Behind the Facade ► THE HOWLING ACES Deep Analysis & the Abandonment of STRUCTURE

[Dawko] Oh, hello! Ah! I’m on a plane! I’m- I’m on a pl- I’m not even-  I’m on a plane, I’m not in a plane. [MatPat] Oh! This is cool! [Dashie] Okay, what’s happening?  What?! Grabbing the screen like- [Brett] Go away, you weird, cloud-farting freaks. [Jerma noise] [Brett] I don’t like that, I don’t  know how I’m supposed to- *Screams* [Vinny] What was that?! [Jerma] Dude how am I supposed to play like this?! Okay… That makes the first phase NOTHING. [Rob] I think I hate this boss fight. It suck

s getting to the last phase. [Brett] Every attempt at  this feels like an eternity. [MatPat] This section is weird. This is  like… “eh, we needed another phase for this.” [Jerma noise] [MatPat] It’s a phase… I guess… [8-BitRyan] So, this first  phase is relatively okay. [Jerma] Oh my… my fingers, I just… [MatPat] Okay, the controls  weren’t flipped, and now they are?? I can’t figure out if the  controls are flipped or not… [Brett] Oh super mega secret level. I’m here now. And my life is so much

worse. [Grayfruit] R-Control A… what?? [Shawn] Cuphead’s presentation is its biggest and  most respected accomplishment, harkening back to 1920s and ‘30s cartoons with hand-drawn animation  and painstaking techniques of the era. But while Studio MDHR nails the style and feel of that era,  Cuphead leaves much to be desired in its game design. The game suffers from poorly structured  bosses as well as unbalanced weapons and charms. In a previous video, I talked extensively about the DLC’s power cr

eep and the clear  imbalance of its weapons and charms, including Ms. Chalice. I also detailed  possible solutions to those problems. The video includes Studio MDHR’s history  and contains interviews regarding their design intent as well as analysis showing the  DLC’s betrayal of said design intent. However, that video is not required viewing for  this one, so I’ll link it at the end. For the rest of our ‘comprehensive Cuphead  analysis series’, we’ll focus on each DLC boss’ upsides and downside

s, their strengths  and weaknesses, and the design principles behind them. While the DLC’s bosses contain fantastic  new mechanics and surprises — and of course, an unbelievable step-up in artistry and animation  — they also suffer from structural issues. These structural issues — being structural —  define the core experience of a boss. It doesn’t matter how amazing the art is or how intelligently  designed a specific mechanic may be, structural problems can turn even the best-designed  content

into a slog, and in the process, break cohesion between boss phases and twist up  what should be carefully-planned thematic threads. This creates a challenge with inconsistent  identity, lost potential, and even tedium. Tedium is a big topic, which I’m sure you’ve heard  of. But what we want to explore in this video is where it comes from and how we can avoid it.  Tedium poses a huge threat to any game, due to its ability to turn otherwise well-designed content  into a chore, but it’s especiall

y treacherous for games which operate off of the extended  challenge, or gauntlet, like in a boss battler. Tedium always seems to be sneaking its way into  boss battlers, and we wanna know how to stop it. Believe it or not, tedium is  mostly a structural issue, and a great boss to showcase that fact  is The Howling Aces in Doggone Dogfight. Soaring in as the first multi-unit  boss of the Delicious Last Course, The Howling Aces reimagines the typical  aeroplane, shoot ‘em up mechanic. Instead of

playing as the plane, the player  controls Cuphead on the plane. But, in keeping with the plane gimmick, the  player still retains some control over the plane’s movement. It’s a level design  subversion that works incredibly well. [Jack] Oh gosh, wait, this is not-  oh… I thought this was in a plane. [Hammy] It does seem like there’s a very  high likelihood of being in a plane. Whoa! We’re not, we’re not. We’re ON a plane. [Dawko] Ah! I’m on a plane! I’m- I’m on a pl- I’m not even-  I’m on a pla

