In truth, I find myself admiring Dead Format more than actually enjoying it. That is not a dismissal. The game’s ambitions are clear, and they often clash with the practical limits of its design.
The premise for this 1st-person survival horror game is simple. It’s the 90s, and your brother has invited you to his flat. He has since gone missing. There is no light in the apartment except for your flashlight. As you explore, you discover nods to the 90s setting through the technology and items scattered about, such as a nearly litigious pack of toilet roll, the brand design almost identical to Tesco (an English supermarket) branding from the era. This pulled me out of the built-up tension for a moment, but as our very own Steven Landray says, “The scariest element of any game is the presence of a Tesco supermarket!” Other supermarkets and brands of toilet roll are, of course, available.
Moving past this comedic inclusion, you discover a VHS-style tape called a GHL. You put the tape in the machine, and after a short live-action video, the door behind you glows with an intense blue light. Once you enter the door, you are transported to another world, set in the world of the video you’ve just watched. You will have to navigate its puzzles and other dangers to gather more info on your missing brother. You’ll find more tapes further into the game that open a doorway into other film worlds, while the flat acts as a hub connecting everything. It is a simple yet satisfying rhythm of discovery and return.
At its core, this is not about nostalgia for old media like VHS or CRTs. While I do have a fond nostalgia for the format (VHS tapes were a big part of my childhood), Dead Format does not obsess over outdated tech. Instead, it focuses on the kind of films shaped by those limitations and how they influenced pacing, visuals, and atmosphere.
The live-action sequences before each film are some of the game’s highlights. They are not ironic throwbacks but carefully staged little films that draw inspiration from the eras they reference. From nods to 1928’s German Expressionist film The Man Who Laughs to the nearly cheesy science fiction of the 1980s, there are clear influences from films like Lifeforce and The Thing, with their grotesque, morphing bodies and unsettling physicality. These are just two examples of the eras of film the game celebrates. These sections lean into practical, body-focused horror, making the scares feel more visceral rather than relying purely on jump scares.
The framing, lighting, and performances in the FMV sections all feel deliberate, and the CRT blur and tracking distortion sell these tapes as genuinely unsettling objects.
It is impossible not to wonder what Dead Format could look like with a bigger budget. Some rough edges and the limited cast of actors feel less like sloppy design and more like the realities of limited resources. At the same time, those limitations make what is here even more impressive. The live-action segments, with their bespoke physical sets and props, show a serious level of commitment. You can feel the care in every frame.
Mechanically, the game sits firmly in traditional survival horror territory. Inventory space is tight, puzzles require patience, and backtracking is part of the rhythm; you will often find that you get so far in one world and discover the solution to a puzzle in another world, so you have to backtrack to the hub world (if a messy flat can be called a world), change the tape, enter the other world, and so on. There is a clear nod to classics like Resident Evil, especially in menu design and inventory structure. The familiarity helps anchor the more experimental ideas.
Combat exists, but it is sparse. Standard enemies rarely feel threatening until the central stalker appears. This unkillable enemy is meant to enforce stealth and tension. At first, it works, but the design undercuts its own intention. Safe hiding spots and the restrictive save system encourage waiting rather than improvising. Encounters quickly settle into routine rather than panic, which is a shame given how much care has gone into the environments.
The world design is where the game truly shines. Each film world has a distinct visual identity that matches its genre. Black-and-white starkness, harsh high-contrast lighting, or stylised colour palettes all communicate intention clearly, even to those without deep film knowledge. The game rewards slow absorption, letting you appreciate the sets, props, and atmosphere. Small touches, like the apartment reacting when a new tape is inserted, reinforce the sense of a project crafted with curiosity and love.
Some frustrations remain, though, mostly where ambition meets limitation. The stalker can make exploration feel constrained, and inventory management occasionally slows momentum. Yet these issues are minor compared to the impressive mixture of ideas the game pulls off. The combination of survival horror mechanics with experimental mixed-media presentation is bold and distinctive.
What makes Dead Format compelling is its artistic ambition. It is a game caught between two ideas and directions. One wants to explore horror as an art form shaped by limitation. The other relies on rigid systems to manufacture tension. When these impulses align, the game is striking and memorable. When they clash, the experience can feel flat.
Even with its frustrations, Dead Format remains a distinctive and intriguing horror game. Its respect for cinematic craft, attention to detail, and willingness to experiment make it easy to admire. Not every idea lands perfectly, but the ambition behind it is impossible to miss. For anyone interested in horror that pays attention to style and substance, there is plenty to explore and appreciate here.
