Analyzing Game Designs

1. The Intro

Tim starts every analysis at the intro — trailers, Steam page cinematics, or the first cutscene when launching a new game. The key question: am I intrigued?

Snarky NPCs or a protagonist who's just "a big jerk" are immediate turn-offs. What draws him in is mystery and novelty: What's causing that? What made the world this way? I've never seen magic handled like that. The intro's job is to make you want to inhabit the world.

2. Character Creation

Within a minute of character creation, Tim asks: do I know what I'm doing?

He looks for clarity on what archetypes the game supports and whether attribute/skill/perk descriptions actually explain their effects. "Makes you shoot better" — does that mean farther, more accurately, more criticals? Vague descriptions are a red flag.

He also checks whether the game's character options match its promises. If the intro implies you can make a talker but there's only one speech skill and no supporting perks, something's off. If every skill is combat-related, it's an action RPG regardless of what it calls itself.

3. The First 10 Minutes

Tim forces himself to play for at least 10 minutes before going critical — "just roll with it, Tim" — then pauses to ask: do I have any idea where this is going?

The biggest thing that surfaces in 10 minutes is UX quality. Good UI is invisible; bad UI is immediately obvious. Common pain points:

• Important information buried multiple menus deep
• Repetitive input sequences memorized just to reach a common screen
• Confusing menu organization (character sheet hidden under a status submenu)
• Critical data like XP bars buried three levels deep in an RPG where progression is XP

His example: a game where the XP bar only flashed on the HUD when you earned it, but was nearly impossible to find otherwise. In an RPG, burying XP sends the wrong message.

4. The First Hour

After an hour, Tim evaluates the build and the pacing.

Build feel: Does the character play the way you imagined? If you built a dialogue character, have you actually talked to anyone? Tim recounts consulting on a game where he made a valid dialogue build, confirmed by the designers, then played an entire hour-long level with zero dialogue — only combat and stealth. "I have problems," he told them.

Pacing: By the first hour, the game should have introduced interesting characters, hinted at the villain or main plot, and varied its activities — exploration, combat, dialogue. If the entire first hour is one activity, that's a problem. He played a Steam demo he was excited about where all he did for an hour was talk to people. "Yikes."

5. The First Act

This is Tim's critical threshold — the first major story arc reaching its conclusion. He asks two distinct questions:

1. Am I enjoying myself? A visceral, mechanical question.
2. Do I even like this game? A deeper question. You can enjoy combat and spectacle without actually liking the game — the story might be derivative, or the novelty wears thin.

Tim frequently stops playing games at the First Act. His stance: if they couldn't make the First Act good, it's not going to get good. He's heard "just keep playing, it gets better" many times and rejects it. He acknowledges the reverse happens too — amazing First Acts followed by games that fall apart — but a weak First Act loses him.

5.1. Designer Intent vs. Player Freedom

By the First Act, Tim evaluates what the designer is trying to make him do. What do they expect? What do they want? What are they forcing?

He checks whether designer intent aligns with what makes narrative sense. If he agrees with the villain's goals, why should he oppose them? He's played — "possibly even worked on" — a game where he agreed with the villain and had no option to side with them.

He also checks whether the most fun activity aligns with the designer's intended path. If stealth is the most enjoyable part but the game is sold on its combat, that's a disconnect. Sometimes the designer pushes you toward the game's weakest elements.

6. Progression

Past the First Act, if Tim keeps playing, he monitors:

• Power growth: Does the character feel increasingly powerful?
• Knowledge growth: Is the player learning about the world and gaining meaningful choices?
• Challenge scaling: Are there still challenges, and do they make sense? Level 1 wolves should get easier, but "laser wolves" appearing out of nowhere to re-challenge you is bad design. Escalation should be logical.

7. The Ending and Replayability

At the ending, Tim asks: was that rewarding?

He hates narrative switcheroos. If the game offers replayability, the question is whether the ending makes you want to replay. A nonsensical or unrewarding ending kills that impulse regardless of branching paths.

The best replayability comes from endings that are satisfying but reveal consequences of your choices — things that didn't go well and were your fault. His Fallout example: taking the water chip from Necropolis isn't the nicest thing to do. Learning the ghouls died because of it shouldn't be a surprise — but it makes you think, "Maybe next time I'll make a character with higher Science and fix their water pump instead."

When a game's ending makes you think "I wonder what would have happened if I had..." — that's genuine replayability. When it makes you think "what was that?" — you're done.

8. References

• Tim Cain. YouTube video. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jmq5bOpQ4O8