For nearly thirty years, Silent Hill has haunted the geography of America — a Japanese creation wearing the skin of the US. Now, a small Glasgow studio has carried that legacy across the Atlantic to a fictional Scottish island, asking whether horror rooted in one culture can be transplanted into another without losing its soul. Silent Hill: Townfall, set in 1996 on the invented isle of St Amelia, suggests the answer may be yes — and in doing so, quietly raises the question of what a place-bound franchise owes to place at all.
Silent Hill franchise gets Scottish makeover in ambitious new entry
You don't feel safe when those kinds of things are fragile
Mark
So the big thing here is that Silent Hill has never left America before, right? This is genuinely new territory for the franchise?
Mimi
Right. The series started in Japan but has always been set in America—that's been the whole identity. This is the first time it's moved to a different country, and they chose Scotland, which is a pretty bold choice for a horror game.
Luke
But they didn't make the protagonist Scottish. Simon Ordell is American. Why does that matter?
Mimi
The director said there are narrative reasons for that—he's meant to be an outsider to the community, which the story reveals slowly. It's not just a lazy choice.
Mark
And the setting itself—is it actually Scottish, or is it just tartan and bagpipes?
Mimi
That's what McKellan was careful about. He said "it's not tartan everywhere." There are phone boxes, council estates, red pillar boxes, 20 mph signs. Things that feel authentic to working-class Scotland in the 90s.
Luke
But how much of that is atmosphere versus actual gameplay? Does the setting change how the game plays, or is it just window dressing?
Mimi
The corporate impact on small communities is actually part of the story, which gives the setting thematic weight. It's not just scenery.
Mark
What about the horror itself? Can a Scottish island be as scary as the original American town?
Mimi
The monsters are effective—fast, aggressive, designed to make you run rather than fight. The sound design is particularly good. And the technology mechanics, like the handheld CRT device, create real tension.
Luke
I notice the reviews mention some frustrating combat sections with a super-strong enemy. That sounds like a design problem, not a Scottish problem.
Mimi
Fair point. That's a weakness in the game itself, not the setting. Some critics found those moments broke the pacing.
Mark
So is this the future? Are we going to see Silent Hill games everywhere now?
Mimi
Konami's producer said they're looking at Europe, Latin America, other places. They want a new game every year. It seems like they're betting on letting different studios take the franchise to different locations.
Luke
Which raises the question: at what point does it stop being Silent Hill and just become a horror game that happens to have the name?
Mimi
That's what some journalists are already asking. But if the games stay this fresh, maybe that doesn't matter.
The Pulse
- A beloved horror franchise built on American geography has uprooted itself entirely, landing on a fog-drenched Scottish island with no guarantee its identity survives the crossing.
- The pressure on Glasgow-based Screen Burn is immense — a small team inheriting one of gaming's most iconic properties and tasked with making it feel genuinely Scottish rather than a costume of clichés.
- Retro technology, scarce resources, and a sound design that makes silence feel dangerous conspire to produce tension that critics are calling oppressively effective — though a handful of forced combat encounters threaten to unravel the atmosphere entirely.
- Konami is now openly planning yearly Silent Hill releases set across the globe, from Europe to Latin America, betting that the franchise's horror can outlive the town that gave it its name.
For nearly thirty years, Silent Hill has haunted the geography of America — a Japanese creation wearing the skin of the US. Now, a small Glasgow studio has carried that legacy across the Atlantic to a fictional Scottish island, asking whether horror rooted in one culture can be transplanted into another without losing its soul. Silent Hill: Townfall, set in 1996 on the invented isle of St Amelia, suggests the answer may be yes — and in doing so, quietly raises the question of what a place-bound franchise owes to place at all.
Silent Hill: Townfall arrived on PlayStation 5 this week set not in America, but on a fictional Scottish island called St Amelia — inspired by the real fishing village of St Monans in Fife. For nearly three decades the series has been defined by its American geography, created by Japanese developers but culturally rooted in the US. This new entry, made by Glasgow-based Screen Burn, is the franchise's first venture to the UK, and the question it carries is whether a small team can honour one of gaming's most iconic horror properties while making something that feels authentically Scottish.
The game follows Simon Ordell, an American man who washes ashore in 1996 with a hospital ID band on his wrist and no memory of how he arrived. Director Jon McKellan was deliberate about avoiding the obvious pitfalls of Scottish representation: no tartan shorthand, but instead the granular texture of working-class British life — red pillar boxes, 20 mph signs, charity collection tins shaped like guide dogs. Saving your progress requires stepping into a coin-operated phone box. A level set on a council estate leans into the grey weight of concrete overhead. The specificity earns its place.
