If there’s one thing Resident Evil is known for, outside of zombies, it’s action heroes with impeccable hair and impressive catalogs of one-liners. Who could ever forget fending off hordes of crazed villagers in Resident Evil 4, only to have Leon say, “Where’s everyone going, bingo?” There’s an edge of “cool” that has become integral to Resident Evil over the decades, but after the debacle of Resident Evil 6, Capcom knew it had to do something different.
Ethan Winters is not cool. He’s more the absence of cool than anything–a dad joke dressed up as an action hero. But perhaps what’s most amazing is how all that invariably turns him into one of the most compelling protagonists of the series’ history. Ethan is likable in spite of himself, and a surprisingly meaningful piece of the puzzle in how Resident Evil 7 and Village redefined the franchise’s tone while still keeping its heart alive. Sometimes, horror games don’t need an action hero; they just need a dude.
Ethan isn’t a highly trained specialist, he’s not a member of an anti-terrorist organization, or even a cop–he’s a systems engineer. Oh, you didn’t know he’s a systems engineer? That’s because the game itself never tells you that. Perhaps the most apt way to define Ethan Winters is as Resident Evil’s “wife guy.” What I mean by that is that Ethan’s entire identity is tied to his relationships, along with the driving force behind all of his actions. For all intents and purposes, Ethan really is just some guy–a milquetoast middle-of-the-road average dude who just happened to fall in love with and marry a woman who worked on horrific bioweapons. But in a world where zombie apocalypses happen every few years, maybe that’s not so weird. Mia is the one wrapped up in the ongoing soap opera about freakish creatures; Ethan’s just along for the ride.
And that gives him an integrally different flavor than the likes of Leon, Chris, or Jill. As members of the police and various militarized government agencies, those characters continuously find themselves put into absurd situations and have the skills to turn things around. But Ethan chooses these situations; he willingly, perhaps ignorantly, puts himself in places to fight some of the most disgusting creatures you’ve ever seen. Resident Evil 7 was something of a reboot of the franchise, an effort to rediscover its horror roots, and a big part of that was by embracing schlock.
Ethan Winters, in all his glory.
Ethan shares so much in common with the teenagers of classic horror flicks like Texas Chainsaw Massacre–people who often make the worst choices possible. It’s an intentional design choice seen in classic horror films; You know, the ones that make you yell at the screen, “Why would you do that?” But the extra layer with Ethan is that much of his torture is also inflicted by the longstanding elements of the series, with villains and even heroes like Chris Redfield dragging him into the muck. So with Ethan, you have a double whammy: a hapless guy dragged into the world of bioterror by heroes that don’t think about collateral, who then also makes jaw-droppingly questionable choices.
But what makes Ethan especially brilliant is how Capcom uses two unique elements to build on that classic horror archetype: deadpan humor and a true, genuine love story.
For every smarmy quip Leon has, Ethan has a stolid line that would make a movie theater crowd collectively groan. The first time he goes through the Baker household–a kitchen filled with grotesque mixtures, literal corpses, and piles of blood–he intones, “Something is wrong with this place.” When fighting the maniacal Mother Miranda at the end of Village, the architect of all his pain, he simply says, “F**k you, you crazy bitch.” In a way, Ethan’s the most relatable hero in all of Resident Evil, because he doesn’t have smart comebacks; he just seemingly says the first thought that pops into his mind.
That deadpan delivery is perfectly, intentionally, juxtaposed against the more visceral and direct horror of these games. The shift to first-person and doubling down on actual body horror is entirely intentional, as is our seeing all of it through the filter of Ethan. He’s that added element that transforms his outings from simply good horror games into Resident Evil games. That element of schlock is integral, and Ethan plays into it perfectly. Ethan is like the friend you might get a beer with every six months; He might not have a lot to say about the recent football game or politics, but ask about his daughter and he’ll talk your ear off for hours. He’s a little boring, but there’s something inherently, inscrutably likable.
And the basis for that, at least with Ethan, is how much he commits to his whole shtick–how desperately, painfully committed he is to his family. RE7 only happens because Ethan gets a message from his wife, who’s been missing for three years, and decides he loves her so much that he’s going to wade through the Louisiana swamp without telling any authorities about it. Bless his heart, but he’s not the brightest.
Ethan is repeatedly brutalized in every way imaginable; his fingers are bitten off by a werewolf, he’s thrown around like a ragdoll by giants, and he literally reattaches his entire forearm with nothing more than some antiseptic fluid and, well, mold. This all happens so much that Ethan basically gets tired of it, his reactions and deadpan humor becoming more morbid the further you get into each game. There’s a grim humor to his arm getting chopped off, and Ethan basically going, “oh man, not again.”
Ethan applies antiseptic to a large gash.
But it’s that sense of genuineness that makes Ethan so likable, despite his faults. He really does just want to save Mia and Rose, and he really does just want to have a quiet life as a husband. It’s an almost charmingly simple motivation in the face of a series that’s packed to the brim with ridiculous lore, impenetrable villain motivations, and corporate conspiracies.
Resident Evil has had romantic elements before, but RE7 and Village definitely feel like love stories wrapped up in horror packaging. There’s a deep layer of care between both Ethan and Mia–love, ultimately, is the driving force behind both of their actions. And therein also lies the tragedy of Ethan Winters–the most normal guy in the series, who only wants a normal life, ends up being the one genuinely infected by the weird parasites, with powers he can’t do anything about.
That complexity in Ethan’s story and character is emblematic of everything Resident Evil stands for, just filtered in a different way. Instead of the superheroes that keep getting drawn into bioweapon shenanigans, RE7 and Village give us a look at what happens to the normal people drawn into the maelstrom. It enriches the scope of not just those specific games, but the series as a whole. That integral layer of schlock is still there, but the new format of RE7 and Village allowed those games to explore more thematic elements within that framework, like a love story.
A different kind of Resident Evil demanded a different kind of hero, one who looks at a grotesque creature spouting tentacles and building eyes and asks, “What’s wrong with you?” Or sees a woman transform into a spider monster and scamper away, leaving him to only mutter, “Well, that’s special.” In the face of the bizarre and unnatural, what else can an average Joe actually do?
Yes, Ethan dulls the horror because that’s what he’s supposed to do. His everyman, almost simplistic charm is the beating heart of both RE7 and Village–the edge of haminess that’s baked into anything and everything the series does. Ethan Winters may not be the brightest, or the strongest, or even the most handsome, but boy, is he the easiest one to root for.
