Mash 'em up.
At its core, Splatterhouse is an old-school brawler where you move from room to room killing monsters, racking up combos and attempting to upgrade your character into an awesome killing machine. The game’s protagonist is Rick, a huge hunk of a guy whose bulging biceps make the Incredible Hulk look rather puny, and who is so hard and immune to pain that he’ll quite nonchalantly batter his way, with limbs or without, through hundreds of ghoulish creatures who try and hamper the search for his kidnapped girlfriend.Splatterhouse isn’t the type of game that needs a storyline, but the theme of passion and revenge runs through its veins and at least provides some reason for the blood shed. And despite the storyline’s lack of depth, it stays true to the original and beefs things up with some impressive cut-scenes and bags of crude humour to tickle your funny bone and soften the blow of some of the gut-wrenching moves. Splatterhouse succeeds mostly with its humor and there are a few laugh-out-loud moments that come from the mask that Rick wears. The voice of the mask constantly tries to demotivate you by saying such delightful phrases as “For a dick, you’re such as pussy,” and they get cruder and more ridiculous as you progress. You may find yourself shaking your head and even feeling slightly embarrassed at some of the one-liners, but generally it's all tongue-in-cheek.
The storyline follows Rick and his girlfriend Jennifer as they take shelter in a mansion from a storm. It turns out that parapsychologist Dr. West has been conducting bizarre experiments at the mansion and while you’re shacked up a couple of monsters turn up, take Jennifer away and leave Rick nearly dead. Rick gets hold of a "Terror Mask,” that speaks to him through his thoughts. Rick places the mask on his face and then morphs into a killing machine with superhuman strength. On the search for Jennifer, you roam the corridors and rooms of the mansion using anything that you can pick up to lay waste to the vile creatures that stand in your way.