The monsters are fast and aggressive enough to make avoidance the only sensible strategy, and weapons degrade while ammunition stays scarce. A handheld CRT device updates the series' iconic crackling radio, displaying fuzzy outlines of nearby creatures — fragile technology that McKellan notes lends itself naturally to dread. Composer Pilotpriest's bleak soundtrack swells almost unbearably as danger closes in. The atmosphere has drawn strong critical praise, with IGN describing it as oppressively ominous. The game's weakest moments involve a handful of forced confrontations with a single powerful enemy — encounters that Video Games Chronicle found deeply frustrating, bringing an otherwise outstanding experience to a halt.
Thematically, Townfall reaches beyond personal trauma to examine the damage large corporations inflict on small, isolated communities — a choice that gives the Scottish setting genuine weight rather than treating it as backdrop. Konami's lead producer Motoi Okamoto has told the BBC that future entries may be set across Europe and Latin America, with a goal of releasing a Silent Hill game every year. If Screen Burn's uneven but tense and inventive work is any measure, the strategy of handing the franchise to different studios in different places may hold. The deeper irony is that if Konami succeeds, players may one day struggle to remember why the original town ever mattered.
Silent Hill: Townfall arrived on PlayStation 5 this week as something the franchise has never quite been before—a horror game set not in America, but on a fictional Scottish island called St Amelia, inspired by the real fishing village of St Monans in Fife. For nearly three decades, the series has been defined by its American setting, created by Japanese developers but rooted in the geography and culture of the US. This new entry, made by Glasgow-based Screen Burn, marks the first time the franchise has ventured to the UK, and the question hanging over it is whether a small team can sustain the weight of one of gaming's most iconic horror properties while making something that feels genuinely Scottish rather than a collection of clichés.
The game follows Simon Ordell, an American man who washes up on St Amelia in 1996 with a hospital ID band around his wrist and no clear memory of how he arrived. Like the best Silent Hill games, the story unfolds slowly and deliberately, revealing its mysteries through cutscenes and scattered documents rather than exposition. Jon McKellan, the director at Screen Burn, was explicit about his intention to avoid the obvious pitfalls: "It's not tartan everywhere, but if you grew up in a working-class town in the 90s, you will get a lot of the references." Walking through the game's environments, that commitment becomes clear. There are red pillar boxes, 20 mph speed limit signs, and charity collection boxes shaped like guide dogs. To save your progress, you step into a phone box—the kind with coins and cards—a detail that lands with unexpected weight for anyone old enough to remember them on British streets. A level set in a council estate leans into the concrete starkness of grey buildings looming overhead. The specificity works. It creates a sense of place that feels earned rather than imposed.
The monsters themselves are gnarled, fleshy things with axe-like heads or mangled faces, and they move with enough speed and aggression to make avoidance the only sensible strategy. Even when you find weapons—a plank of wood, a steel pipe—they degrade over time, and ammunition is scarce enough that stealth remains the dominant mode of play. McKellan claimed the game avoids jump scares, though playing through it suggests otherwise; the real fear comes from the sound design, where composer Pilotpriest's hauntingly bleak soundtrack swells almost unbearably as creatures stumble closer. The tension is ratcheted further by a handheld CRT device that functions as an updated version of the series' iconic crackling radio, showing a fuzzy image of nearby monsters on its screen. It's a clever piece of design—retro technology that feels fragile, which McKellan noted lends itself well to horror because "you don't feel safe when those kinds of things are fragile."
The game's narrative explores themes of trauma and guilt, but it also engages with something more specific to its setting: the impact of large corporations on small, isolated communities. That thematic choice gives the Scottish location added relevance rather than making it feel like a simple reskin. Critics have responded positively to the atmosphere. IGN's Tristan Ogilvie called it "oppressively ominous," and the game has been praised for its freshness and inventive design. There are rough edges. Some sections introduce a single super-strong enemy that forces direct confrontation, and Chris Scullion at Video Games Chronicle found these moments "deeply frustrating," describing them as causing an otherwise "outstanding" game to come "grinding to a halt." The difficulty settings—easy, normal, and nightmare for combat—offer some flexibility, but those particular encounters still stand out as the game's weakest moments.
Townfall is not the first time the Silent Hill franchise has abandoned its American roots. Last year's Silent Hill f was set in 1960s rural Japan, which sparked broader questions about whether a game can truly belong to the series if it's not set in or around the fictional town itself. Motoi Okamoto, the series' lead producer at Konami, told the BBC that the studio is actively exploring other locations for future entries, from "other parts of Europe" to "Latin America." Okamoto has also expressed a desire to release a Silent Hill game every year, whether that be a remaster, remake, or entirely new material. If Screen Burn's work here is any indication—a brutal, grim journey that is uneven in parts but clever and full of immense tension—then the strategy of letting different studios take the franchise to new places may actually work. The irony is that if Konami succeeds in this vision, players may eventually forget why the original town mattered at all.
Notable Quotes
It's not tartan everywhere, but if you grew up in a working-class town in the 90s, you will get a lot of the references.— Jon McKellan, director at Screen Burn
I think it lends itself well to horror when the technology is a bit frail, a bit outdated. You don't feel safe when those kinds of things are fragile.— Jon McKellan on the design of retro technology mechanics
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