Ethan Winters is quite the unique example of a Resident Evil protagonist. After decades of familiar faces, Resident Evil 7: Biohazard introduced us to the literal opposite: a face so unfamiliar, you never even get to see it.

Considering the shift to a first-person perspective, it isn’t entirely surprising that Ethan’s appearance is de-emphasised. For some, his role functioned as a self insert that made the whole affair even more terrifying. We weren’t the almighty Chris Redfield, or the sagacious Mr. Kennedy. We were… just a guy. Some poor sap who was in over his head, and was about to receive the most brutal abuse we’d ever seen from a leading man.

There wasn’t really a need to see Ethan’s face, but that didn’t mean we weren’t left wondering. This was compounded by the fact that Capcom very much leant into the mystery, obscuring his features in the rare times where he was on-screen. When we take the reins of his wife Mia in the latter stages of the game, we only see him from the back. In the artwork for the additional mode, Ethan Must Die, his face is merely a blackened void with flashing red eyes.

It was a silly gag, but ultimately, an inoffensive one. Ethan Winters’ debut into the world of survival horror came and went mostly without incident — and those who disparaged him were more hung up on his personality than anything else, anyway.

Fast forward to 2021, and the Winters clan would return for their sophomore escapade in Resident Evil Village. Eschewing its predecessor’s clearly defined horror tropes in favour of a more rollicking affair, Village was something of a thematic shift with a heavier focus on fantasy and action. Where it had RE7 trumped most, however, was in its payoff.

In its final act, we learn that Ethan had unfortunately been killed by the rampaging Jack Baker soon after his arrival in Dulvey, Louisiana. He had been reanimated by the Mold permeating throughout the estate, and was little more than a puppet on the brink of collapse.

With his heart ripped out by his daughter’s kidnapper, Mother Miranda, Ethan is running on fumes and adrenaline (and, I guess, a shit-ton of Mold coursing through his veins). Once he has bested her in combat and has his baby girl in his arms, his body begins to calcify. Ethan Winters is going to die.

For the first time since we’ve met Ethan, the final cutscene of Resident Evil Village shifts away from the first person perspective. It’s as if we’re losing our control of this character, unable to guide him or save him from his fate. It makes for a gripping conclusion, albeit one that presents an issue.

Despite the fact that we have a full view of Ethan, his face remains unseen. He delivers the infant Rose into Chris’ arms, wishes her a final goodbye, and then squares off against Miranda, detonator in-hand, to make the ultimate sacrifice. We never get to see his expression, and instead must interpret his anguish through his body language and the admittedly poignant voice acting from Todd Soley.

Does it work? I guess it depends on who you ask. For some, it stripped the sequence of its drama, denying the character of a sincere, heartfelt departure. For me, however, it really hit home. I’ve never been touched by any demise in RE prior to this. Sherry Birkin making a weeping farewell to her dying mother Annette? Nah. Piers Nivans pushing Chris into the escape pod without him, valiantly staying behind so his infection stays contained? Nope. Richard Aiken getting murdered in all kinds of dreadful ways that fateful day at Spencer Mansion? Sorry, Dick, I’m not that perturbed.

But Ethan’s death mattered for some reason. Maybe because he wasn’t just a one-off creation. Maybe because he was the presumed heir apparent to the franchise’s crown. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because a man giving his life to ensure the safety of his daughter means that little bit more. Whatever the reason, it brought me to tears. Actual tears.

Then, the DLC happened. And with it, came potentially the biggest mistake Capcom had made in the Winters saga of Resident Evil.

Taking place in the future with a teenage Rosemary Winters at the helm, the Shadows of Rose epilogue focuses on her desire to rid herself of her inherited powers. She makes the disastrous error of connecting with the Mold, and in turn, enters an alternate reality within it where she is transported through the same perils her father underwent.

She is accompanied by an unseen spirit who offers her aid, and lo and behold, that spirit turns out to be Ethan himself. Despite the fact that he’s already dead, he finds himself having to rescue Rose from Miranda once again, holding the malevolent tyrant off so that his daughter can flee. I’m not quite certain how that works, but to be honest, I’m not quite certain how any of the DLC works, so I just went with it.

Throughout the attempted escape, Ethan’s hidden face chicanery continues. And it’s amusing enough, watching him keep enough distance between himself and the player so that we can never catch a glimpse of him from the front. But then, following Rose’s disposal of Miranda, she at last holds her fallen father in her arms.

And just like the last time, we never see Ethan’s face. It becomes particularly apparent as we witness various close-ups of Rose, who before now had never really been face-to-face with him before. Well, face-to-implied-face. It takes a lot of awkward manoeuvring with the camera to obscure his visage with whatever they can use, and as a result, the immersion is all but lost.

For every bit of emotion the base game’s ending carried for me, this segment robbed me of it. It distracted from the weight of the moment, and furthermore, it betrayed the relationship we had with Ethan. Sounds bizarre, considering that relationship had always been based on mystery, but it was different beforehand because remember, we were Ethan.

Throughout two games, he was our proxy. Our window to the madness of Resident Evil. But the game itself told us that, “the father’s story is now done”. And now, we were in the shoes of Rose, living her experiences and escorting her through her own traumas. We had suffered through those trials alongside her, but we weren’t able to share in the warmth of her special moment at the end?

Ethan wasn’t a proxy now, he was a supporting character — and one who was of utter importance to our new leading lady.

I can understand the mindset, maintaining the gag to the very end. And that’s all well and good when he was undergoing mayhem so exaggerated it bordered on comical. But here and now, when the intent was for us to feel something, it was undermined by an adherence to an amusing concept.

It’s part of the reason why Grace Ashcroft and her relationship with her departed mother Alyssa holds such promise in Resident Evil Requiem. Beyond the sting some may experience in losing a long-established protagonist (semi-obscure or not), the familial bond won’t be dampened by anonymity.

Let us feel something more than this. Let us share in the pain of losing a loved one. Let us be sad, and have one last tender moment together. Surely, it’s what Ethan would have wanted, that handsome devil.