Like The Evil Dead, Splatterhouse goes all out within the small space it has to work with. Seriously, the man has enough one-liners to make Bruce Campbell jealous. Well, that plus every excuse to have Jim “I Played Winnie the Pooh” Cummings chew every inch of scenery as the demonic mask that empowers and possesses you. Rather than buck the trend, it embraces its vulgarity and lewdness to convene far more relatable themes of love and loss. Splatterhouse knew the odds were stacked against it ( extensively so) and the expectations everyone had for it.

Instead it’s actually really heartfelt, genuine, and arguably one of the better genre-piece games to date. By all rights, it should be a forgettable bit of tripe, only for those who trawl the deepest holes of bargain bins. Herbert “The Reanimator” West across dimensions and time, pile driving, cleaving, and impaling his demonic minions in the hopes of saving your bombshell girlfriend Jenny. You play as Rick, possessed by the Terror Mask, a rip-off of Jason Voorhees, fighting Dr. Splatterhouse’s 2010 revival is crass, lacking in almost any subtlety and gorier than Mortal Kombat.

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