The clues are there from the start of course - it's right there in the name! - but Requiem isn't just a horror game; it isn't just an action game; it's a joyful, honest-to-goodness celebration of Resident Evil, this legendary series, as it enters its 30th anniversary year. And the longer it goes on - the more it borrows and repurposes from the past - the more it plays like a gift to fans. It's there in that sprawling mansion that feels like a return to the start; in its shifting camera perspectives and shifting tones. It's there in its different inventory systems from two different eras, in the typewriter ribbons, and the wonderfully old-school puzzle contrivances. It's there in a bifurcated campaign that feels like a Resident Evil 6 callback, in an upgrade system for Leon that feels ripped right out of Mercenaries, and it's there in so many other ways. I'm not going to say too much more - partly because Capcom understandably wants to keep Requiem's biggest surprises secret, and partly because I wouldn't want to spoil their impact anyway - but the more it played into its legacy, the bigger my smile became.
There's a clear tension here in that the first half of Requiem is incredible; a straight-up horror classic as far as I'm concerned. In contrast, its latter half is less obviously remarkable; boundary pushing horror making way for a slightly retro, backward-looking celebration of the past. That makes it tricky, if not outright impossible to judge. Is Requiem uneven? Absolutely. Does it eventually, slightly, run out of steam? I think that's a fair criticism too. But carried away on a wave of increasing nostalgia, I didn't especially care. In a way, Capcom's deliberate - and impressively cohesive - grab bag approach to Requiem almost makes it impervious to criticism, and you might as well just sit back and enjoy the ride. And with 30 years of brilliant, ludicrous nonsense squashed down into a single game, this well-earned victory lap is one hell of a time.