Years ago I was supervising design on a video game that was being developed by a third-party developer. We were paying, they were doing the work, and it was my job to make sure that what they were making was fun.
They had the basic mechanics in place and they were supposed to be building out the missions, but for some reason none of the missions seemed to ever make it to the point where they were playable. They’d get a batch halfway done – enemies placed, some basic scripting – and then stop and move on to the next batch.
This was a problem, of course, because there was no way to evaluate how the game would play with the missions all half-done. At first we weren’t too worried – sometimes dependencies in game development mean work has to be put on hold – but by the time they had half the game in this incomplete state we really alarmed. The fact that the team was really secretive and touchy about their creative freedom didn’t help matters.
Eventually we forced them into a production audit on threat of cancellation. A senior producer and I went in and spent two days combing through their assets and interviewing key members of the team to find out why the game wasn’t making progress.
The revelation came halfway through the first day. We were talking to one of the mission designers. “Why aren’t the missions getting done?” we asked him. “It’s the programmers’ fault,” he told us. “We can’t script missions until they write the AI.”
Okay, let’s talk to the AI programmer then. “Why aren’t the missions getting done?” we asked him. “It’s the designers fault,” he told us. “We can’t program the AI until they give us a design for it.”
It turned out that literally no one on the team had been tasked with designing enemy behavior. They’d been building a game for more than a year without anyone actually working on gameplay.
We cancelled the project.
Here’s another one. Years ago I designed a first person shooter about hostage rescue. During development we amassed a bunch of reference art for real-world hostage and terrorist situations. We didn’t use any of these real world scenarios in the game – that would have been creepy – but we used it as visual and design reference for the fictional scenarios we created.
When it came time to release the game we gave the marketing company a huge dump of art from the project – screenshots, 3-D models, and all of our reference art. Except no one explained to the marketing company where these images of real-world events had come from.
The marketing company created a bunch of sell sheets for the game and we started sending them out to the media. Then one of the junior designers walked into my office holding a sell sheet. “Does this building look familiar?” he said. The image was of a gun-wielding bad guy on the roof of a building. There were sniper cross-hairs superimposed over him. But there was something distinctive about the building’s roof line.
It turned out it was the Lorraine Motel where Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated. They’d pulled an image from our reference art collection showing James Earl Ray’s perspective from his sniping point, and Photoshopped in a person getting sniped on the roof. Fortunately only a few hundred sell sheets had been distributed. The original plan had been to use the same image in an ad in PC Gamer magazine … .