Saturnalia’s unique style is reminiscent of discarded software games from the early 2000s, with deliberately jerky animations coupled with raucous shadows of black, all of which add to the beauty of a home movie. In contrast to the carefully crafted horror films of Resident Evil, Saturnalia follows the guerrilla filmmaking tradition of The Blair Witch and Slenderman, not in a carefully choreographed set from carefully chosen camera angles Induces fright, but rather the terror of fright rushing from the relentlessly oppressive atmosphere of occasional outbursts interrupted. However, despite its indie horror look, the game draws definite inspiration from some blockbuster sources. The creature’s free-roaming pursuit of the player is purely Mr. X (a die-hard player-chaser in Resident Evil 2 Remake); the character can cower until the danger past the cupboard is from Alien: Isolation, and the only thing missing from the various safe rooms in the village is a typewriter , where you can save your progress.
Your adventures are organized and mediated through quest screens, to which characters and clues are added as they are discovered, as well as helpful lines that represent their relationship to each other. Here, the game articulates the immediate goals of the team, both collectively and individually, and the screen helps bring some order and focus. Still, at times the game’s puzzles can be cryptic, and managing items among the four characters can become frustrating. It’s very frustrating when you successfully dash through town and find you need to bring, say, Paul with his camera, or Claudia with her ability to walk through iron railings.
The fact that the game’s base currency is limited also exerts psychological pressure. You need coins you pick up to buy matches, you need matches to light your way and explore the mine system. Even the most serious players will find their resources dwindling quickly, naturally increasing the difficulty of the game. Over time, this squeezed economy creates a huge psychological burden. Every time you cross town in search of some coins, buy some matches, and light your way to your next goal, there is tension and anxiety. Over time, even the simplest of tasks can become a mountain in the mind. In this way, Saturn not only needs nimble fingers to maneuver the monsters he is chasing, but also a certain perseverance to overcome moments of frustration.
The game’s puzzles fit into the village setting and blend harmoniously with the various interwoven stories told. For example, you don’t have to retrieve a giant gem from a pond and press it into a statue to unlock a door; instead, the basic tools of the game – a hammer, a bolt cutter, a soldering iron, a drywall trowel Knives – delightful and firmly rooted in the game in reality. Smash this window. Cut that chain. Without this solid utility, the game’s more ambitious themes involving racism and homophobia could feel like symbolic or inappropriate pairings. Instead, Saturnalia manages to forge a connection between its physical and mental horrors that collectively pull the player into an unpleasant reality. Saturnalia is a scary little video game, but scary in all the ways its makers expected.
