Control Overcomes Fear
Remedy expertly converts fear to fascination
I can’t play scary games. I have the kind of brain that absorbs material and then digs deeper into it during my spare time. I’ve learned that when it comes to horror this is just no good. I can’t sleep due to the trials my mind will put me through and when I do it comes in nightmares and terrors. I’ve done the math and it turns out that most scary content just isn’t worth what my mind will put me through later, so I abstain. I made an exception for Control, and I’m so glad I did.
Not only is Control a fantastic game, but the lore is deeply creepy and interesting. It’s all the little touches which give this universe so much depth and fantastical plausibility. Perhaps though, the cleverest and most appreciated touch for me is the player agency and power. Jesse is confused and maybe a little scared — but never terrified. There’s a wonderful fine line the development team have managed to tread between the purity of fear and intrigue and I think this is bolstered by always making her feel powerful. Even when she doesn’t know what’s going on, she’s never frantic, and is always in control. Fear is so deeply rooted in perception and personal experience. Many of us have deep seated fears that don’t even cause a raised brow from others. Spiders, water, birds, clowns, or public speaking are all fairly common yet polarising. I believe by taking away Jesse’s sense of terror, the devs allowed me to ignore my own. Rather, her curiosity became my own and it started from the moment we picked up the service weapon.
Wielding a powerful ancient weapon
The service weapon is your gun in Control and it’s both fascinating and mundane. Sure, you’ve found a gun in a video game, that doesn’t sound like something to speculate over. Even when I found out it could be modified into entirely different weapons, or that the ammo was rechargeable rather than reloadable, it didn’t strike me as an interesting story; it seemed more like video game nonsense. However, it soon became clear that picking up this weapon made me the Director, a role of authority that everyone in The Old House listened to. Jesse, the imposter, suddenly rocketed into a position of great power — a woman in charge, who can also hear the guidance of those who came before. This was some Sword in the Stone (or even Star Wars) level high-fantasy bullshit and it motivated me to look deeper.
Turns out I was right. According to the in-game files, this service weapon is potentially a descendant or even just a different form of ancient weapons like Excalibur or Mjolnir. It’s said to appear as the collective understanding of a weapon for those times (and so, for these times, we have a gun). This is, of course, very cool — but it wasn’t until I thought about this laying in bed one night that I realised just how cool the service weapon actually is.
I kept thinking about how we could talk to the previous Director and how the bullets essentially return to the gun (or maybe they never really leave). I realised that when he shot himself through the brain, it captured imprints of his memory and when Jesse had to do the same in the initial test of worthiness, it left those imprints on her mind. Then I thought about how the materials you need to upgrade your weapon aren’t things like metal or parts, they’re astral constructs like ritual impulses, or intrusive patterns. You don’t upgrade your gun with bits, you do it with ideas, thoughts, notions. This is the purest idea of any object of power, literally given power from belief. It is literally and absolutely all in your head and I still can’t get over how delightful that concept is to my brain but more importantly, it really helps with the fear.
Conquering fear through control
Knowing something is all in your head is terrifying, until you realise you can control it. I can’t think of a weapon that I’d rely more on to take into battle than one that’s as powerful as I believe it can be. There are limits, sure, but as long as I don’t waver neither will my weapon. That’s such an empowering notion, which is only built on further by the other objects of power and abilities they grant.
The first real power found in the game is the ability, launch. It’s essentially telekinesis and lets you wrench up worldly objects and hurl them at enemies. When there are no objects you can pull chunks of concrete from the walls, and later, even enemies themselves. Like a gun, it’s not a particularly uncommon video game power but the rational behind it is fascinating.
The object of power which grants you launch is an unassuming floppy disk. It’s one of the old school 8-inch bad boys and it contained Soviet-era nuclear launch codes. Those codes aren’t powerful in and of themselves (sure they could potentially launch a missile from the right computer); on the disk alone and in isolation they’re just strings of digits.
Harmless, right? Well, if it wasn’t for the fears of mortal men…
It’s not the codes themselves which give you this launch ability, it’s the fear. The combined nurosies of a nation terrified of being thrown into nuclear war. The collective nightmares of kids who are trained to seek refuge under their desks, families looking into bomb shelters, and politicians watching the Doomsday Clock. You absorb this fear-driven power and use it to become strong. It doesn’t matter how many creepy disfigured bodies jump out at me; this knowledge gave me such a sense of strength. I can’t be scared when I have control over something so intimidating.
At this point, I wield fear itself as one of my greatest weapons.
This theme of binding fear to yourself for strength continues as you progress. Later, you get the evade ability which comes from a carousel horse which had been reported for moving by itself at a carnival. Maybe it did but I can bet that it didn’t start that way. It would have been one kid, scared of clowns, or rides, or lights and out of the corner of their eye they see it. Maybe the light struck it in such a way, or the wind; that jolt of fear became its first meal and it got a taste. That power of belief made it real — real to the kid — and soon, real to everyone else.
It turned that meal into a feast and now dinner is mine.
Fear becomes fascination
This is where Control is incredibly clever because every creepy, disturbing detail it makes you stronger. In any other game walking the unsettlings halls, hearing the deeply concerning whispers of the hiss, and watching the hanging bodies that fill the room would be too much for me. Then later, I’d turn it into darker, more terrifying things.
Instead, Control replaces fear with fascination and gives me the power to explore without feeling vulnerable. I’m allowed to safely wander the dark corridors in game, so that their analogues in my mind are filled only with stories and ideas. There are different rabbit holes to dive into but none of them involve me being hurt because I know, understand, and even wield that power. It’s one of the first times I’ve positioned myself in a horror landscape and felt, yeah, I know, I’m in control of my mind after the fact — and I feel like that’s such a rare gift.
It also proves to me that fear, in a very basic form, is one of the most boring reactions we can have to media. It can be good for cheap thrills with a jump scare to get the heart pumping but that’s all it really offers. Terror is consuming and frantic. Trust me, I know. But there’s something almost lazy about that instant gratification. Smart horror draws that terror out and adds texture to it, extending the experience. This kind of horror lingers in the mind and leaves you to tear yourself apart. I’d argue there’s something even smarter about Control, where I can still get the joy of these cursed ideas without fear. Where I can go even deeper to explore, understand, and truly engage with these concepts without my mind self-destructively succumbing to darker things when left to its own devices.
