opinion games single source: Aftermath

The Soul of the Structure: Why Resonant Still Captivates, Even Without The Oldest House

The sequel *Resonant* moves the action from the original game's primary location to a New York City setting.

I have a confession to make: despite loving the first Control with all my heart, every time I saw a trailer for its sequel Resonant, I was left a little disappointed. Appreciating that Remedy was pushing boundaries—a new character, a new setting, a new combat system is a rarity in these risk-averse days—I was ready for the evolution.

But moving the game out of The Oldest House and onto the streets of New York felt like losing the very thing I cherished most about the original. That defining trait, the visual language through which the entire first game poured its soul, was its highly detailed and meticulous use of corporate Brutalism. It wasn't just thick concrete walls and staircases; it was the whole package—the deep red carpets, the wooden workstations, the sheer craft of the design.

If you’ve ever lived in a building like that, you could practically smell The Oldest House.

So, how was Resonant going to compare if it left that monolithic structure behind?

The answer, surprisingly, was "really easy, you idiot."

New York City in Resonant functions mostly as a hub—a little open-world experiment to provide flavor and give you a chance to backtrack through its confusing corridors on your way to the game's dungeons. While there are some interesting bits above ground (one area covered entirely in a strangely beautiful mould is lovely, for example), those dungeons contain some of the most awe-inspiring video game environment design I have ever seen.

The red carpets and 70s furniture might be mostly gone in Resonant, but the feeling The Oldest House invoked remains. This is the crucial point. Brutalism is beloved—and derided—not just for its materials or angles, but for the emotions it stirs.

For some, it’s oppressive; for others, it’s an expression of profound beauty, inspiring awe at its depth and scale.

Resonant's distorted dungeons manage to evoke that same spectrum of feeling. They are so disorienting, so vast, that they can feel overwhelming. Yet, there are moments—encountering a "patterned" street, leaping over a seemingly bottomless chasm, surveying endless Escher-like subway lines—where the setting and the action within it made me sit back and just exhale at the wonder of it all.

The Sinkhole in particular is such a staggering piece of self-contained design.

I believe one of the most vital functions of a video game is to inspire a sense of wonder, and Resonant's strong focus on its buildings and platforms has kept me smiling throughout my playthrough. Long after credits roll... No wait! ...long after credits roll off this one too...

I’ll be thinking of its cascading parking garages and recursive apartment buildings anyway. The architectural spirit survived even leaving Manhattan behind for something else entirely beneath those structures.