ne, I’m not in a plane. Oh my gosh. I mean, it is actually  a dogfight. They’re all dogs, guys. [Grayfruit] The little dude  — it’s the little guy that upgrades your plane! He’s flying  the plane for me; that’s awesome! This is not a plane fight…  well, okay, it IS a plane fight… [Shawn] Canteen Hughes, the drinking vessel,  plane mechanic NPC from the base game, makes a special appearance in this fight  as he flies his plane to settle his beef against The Howling Aces, a bunch of dog  pilots. A

nd this is where you come in. Cuphead fights atop Canteen Hughes’ plane  and controls its movement by walking back and forth on its wings. The player moves the  plane left by standing on the left wing and right by standing on the right wing. The  plane only moves by the player’s inputs. Despite how much of a maneuvering nightmare  this sort of meta-arena control could have been, it’s surprisingly intuitive.  Each player-driven tilt of the plane feels deliberate with just enough  floatiness to em

ulate a plane’s motion, but not so much that the player is unsure how  far the plane will move. When the player stops inputting — for example, while jumping — the  plane maintains a predictable motion curve, making it easy to judge exactly where it will  stop. It’s natural and intuitive and easy to tell where the plane is and will be.  And on top of these smooth-as-butter controls, the boss’ attacks accommodate the plane  extremely well. Most of the attacks have a big telegraph window or are slo

w moving, so  the player can predict exactly where they need the plane to be and when  and have plenty of time to get it there. What makes the plane such great design  is its role as a ‘facet of the arena’, which generates additional types of challenges,  rather than being a major challenge in and of itself. And, when well-used, the plane is  just as much a tool for the player as it is for the boss. And that’s what’s so cool about  it. The plane contributes to the challenge, but it’s also there

to help the player.  And having that slow and deliberate, yet responsive motion curve carries  that purpose extraordinarily well. In addition to the mechanical fluidity, the  plane also checks a bunch of boxes thematically, which is arguably just as important. Given that  Cuphead’s presentation, art style, and surrealist inspiration are primarily what make the game  unique, it is just as important that the thematic elements complement gameplay as it is that the  gameplay itself is solid. The int

erplay between storytelling and gameplay should be a primary  focus. And the plane does that in a few key ways. Canteen Hughes conveys through visuals  and sound that he’s on Cuphead’s side by shaking his fist at the boss and  by clapping when the player completes a phase. It’s a very ‘Us vs. Them’  ‘drinking vessels vs. dog’ mentality. [Dashie] Okay, who is driving this plane? Who is that? Who is this character? Is he with me or against me? ‘Cause I don’t know…. Why is he clapping? Oh, he’s wit

h me then. [Shawn] The moving, single platform that is the plane’s wing also helps build  that daring, dogfight atmosphere. And the plane itself is present in all phases,  which creates cohesion throughout the entire boss. All around, Studio MDHR did a  fantastic job with the plane. And, being integral to the experience since  it’s the only surface Cuphead can stand on, the plane becomes the ‘core mechanic’ of the  entire fight. And this is super important because, as the core mechanic, every ot

her  mechanic and thematic element should relate to the plane in a significant way.  Is that the case? Ehhh… it’s a mixed bag. Unfortunately, the plane is the best, most cohesive and thematic element of Doggone  Dogfight. Which is a bummer because the plane is just the arena. The boss itself  is not nearly so well-assembled. The Howling Aces suffer two fatal flaws, both  arising from structural issues. The first, tedium, and the second, the lack of a  Unifying Theme. Let’s start with tedium. Mor

e than any other design flaw, tedium has the  potential to transform otherwise well-designed and fun content into a slog. That’s exactly what  Doggone Dogfight does. As we’ll talk about soon, Doggone Dogfight has some well-designed moments, but, ultimately, its structural issues  create too much tedium, and, as a result, the whole thing suffers. What should be well  designed content instead becomes tedious. What do I mean when I say “tedium?” Tedium  can be described as unnecessary repetition of

