Name: Resident Evil: Welcome to Raccoon City
Genre: Action, Horror, Science Fiction
Released: 2021-11-24T00:00:00+00:00
Cast: Kaya Scodelario, Hannah John-Kamen, Robbie Amell, Tom Hopper, Avan Jogia

The opening shot of Resident Evil: Welcome to Raccoon City sets a grim tone: a desolate Midwestern town, its streets lined with boarded-up shops and flickering neon signs. This is the dying heart of Umbrella Corporation’s abandoned experiment, and director Johannes Roberts leans into the decay with a visual palette that feels like a love letter to ’80s horror aesthetics. The film, a reboot of the long-running franchise, aims to return to the survival-horror roots of Capcom’s video games, but its ambitions are both its strength and its downfall.

Roberts assembles a capable cast, with Kaya Scodelario as Claire Redfield standing out for her tenacity and emotional depth. Scodelario brings a grounded humanity to Claire, making her the emotional anchor of the film. Her scenes with Robbie Amell’s Chris Redfield crackle with sibling chemistry, grounding the more fantastical elements in relatable stakes. Hannah John-Kamen’s Jill Valentine is equally compelling, balancing vulnerability with steely resolve. The chemistry between Scodelario and John-Kamen—particularly in their tense, claustrophobic moments inside the Spencer Mansion—is one of the film’s highlights.

The mansion itself is a character, its labyrinthine corridors and eerie silence creating a palpable sense of dread. Roberts’ use of practical effects for the zombies and creatures adds a tangible grime that digital CGI often lacks, grounding the horror in something visceral. The film’s soundtrack, heavy on synth-heavy scores, amplifies the tension, evoking the atmospheric unease of classic horror films like The Thing. These elements coalesce to create some genuinely chilling moments, particularly in the early sequences where the outbreak begins to unfold.

However, the film stumbles in its pacing and structure. The runtime is tight, clocking in at just under two hours, but the third act feels rushed, sacrificing tension and coherence for a hurried climax. The narrative juggles multiple storylines—Claire’s investigation, Avan Jogia’s Leon Kennedy’s rookie cop arc, and the STARS team’s mission—but struggles to give each the attention they deserve. This fragmentation dilutes the impact of individual character arcs, leaving emotional beats feeling underdeveloped. For instance, Donal Logue’s Chief Irons is introduced with promise but ultimately fades into the background, his potential as a moral compass wasted amid the chaos.

The film’s attempts at social commentary on corporate greed and environmental neglect are heavy-handed, delivered through exposition-heavy dialogue rather than subtle narrative integration. Scenes in which characters monologue about Umbrella’s malfeasance feel like they’re checking off boxes for a checklist of themes rather than emerging organically from the story. This is particularly evident in the diner scene where Leon encounters the erratic owner, a moment that feels more like a setup for future revelations than a standalone horror beat.

The action sequences, while visually impressive, often suffer from choppy editing that obscures crucial moments. The fight choreography is functional but lacks the fluidity and impact seen in other genre entries like The Killer. Roberts’ direction shows flashes of creativity, particularly in his use of sound design—silence punctuated by sudden bursts of violence—but these moments are too infrequent to sustain momentum. The film’s pacing issues become most evident in the final act, where a series of set pieces feel more like a checklist of genre tropes than a cohesive narrative.

The film also struggles with its identity as both a horror and action flick. While it excels in creating tense, atmospheric moments, it falters when shifting gears into full-blown action. The balance between horror and action is a tightrope walk, and Welcome to Raccoon City often stumbles, failing to commit fully to either genre. This indecision is evident in the climactic battle at the police station, where the stakes feel muddied by a lack of clear narrative focus.

Despite these flaws, the film has its moments of brilliance. Tom Hopper’s Albert Wesker is a standout, embodying the enigmatic, morally ambiguous nature of the character from the games. His presence adds a layer of intrigue to the proceedings, even if his arc is ultimately truncated by the film’s rushed conclusion. Neal McDonough’s William Birkin is equally compelling, his descent into madness a chilling counterpart to the broader horror unfolding in Raccoon City.

The film’s visual style is another bright spot. Roberts employs a mix of practical and digital effects that lend the film a gritty, lived-in feel. The Spencer Mansion, in particular, is a masterclass in set design, its decaying grandeur serving as the perfect backdrop for the horror unfolding within. The use of lighting—particularly in the sequences where the characters navigate the mansion’s dark corridors—creates a sense of claustrophobia that heightens the tension.

Ultimately, Resident Evil: Welcome to Raccoon City is a film of promising ideas and solid performances, hampered by its own ambition. It’s clear that Roberts and his team wanted to honor the source material while carving out their own identity, but the execution falls short of its potential. The film is a love letter to the games, packed with Easter eggs and references that will delight hardcore fans. However, it struggles to translate that affection into a cohesive cinematic experience.

The film’s target audience is clearly the existing fanbase, particularly those who have played the games and are familiar with the lore. For newcomers, the film’s fragmented narrative and rushed pacing may prove off-putting. The lack of a clear emotional throughline makes it difficult to invest in the characters or their fates, a crucial element for any horror film.

In the end, Resident Evil: Welcome to Raccoon City is a flawed but ambitious effort that captures the spirit of its source material while struggling to find its own voice.