It’s no secret that I often extol the virtues of horror cinema (hence the very existence of this blog), but my appreciation for the genre occasionally extends beyond the silver screen. In fact, my fascination with horror in interactive mediums began at the tender age of 7 with The Beast Within: A Gabriel Knight Mystery in 1996. That game’s ability to intertwine Gothic and historical storytelling with immersive, story-rich gameplay left a lasting impression on me, demonstrating how video games can uniquely evoke terror. And speaking of terror, I can still vividly recall the moment I stumbled upon Von Zell gnawing on the meat off a human bone in some godforsaken cave. It’s a memory that still haunts me—almost as much as watching the trailer for Phantasmagoria, invoking nightmares of a moustached villain and a woman set on fire while strapped to a chair.
What’s so fascinating about horror games, though, is how deeply they’re informed by horror films and television, merging cinematic influences with the unique capabilities of interactive storytelling. Take, for instance, the influence of David Lynch’s work on the medium of horror video games. His surreal, nightmarish storytelling has inspired the likes of Silent Hill, where the game mirrors Lynch’s ability to merge the mundane with the bizarre, creating an atmosphere of creeping dread. Whereas Resident Evil draws on a range of influences, from George A. Romero’s zombie films to Tobe Hooper’s The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Similarly, the folk horror of films like The Wicker Man finds its echo in games such as Hob’s Barrow—an astounding title that became one of my recent favourite pieces of horror media of this decade. Hob's Barrow evokes a palpable sense of unease, leaning into the unique strengths of video games to transform the player from a passive observer into an active participant in the horror. The game’s mechanics place you in situations where, despite your growing sense of dread, you’re forced to move forward, making decisions that lead you into inescapable scenarios. It’s this sense of control—or rather, the lack of it—that enhances the feeling of helplessness so effective to the game's narrative.
And since this blog is primarily dedicated to Italian horror, how could we not mention Clock Tower. Hifumi Kono's 1995 game draws clear inspiration from Dario Argento’s Phenomena, modelling its protagonist, Jennifer, on Jennifer Connelly’s character from the film while also incorporating several key elements of Argento’s signature style. Notably, both works feature a mysterious antagonist: Clock Tower’s Scissorman with his oversized shears, directly echoes the killer in Phenomena and their weapon of choice. These characters, combined with shared themes of vulnerability, isolation, and the dread of being relentlessly pursued, highlight how video games often pay homage to the great auteurs of horror cinema creating something that feels both familiar and new. Clock Tower doesn’t merely mimic Argento’s style but reimagines it within an interactive framework,
However, as much as I’d like to wax lyrical on horror games, the real focus of this blog post is to discuss another game that exemplifies the interconnectedness between film and video games in a much more metatextual way; one that uses cinema to explore the relationship between perceived reality and fiction, narrative and gameplay. That game is Sam Barlow’s 2022 interactive film Immortality. Through its unique structure and the exploration of lost films, Immortality invites players to engage with cinema not just as an art form, but as a tool to unravel a mystery that transcends the medium itself. Tasked with reviewing lost film footage, the player takes on the role of a detective of sorts, piecing together fragments of three forgotten films: Ambrosio (1968), Minsky (1970), and Two of Everything (1999). Unlike traditional video games, where players control a character within a narrative, Immortality shifts the focus to the player’s role as a voyeur of sorts, navigating through the footage as though they were watching it unfold in real time. By interacting with specific scenes, objects, and details within the film reels, one uncovers hidden moments, alternate takes, and behind-the-scenes footage, gradually unveiling a complex mystery that connects the films together with the mysterious life of actress Marissa Marcel. But be warned, Immortality is not a straightforward mystery...
Each of the films central to the game's mechanics exists as a homage to its respective time period and genre. Sam Barlow, the game’s director, has painstakingly recreated the filmmaking techniques, visual aesthetics, and production design characteristic of each era, imbuing the project with an undeniable sense of authenticity. From the soft, saturated tones and religious transgressions of Ambrosio, to the gritty, psychosexual tension of Minsky, and the postmodern dualities of Two of Everything, each film reflects its genre as well as the broader cinematic trends of its time, creating a rich, time-accurate experience.
Among the trio of films, Ambrosio captivated me the most, largely due to its connections to Gothic horror and Italian genre cinema. Set in Madrid during the Spanish Inquisition, the film is an Italian production that pays homage to M.G. Lewis’s Gothic novel The Monk, overflowing with religious transgressions, moral corruption, and repressed desires. For aficionados of Italian Gothic cinema, Ambrosio feels like a love letter to the genre, encapsulating the dark, sensuous atmosphere that defined 1960s and 1970s Italian horror. The film evokes the stylistic flourishes of directors like Mario Bava and Antonio Margheriti, largely due to its production design and practical effects underscoring its authenticity as a 1968 Gothic horror piece. Matte-painted backdrops lend the film a surreal, dreamlike quality, while practical effects—such as a flower transitioning from white to crimson red and scenes where lurid red paint stands in for blood—heighten its decadently ominous atmosphere. These elements pay tribute to the rich visual and thematic traditions of European Gothic cinema, faithfully recreating the aesthetic of the era.
The imagery in Ambrosio is crafted with a knowing nod to connoisseurs of such cinema. For instance, the use of back projection in a scene where the lead protagonist falls from a cliff evokes the look of films from the era that often relied on similar techniques, such as Alberto De Martino's The Antichrist. Though these effects may seem dated now, they were a hallmark of the period. Such moments capture the visual language of 1960s and 1970s European horror but also demonstrate an understanding of its technical and stylistic hallmarks which makes this such a rewarding play for fans of the genre, particularly when we peek behind the curtain at how this fictional film is made.
Ambrosio will undoubtedly resonate with fans of Nunsploitation, a subgenre deeply rooted in Italy’s Gothic horror tradition. Its exploration of religious transgression, moral corruption, and repressed desires mirrors the provocative narratives and sensationalism of films like The Devils or Flavia the Heretic. One particularly striking moment in Ambrosio of Matilda sensuously sucking her finger clearly alludes to Walerian Borowczyk’s Behind Convent Walls, evoking the subgenre’s characteristic blend of eroticism and taboo.
I originally intended for this to be a short post, mainly to illustrate the visuals from Ambrosio, but as always, I couldn’t quite contain myself. There’s plenty to discuss in terms of the film’s themes and how they connect to the other films within the game, as well as the broader narrative. However, to delve into those would risk spoiling the experience for those who want to play, so I’ll hold my wheesht for now and leave you with some of my favourite visuals from Ambrosio. Hopefully, these will offer a glimpse of what I’ve been discussing regarding the fictional film’s influences! If you’re interested in playing Immortality, you can find it on Steam, GOG, and Xbox. Let me know your thoughts!
Ambrosio (Arthur Fischer, 1968)
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