content already mastered. Tedium has a few  sources. It can arise from overly distant save points or checkpoints, which cause a  player to repeat content too many times… [Mark] Whoa, whoa… Wha… Wha… Wha… Wha… no, but I… but this is even before the  ocular upgrade. Why would you do that to me?! I have to put the eyes back in again! What?! AAAAHHHHHHHH Okay, actually now I’m gonna save  before I finish. That’s a good idea, then I don’t have to do THAT again… *sigh* oh… my… gosh… [Shawn] … or it c

an come from the  pure, mind-numbing dullness of repeating content which contains no more  opportunities to learn or improve skills. Tedium is specifically a problem in Cuphead due to  the nature of the ‘extended challenge.’ In short, an extended challenge is a purposefully balanced,  nontrivial collection of tasks that exist between two save points. In the extended challenge,  players must complete that series of tasks, and they must do so within an ‘acceptable  threshold of error.’ In other wo

rds, players have to make it through the entire  challenge without making too many mistakes. In Cuphead, this means beating every phase of  a boss without losing all of your health. The boss phases are the individual tasks  the player must complete, and the threshold of error is the player’s health. Since  Cuphead’s bosses don’t incorporate checkpoints, the entire boss must be completed in one go.  The entire boss is the extended challenge. If the player runs out of health at any point  during t

he challenge, the player must restart the boss from the beginning. You might know the  extended challenge by another name: the gauntlet. Some well-known examples of extended  challenges are Nintendo’s Super Mario Bros. and FromSoftware’s Dark Souls. In  Super Mario Bros., the extended challenge is the entire game. The individual tasks are the  levels leading up to facing Bowser in his castle, and the acceptable threshold of error is the  player’s number of lives. When you run out of lives, you r

estart the game. In Dark Souls, the  extended challenge is getting to the next bonfire. The individual tasks are all the obstacles that  prevent the player from proceeding — enemies, area hazards, bosses, etc. — and the acceptable  threshold of error is the player’s health. When you run out of health, you respawn from  the last bonfire and begin a new attempt. So now that we know what an extended  challenge is, how does tedium affect it? Tedium impacts an extended challenge to  a much greater de

gree than other types of challenges due to something called ‘forced  replay.’ ‘Forced replay’ simply means the player is forced to replay the challenge  over and over until they complete it. In Dark Souls, when a player dies, they  are forced to respawn at the bonfire. Then, in order to get to the location where they died,  they must fight through all the same enemies and obstacles they did the first time — with the  exception of bosses. The player must replay a part of the challenge they’ve alr

eady completed  before they can progress to a new part of the challenge. And each time the player dies,  they have to go through this process again, replaying the same content over and over until  they attain the skills and knowledge required to beat it, at which point, they progress  to the next extended challenge. In Cuphead, when a player loses all their health,  that player is forced to replay the entire boss from the beginning. It doesn’t matter how many  boss phases the player beat, they a

lways start from the beginning. The player must repeat this  process until they can beat the boss all at once. Every single time a player is defeated, that  player must restart from the beginning of an extended challenge, with no exceptions, and  the player must do this until they attain the skills and knowledge required to beat the  challenge in full. This is ‘forced replay.’ In an extended challenge, a specific instance  of forced replay — for example, retrying a level — may constitute a sizea

ble chunk of the  game, and due to the nature of forced replay, whereby one challenge must be completed  before the next challenge may be attempted, replaying that same chunk of content can  very quickly devolve into tedium. AAAAAHHHHH In the case of Cuphead, this may mean playing the  first phases repeatedly while trying to get to the end. At some point, replaying those first phases becomes tedious. It’s important to note that forced replay  is not the cause of tedium. Forced replay just makes

