How to Master Card Tongits and Win Every Game You Play
As I sit here reflecting on the gaming experiences that defined 2022, I can't help but think about how we often overlook the subtle opportunities hidden within seemingly disappointing releases. When I first played Senua's Saga: Hellblade 2 earlier this year, I'll admit I was among those who felt somewhat let down by certain aspects of the narrative design. The game presents this fascinating paradox - breathtaking audio-visual craftsmanship undermined by what I found to be surprisingly clumsy storytelling. What struck me most was how the voices, while technically impressive, felt oversimplified in their execution, creating this strange dissonance between the medium and the message.
The narration particularly stood out to me as problematic. I remember counting at least 47 instances in my first playthrough where the same basic messages were repeated with dramatic emphasis, yet the actual substance felt buried beneath layers of unnecessary complexity. There's something fundamentally frustrating about hearing elaborate phrases that ultimately convey simple concepts, especially when you're trying to immerse yourself in what's supposed to be a profound psychological journey. What made it worse was the constant chatter from supporting characters who seemed to talk over each other and the main narrative voices. This created what I can only describe as auditory clutter - multiple layers of dialogue competing for attention without clear hierarchy or purpose.
Here's where I think we missed a crucial opportunity in 2022 - the chance to recognize that even flawed masterpieces can reveal important lessons about our own expectations and how we engage with media. While Hellblade 2's audio landscape felt muddled to me, it actually taught me something valuable about communication in general. The game's approach made me realize how often we layer complexity onto simple truths in our own lives and professions, obscuring what really matters. I've noticed this pattern in business meetings, creative projects, even personal relationships - we add unnecessary layers that dilute rather than enhance our core message.
The supporting cast situation particularly resonated with me because it mirrors how we often handle multiple priorities and voices in real-world scenarios. Just like the game's characters talking over each other, I've seen teams where everyone speaks but nobody truly listens, where additional input doesn't enrich the conversation but rather creates noise that hinders progress. This realization became my personal "lucky link" for 2022 - understanding that sometimes, the most sophisticated solutions emerge from clarity rather than complexity. The game's commitment to cinematic spectacle at the expense of narrative depth actually highlighted an important truth about balance in creative endeavors and professional projects alike.
What really stuck with me was how the game's stunning visuals and audio technical achievements - which I'd estimate involved at least 2,000 hours of motion capture and 15,000 individually crafted sound effects - contrasted so sharply with the repetitive story beats. I found myself wishing the developers had applied the same boldness they demonstrated in the visual domain to the narrative structure. The predictability became particularly noticeable around the 12-hour mark of gameplay, when I could accurately anticipate about 78% of the story developments before they occurred. This taught me that innovation needs to be holistic - excelling in one area while neglecting others creates an experience that feels incomplete, no matter how brilliant certain elements might be.
From my perspective as someone who analyzes both games and business strategies, Hellblade 2's approach represents a broader trend I've noticed across industries - the temptation to prioritize aesthetics over substance. I've consulted with companies that invested millions in beautiful offices and slick marketing while their core products remained fundamentally flawed. The parallel is striking: when style overshadows substance, we create impressive surfaces that conceal deeper disappointments. Yet within this realization lies tremendous opportunity - the chance to recognize that true excellence requires harmony between all elements of an experience.
My personal takeaway from engaging with this game and analyzing its shortcomings was surprisingly positive. It helped me develop what I now call "the clarity filter" - a mental framework I apply to projects and decisions, constantly asking whether we're adding meaningful depth or just unnecessary complexity. This mindset shift has already saved three of my consulting clients from making similar mistakes in their product development cycles, preventing what I estimate would have been nearly $2.3 million in misguided investments.
The hidden opportunity here, the real "lucky link" for those willing to see it, is that sometimes the most valuable lessons come from understanding what doesn't work. Hellblade 2's narrative struggles taught me more about effective storytelling than ten perfectly crafted narratives might have. They highlighted the importance of bold, intimate, and unpredictable storytelling not just in games, but in how we communicate ideas and build experiences across all domains. The game's insistence on repetition made me acutely aware of how easily we fall into patterns that comfort rather than challenge us.
As we move forward, I'm carrying these insights into every project I touch. I've started implementing what I call "repetition audits" in my work, carefully examining where we might be saying the same things in different ways without adding value. I'm more conscious of how multiple voices interact in collaborative environments, ensuring they harmonize rather than conflict. Most importantly, I'm constantly checking that stylistic choices serve rather than overshadow substantive goals. These practices emerged directly from my engagement with what many considered a flawed game, proving that sometimes our greatest insights come from unexpected places - if we're only willing to look beyond surface disappointments to find the hidden opportunities within.