Every Rose Has Its Thorn: Rule of Rose Review

Punchline’s Rule of Rose is characterized by all the hallmark tropes of Japanese horror: an ambiguous narrative told through visual metaphor, non-linear progression, and a persistent, illusory tone. It’s also marked by all of the now decade old trademarks of survival horror, from the awkward, plodding speed of the protagonist to the tedious item management that’s characterized the genre since Resident Evil. But from the opening piano flourish of “A Love Suicide”, the vocal jazz song that plays during both the opening cinema and closing credits of Rule of Rose, a somber, surreal, and altogether strange atmosphere settles around the player and doesn’t dissipate even after the game has been completed. Despite the familiarity of Rose‘s disparate parts, the whole is made unique by its unparalleled art direction, discomfiting subject matter, queer story, and its ability to immerse the player in its narrative not through exposition but through play.

Like all great horror, Rule of Rose‘s twisted tale is not to be ruined ahead of time, but here’s the set-up. Jennifer, a young girl who could be anywhere between fourteen and twenty years-old, has been sent away to an orphanage following the death of her parents in an airship accident, and when she arrives the orphanage appears to be abandoned, until she encounters the Aristocrats of the Red Crayon, a clan of pre-pubescent girls who visit a number of bizarre and often sadistic initiation rights upon her. The story from that point on is obtuse to say the least, and the only real satisfaction a player receives from playing Rose, outside of the pleasure of its dreary, Gorey-esque presentation, is unraveling its mystery. As vexing and beautiful as the game is, its gameplay is broken almost beyond repair.

Jennifer controls, as the characters of Resident Evil and Silent Hill before her, like a tank. She moves slowly and her progress throughout the game world is hampered by thirty second load times between areas. This is compounded by the fact that the majority of Rose‘s actual play involves following Jennifer’s companion, a stray dog named Brown, through multiple rooms in order to find hidden items needed to solve puzzles. While there is combat in Rose, it’s as inept as Jennifer herself; actually connecting a weapon with an enemy is more a matter of luck than skill. All of that being said, you eventually settle into a comfortable rhythm with the game, accepting its linearity and becoming engrossed in Jennifer’s plight. At around the half way point, as the Aristocrats begin to accept Jennifer, you begin to feel a sense of confidence in your ability to navigate the broken world as well, that even if you don’t understand the rules, you know how to play by them. Yutaka Minobe’s score and the settings even mimic this shift, becoming more whimsical and less grim.

Director Shuji Ishikawa said in an interview that he wanted to make a different sort of horror game with Rule of Rose, a “very quiet horror”, and that that ambition inspired the subject of how children, free of supervision and control, can be frightening to adults. While much has been made of Rose‘s subtly erotic overtones in the press, its horror comes not from the discomfort caused by confronting a child’s sexuality but by their capacity for unfettered cruelty. Despite Rose‘s shortcomings, Ishikawa and Punchline achieved their goal and created a grim, beautiful, and truly scary work of interactive media.