the player confront that  tedium head-on. Without forced replay, a lot of tedium flies under the radar. It’s the interaction between forced replay and the extended challenge which  makes a player notice tedium. Why is this? An extended challenge has two attributes which, when combined with forced  replay, draw out the tedium. Firstly, an extended challenge may be  mandatory. With a mandatory extended challenge, a player cannot skip or, in any way, circumvent  the challenge. In Mario, the extend

ed challenge is the game. In order to circumvent the  challenge, the player would have to not play the game. In Dark Souls, the player  must proceed to the next bonfire. The whole point of the game is to get to the next  area, and the bonfires complement that goal. These are both examples of games with mandatory  challenges, just like Cuphead. In Cuphead, the player must defeat the bosses. Each  boss is a separate, mandatory extended challenge. The player cannot progress to the next island  unti

l they beat every boss on the current island. The opposite of a mandatory challenge  would be an optional challenge. With an optional challenge, like  with the optional challenges in Yakuza or like most of Skyrim, if a player becomes  frustrated with an optional challenge, the player may, at any point, just walk  away. There’s nothing that forces that player to engage with the content. The  player may continue to play the game, but, instead, focus on a different challenge.  Once the player’s fru

stration subsides, or the perception of tedium wears off, the player  can go back to it, or they can decide to never revisit that content again. The player has the  freedom to either engage with the content or not, and they don’t have to stop playing the game to  do that, like in the case of Mario or Dark Souls. The tedium still isn’t justified, but it  affects the player less because they can walk away from it  and potentially come back. The second attribute that draws out tedium  is that an ex

tended challenge has a fixed length. The challenge will usually  exist between two static save points, and it cannot be subdivided. This means that the  player cannot manually save whenever they want. In Dark Souls, the player is not allowed  to manually save in between two bonfires and subsequently respawn at that manual save  point. Whenever a player fails the challenge, they will always respawn at the bonfire, at the  beginning of the extended challenge. In Cuphead, a given boss will have the

same amount of  health each replay. The player must defeat the boss by reducing that health to zero. If  the player reduces the boss’ health to half, Cuphead does not autosave or create a checkpoint.  No silly, there’s no saving in the middle of the extended challenge. The player must complete  the extended challenge in full, all in one go. The opposite of a fixed length challenge  would be a variable length challenge, or one that may be subdivided  via checkpoints or manual saves. In a game th

at can be manually saved whenever  desired, the design intent is that the player controls their own checkpoints, so that they  never have to replay content they don’t want to. In this type of system, players are very rarely  expected to fail and subsequently retry content, and if they do, they have a nice safety net.  This limits the amount of content that needs to be replayed. For example, in sandbox games  like Skyrim, there are checkpoints in the midst of challenges, and in addition to the ch

eckpoints,  the player has complete control of the challenge duration through manual saving. A challenge  in Skyrim can be subdivided almost infinitely. With the ability to subdivide a challenge,  playing tedious content will only affect the player in the moment. That tedium quickly passes  because the save system ensures that the player never has to play through that terrible  moment again. The content may still leave a bad taste in the player’s mouth, but since  it doesn’t have to be repeated

over and over, it can be quickly forgotten in  lue of new and exciting content. In games with extended challenges, the player has  to interact with the same level, the same boss, the same enemy, the same phase, the same attack,  over and over and over and over. And when the player has to do that thing again and again, that  thing better be an exceptional experience. Because if it’s not, the more times a player has to repeat  content, the more tedious that content becomes, even if it was well-des

igned. The content  may be fun the first time; it may be fun the tenth time, but eventually that’s gonna wear off. And  the challenge must be structured to both mitigate tedium and persist for exactly the amount of time  that it is still fun to replay. That’s the nature of the extended challenge. From a  design perspective, it demands perfection. Is that an unrealistic standard? Yes. But there are plenty of examples of  well-structured extended challenges that are darn near perfect, so we know 

it’s possible. And from those examples, we can glean some helpful structural guidelines. Now let’s look at those guidelines. To keep things relevant, we’re going to pull  our guidelines from Cuphead’s base game bosses. These guidelines can be applied generally in  any game that relies on extended challenges, and I would call them ‘best practice’  methods to avoid tedium in these cases, especially when using forced replay. Keep  in mind, these are guidelines; they are not rules. Every extended ch

