I Hate This Place is stylish isometric survival horror with a cool atmosphere and smart ideas that sadly collapse under broken balance and systems that undermine their own tension
I really wanted to love I Hate This Place. On paper, it hits all the right notes. An isometric survival horror game set in the 80s, wrapped in a bold comic book inspired art style, with cult rituals, forests full of monsters, and a creeping sense of dread. That combination should be a slam dunk. Unfortunately, while the game starts strong and builds a compelling mood, it slowly unravels as its systems fail to support the experience it clearly wants to be.
The story is simple and functional, almost to a fault. You play as Elena, who alongside her friend Lou performs a ritual early on that summons an entity known as The Horned One. As expected, things go sideways fast. The forest becomes hostile, monsters roam freely, and Lou disappears. From there, the narrative pushes you through forests, mines, bunkers, and survivor camps as you piece together what really happened and try to reunite with your friend.
There is a twist waiting in the wings, and while it is competently delivered, it is also fairly predictable. The story mostly exists to justify the next objective marker on your map. It does not dig particularly deep into its characters or themes, and it never really surprises. That said, the setup is strong enough to keep you moving forward, even if you can see most of its turns coming well in advance.
Where the game initially shines is in its early survival horror design. The opening hours do a great job of selling vulnerability. Ammo is extremely limited, throwables are rare, and most enemies are dangerous enough that avoiding combat feels like the smartest option. Enemies cannot see you, but they hear everything. Stepping on leaves, broken glass, writhing tentacles, or other noisy terrain can alert nearby creatures, forcing you to move carefully and plan your routes.
For the first hour or so, I Hate This Place feels tense. You creep around, watch patrol patterns, and make hard decisions about whether a fight is worth the cost. With only a handful of bullets and enemies that soak up far more damage than you expect, every encounter feels risky. This is the game at its best.
Unfortunately, that balance does not last.
There are only a few enemy types in the game, roughly four from what I encountered, including mutant deer, large spiders, and other twisted creatures. Early on, they feel threatening because of how durable they are relative to your limited resources. As the game progresses, however, you unlock blueprints for stronger weapons like shotguns and SMGs, along with more crafting options. On its own, that progression would be fine. The problem is how quickly the game hands you the keys to completely break its economy.
Elena can carry an absurd amount of items with almost no meaningful downside. Yes, stamina drains faster when you are heavily loaded, but stamina also regenerates so quickly that it barely matters. You can sprint, fight, loot, and keep moving with almost no friction. The hunger system is equally toothless. One bag of potato chips fills the meter, and running out never feels like a real threat.
The real tipping point comes when you unlock base building at your ranch. This is where the entire survival loop collapses. You can build structures that generate resources passively, including materials used to craft ammunition. One of the most egregious examples is saltpeter production, which leads directly to gunpowder, which then leads to essentially unlimited ammo. The same applies to food and healing items.
Once these structures are online, the game stops being a survival horror entirely. There is no reason to scavenge, no tension in exploration, and no fear of running out of supplies. I reached this point around two and a half hours into my roughly five hour playthrough, and from that moment on, the tone completely shifted. I stopped sneaking. I stopped planning. I simply ran through areas killing everything in sight.
Boss fights suffer the most from this imbalance. What should be climactic encounters turn into brief skirmishes where you throw a handful of grenades or Molotovs and watch the enemy evaporate. When you are sitting on hundreds of shotgun shells and dozens of explosives, there is no sense of danger or accomplishment. It is hard to feel invested when the game’s systems let you trivialize its biggest moments.
I honestly do not know if this imbalance is intentional or the result of a poorly tuned update, but either way, it undermines everything the game sets up in its opening hours. Survival horror relies on restraint and scarcity, and I Hate This Place abandons both far too quickly.
Presentation wise, the game is a mixed bag. Artistically, I really like how it looks. The thick outlines, bold colors, and comic book aesthetic and onomatopoeias give the world a unique identity. The environments are atmospheric, and the forest in particular has a moody, unsettling vibe that works well with the horror elements. From a visual design standpoint, the game knows exactly what it wants to be.
Technically, however, the PS5 version struggles. Performance can be rough when exploring outdoor areas, with noticeable hitches and occasional freezes as you move through the world. These interruptions break immersion and are frustrating in a game that relies so heavily on mood and tension.
Controls are another weak point. Basic actions feel fine, but interacting with menus does not. Opening the journal, checking the map, or navigating objectives involves awkward button combinations that never feel intuitive. Combat aiming is handled with the right analog stick, and it feels imprecise. Shots often miss when they look like they should connect, especially against smaller, faster enemies like spiders. This lack of precision makes combat feel sloppy rather than satisfying.
By the time the credits rolled, I was left feeling disappointed more than anything else. There is a good game buried in here. With tighter economy balancing, more meaningful survival systems, and enemies that are dangerous without being bullet sponges, I Hate This Place could have been an easy recommendation. Instead, it feels like a promising idea that loses confidence in itself halfway through.
As it stands, it is hard to recommend at full price, especially given its relatively short length. If the developers revisit the balance and tighten up the survival mechanics, this could become something special. Right now, it is a game that starts strong, looks great, and then slowly dismantles its own tension until there is very little horror left at all. Thanks for reading!
The game was reviewed on a PS5 via a promo copy provided by PR. I Hate This Place is available PS5, PC, Switch and Xbox Series X/S.