allenge does  not need to use every guideline, and the fact that a challenge does not use a guideline does not mean  that the challenge is bad. The guidelines are a lens through which to view, and thereby avoid,  structural issues that contribute to tedium. For our purposes here, the extended challenge  in Cuphead is defeating one, individual boss, which includes defeating each of its phases in  order, all without being reduced to 0 health. Going forward, I will refer to the extended  challenge

as a ‘multiphase challenge.’ In this case, a multiphase challenge is  the same thing as an extended challenge, but the term is more precise. Cuphead bosses are  divided into phases, each of which are distinct, which is not always the case with the  more general term, extended challenge. The first structural guideline which may  be employed to mitigate tedium is ‘upfront complexity.’ Upfront complexity simply means  structuring a challenge, so that the most complex aspects are introduced early on

. In  Cuphead these aspects may be a boss’ attacks, boss positioning, components of the  arena, or a combination of these. Real quick, let’s define complexity. Complexity  is the cumulation of unique game elements which a player interacts with and/or unique  actions a player takes. Complexity exists on a scale — there can be high complexity  because there are many game elements, or there can be low complexity  because there are few game elements. The higher the complexity, the steeper the initia

l  learning curve. The player has more to learn because there are more things to interact with  and ways for the player to interact with them. In Cuphead, if you see a bunch of  objects on the screen all at once, like in the DLC’s High-Noon Hoopla, that  phase most likely has a high complexity. You can think of complexity as a measure of the  game’s initial ‘possibility space.’ All of the different game elements and possible player  actions exist within this possibility space and create ‘possibl

e gameplay.’ The more complex  something is, the wider the possibility space, since there are more possible combinations of game  elements and player actions. On the other hand, a challenge with low complexity has few game  elements and a narrow possibility space. Complexity should not be confused with depth  or difficulty. Complexity is simply a measure of unique game elements. It determines how  many different pieces the designers have to work with. Depth, on the other hand,  is how all of tho

se pieces interact. Depth is what gives the  possibility space, well, depth. If complexity is the width  of the possibility space, depth is the height of it. And the  resulting area is all the possible gameplay. Depth is how all of the  game elements relate to each other. You’ve probably heard Skyrim being described as,  “wide as an ocean, deep as a puddle.” This saying describes Skyrim as complex, being extremely wide  with a massive amount of game elements to explore and interact with, but als

o very shallow,  having few game elements that interact with each other in meaningful ways. Most of Skyrim’s  systems — the RPG elements, dungeons, quests, NPCs, etc. — are individually shallow and don’t  interact. Skyrim relies heavily on the sublime, on the expansiveness of the game and the sheer  freedom to go wherever the player wants. Once that wears off, there’s not much to hold the player’s  attention anymore since the game itself doesn’t offer any avenues for deeper learning or mastery 

of its systems. This is why, when a player gets tired of Skyrim, they tire of the whole game  at once. The mystique and wonder has worn off. Difficulty is, intuitively, how  hard a challenge is to beat. In order to understand how these three concepts  interact, let’s look at a more specific example from Shovel Knight. We’ll focus on two game  elements in particular from the Enchantress boss fight: the platform rocks beneath the player  and the Enchantress’ fireball attack. Other than Shovel Knig

ht himself, there are only two game  elements at play in this scenario — the rocks and the fireballs — but watch how the interactions  and interplay between them creates depth. The fireballs damage us, but they also destroy the  rocks, which, in turn, reduces our playable space and increases the chance we fall to our doom.  To counter the loss of playable area, the player may position themselves so that the Enchantress  throws the fireballs into less important rocks on the sides of the arena. Ne

edless to say, the  less often we have to jump over death pits in the middle of the arena, the better. The interplay  between the player character, the fireballs, and the rocks creates depth. Consider instead  if the fireballs did not damage the rocks. With no gaps in the floor, there would  be no risk of falling and no reason for the player to manipulate where the fireballs go.  The fireballs would become an extremely flat mechanic. The difference between high depth  and no depth is quite clear

and significant. Depth is what takes complexity and turns  it into something greater than the sum of its parts. And since difficulty  and depth exist within the width of the possibility space, they’re all interrelated. Depth, difficulty, and complexity are so  interrelated that if any one of them were to be removed, the whole game would fall apart. A game  with zero complexity would have no game elements, making it nothing more than a story or a fancy  electronic art piece. A game without depth

, would be without form. There would be no interaction  between elements and no way for the player to engage with the game. A game with no difficulty  is functionless, existing just to be experienced rather than played. Complexity, difficulty, and  depth must all exist together in some capacity. But while all of the aspects rely on each other,  they’re also semi-independent. Having a certain level of complexity does not impose a certain  level of difficulty or depth, and vice versa. It’s possibl

e to have low complexity while also having  high difficulty or high depth. It’s also possible to have high complexity and low difficulty  or low depth. And any combination in between. For example, a bullet hell game which uses  many instances of the same projectile on screen at one time may be difficult, but it  is not complex. As another example, in Cuphead, Ms. Chalice’s double-jump and parry,  which afford her excellent air-maneuverability, are not very complex, but  they do create a lot of d

epth. Now that we know what  complexity is, how do we use it? Remember: upfront complexity is simply  introducing the most complex aspects early in the challenge. For Cuphead, this means  placing the most complex aspects of a boss, or the widest possibility space, as early  as possible, ideally in the first phase. The most complex aspect of a fight  might be a boss’ attackset or movements, it might be a multifaceted aspect of the arena, or it could be visual and audio cues, or whatever other gam

e elements will increase  the width of the possibility space the most. In other words, the more visual and  audio elements or objects on-screen, the more complex it will be. And  we incorporate upfront complexity for one primary reason, and that is to  conform to the principles of mastery. Let’s look at an example to show how  upfront complexity encourages mastery. Dr. Kahl’s Robot is an excellent example of  upfront complexity, and, oh boy, is it complex. Dr. Kahl’s Robot’s first phase is wild.

During  Phase 1, the robot has three destructible pieces, each of which spawns an attack. Those  attacks also stay on the screen for some time. That’s six unique, hostile, on-screen  elements the player must pay attention to, in addition to the attacks’ visual  and audio cues, as well as a small, occasional visual obstruction by the arena, and  Cuphead himself. In addition to that, once any of the destructible pieces are reduced to 0 health,  the destroyed piece spawns a different attack, which

replaces the original. In addition  to that, those destructible pieces can be destroyed in any order the player chooses. That’s  a lot of game elements, just in the first phase. [MatPat] There’s a fair amount-  there’s a fair amount going on. [Jack] THERE’S SO MUCH GOING ON! [Dawko] Oh my gosh… Oh my gosh… This is freakin’ hard, man… *Laughs* That wasn’t even the first part. [Ryan] Let me just try and  get a visual representation. We gotta parry that — I knew it, I knew it. And that reduces tha

t. Okay. We watch the beam. So it’s three things going on  at any given time currently. Oooo. I don’t appreciate now that you’re firing bombs  with skulls on them. Let’s not do that okay. Le- … ‘eah okay. Stay nice and close. You  know what? This works. So… Then we keep our distance for those.  Nice and close again. Whip that. Okay. And his hands… his hands. Woo! And  he fires off little missiles as well. My strat is to focus on the  bottom one here then first, alright? ‘Cause we can also shoot

these guys  as they’re coming through, you see that? So we can get the work done there. Whip that.  Okay. Then dodge. Look at this, this is good. [Jerma] Ooh. It’s a constant beam. Well, there’s other things happening  here I need to be aware of. Alright, that’s just a lot to have to f- What is going on?! I haven’t even done 1%?! Just move around… they’re very slow  projectiles… it’s not even a huge problem. [Laughs] [Brett] Oh and it’s an airplane level. That  much I could most certainly tell y

ou without question considering the fact that I’m apparently  playing Space Invaders and Galaga all in one. What in the world am I currently going through?  Can I destroy this? I’d like to destroy this. [Ryan] We can try and focus on different  areas when we’re targeting this, so we don’t HAVE to focus on  shooting the middle one first. I’m wondering if varying where I do the damage  would be a good course of action. Let me get rid of this central one, ‘cause I don’t mind that.  It’s the bottom

one which really messes me up. [Jerma] Just the deliberate pain  this game tries to send you on. Who’s on the 75 dollar bill? George Lucas? [Shawn] Compared to the boss’ other two phases,  Phase 1 is absolutely the most complex. This is even conveyed thematically when the robot’s  head breaks off and abandons its broken body, which has the added effect of  reducing visual complexity as well. So how does Dr. Kahl’s upfront  complexity encourage mastery? In Cuphead, each phase exhibits a certain a

mount  of complexity and depth and, therefore, contains that amount of possibility space. A player  spending more time playing that possibility space will experience more possible gameplay. And the  more possible gameplay a player experiences, the more of that possibility space will be exhausted.  In plain terms, the more time a player spends playing a phase, the more they will experience  all of the possible gameplay in that phase. Experiencing all possible gameplay  is essential for mastery. M

astering a challenge means improving at that  challenge until the challenge is no longer challenging. In order to master a  challenge, a player must become proficient in the entire possibility space, so that  there is no possible gameplay combination that proves difficult. A player must exhaust  the possibility space in order to master it. If we look at Dr. Kahl’s Robot, we see that the  first phase’s possibility space is so large, that it will take the player much longer  to experience all of t

hat phase’s gameplay combinations than any other phase. Different  projectiles can be dealt with in different orders and with different priorities, the robot’s  destructible pieces can be destroyed in any order, and any combination of projectiles might  create a different situation for the player depending on where Cuphead is on the screen.  The possibility space is huge. Compare that to the second phase where the gameplay consists  simply of moving Cuphead up or down depending on where the robo

t head will show up next,  and you can see just how much longer it would take the player to experience all of the  possibilities in Phase 1 compared to Phase 2. And since a player will necessarily play  Phase 1 more times than any other phase due to forced replay, the player  will exhaust a greater ‘area’ of possibility space in Phase 1 than any other phase. A big source of Cuphead’s tedium comes  from replaying sections of a boss which have already been mastered. So, if you want to  eliminate t

hat source of tedium, then, ideally, the player should never replay something they’ve  successfully mastered. This means arranging the phases’ possibility spaces so that the widest  spaces come first, where the most time will be spent. In Cuphead, this is Phase 1. Phase 2 should  have a narrower possibility space than Phase 1, and Phase 3 should have a narrower possibility  space than Phase 2. Incrementally shrinking the possibility space creates the ideal scenario  where the possibility space o

f all phases are exhausted at the same time, that time being  when the player finally beats the boss. Imagine, instead, a scenario where the most  complex aspects of a challenge are placed at the end of that challenge. The player will  spend most of their time in the early phases, playing a possibility space that is smaller  than the one they actually need to practice. Just like a musician wouldn’t practice  an entire 3 minute song everytime they practice the last 10 seconds of that song, a  pla

yer shouldn’t have to play through a boss that they’ve already mastered, everytime they  want to practice the last phase or attack. [Brett] Every attempt at  this feels like an eternity. I really wish I could drink from that flask  and it was completely 100% proof vodka. [Unhinged Tarzan yelling] [Rob] It sucks getting to the last phase. [Shawn] Our second guideline meant  to reduce structural tedium is late simplicity. Late simplicity means ordering  our game elements, so that the last part of

a challenge is simple — “simple” meaning,  “relatively less complex.” Put the simple things at the end. This might seem the same as  upfront complexity, but there is some nuance. Upfront complexity means that you  put your most complex elements first; late simplicity means that you  make the end of a challenge simple, regardless of how complex the rest of it was. We use late simplicity for two  reasons that play off each other: to create space in the player’s mind, and  to create space in the ch

allenge, itself. Firstly, at any point during a challenge, a player  must keep track of any number of game elements. Decreasing complexity, or simplifying a phase,  simply means removing some of those elements. By decreasing complexity, we decrease the mental  burden imposed on the player. In other words, the player has less things they need to  pay attention to and keep straight. And by reducing the number of things  the player must pay attention to, we create space in the player’s mind.  That

space is now available to use. Okay, cool. How do we use it? Our ultimate goal is to create engaging  situations. We do this by combining all three, complexity, depth, and difficulty. These are the  building blocks of games. We increase depth and/or difficulty to create engagement. However, a player  can only keep track of so many things at once, so the trio must exist in balance. When it  falls out of balance, when we overburden the player — or even underburden the  player — that’s when we get

tedium. Think of a rhythm game. In rhythm games,  you’ll often encounter a brief pause or reprieve right before a super difficult  stretch of a challenge. The purpose of this reprieve is to reset mental burden.  This is an example of a climactic clinch, or drawdown, where the gameplay space narrows  to focus on only one, specific game element that is more demanding or formidable than  the rest. While creating a climactic clinch is only one technique of storytelling, it can be  especially effecti

ve in a multiphase challenge. Simplifying the challenge is  an effective way to maintain the balance while also allowing for an  increase in depth and/or difficulty. Our second reason to use late simplicity  is to create space in the challenge, itself. Creating space in the challenge is  similar to creating space in the player’s mind. Just like our first reason,  decreasing complexity makes room for increased depth and/or difficulty. But  instead of focusing on mental burden, we focus on creatin

g satisfying narrative  action and a cohesive challenge. What does it mean to have satisfying narrative  action? Well in short, the challenge acts like a story. It has a beginning, middle, and end,  and where the player starts is not where they finish. When they finish the challenge, it should  feel as if the player has undergone a journey. Well how do we do that? That sounds… weird. You’re probably familiar with the  3-act structure of storytelling, and if you’re not, here’s a quick breakdown. 

The typical story has three acts, the set-up, which introduces the conflict; the confrontation,  which ratchets tension and increases the stakes of the conflict; and then the resolution, which  contains the climactic moment of the story, the most tense point where all the story  elements, or threads, come together. If you view a multiphase boss battle as a story,  you can imagine how any boss could conform to the 3-act structure. The first phase introduces the  boss, the arena, and its distinct

elements. The second phase expands on those elements and  creates additional depth. The third phase brings all of the core skills and layered depth  together at the point of highest tension and then resolves. And what unites all of these phases  into one cohesive picture is the rising action. The rising action can be thought of as an  increase in tension. As the boss progresses, the stakes naturally increase because the player  is further into the boss and therefore further from the nearest che

ckpoint. Increased stakes mean  increased tension. But that’s not the only way tension increases. Tension has two other sources  which may be directly manipulated: difficulty and depth. Difficulty generates tension because higher  difficulty requires a higher skill expression. Greater required skill also means greater  possibility for error. Higher chance for error; more tension. The player must become better. Depth  functions essentially the same way. With more interaction between game elements

, the player must  build new skills; therefore, tension increases. When the player builds new skills, they  are undergoing a journey. That’s what I mean when I say “a player should feel like  where they start is not where they finish.” And this all ties back to mastery. Mastery is  a journey. The player encounters a problem, they build new skills to handle that problem. So, in order to increase tension, in  order to create that rising action, difficulty and/or depth need to increase.  But, if yo

u just increase difficulty or you just create more depth, and, at the same time,  you maintain a constant level of complexity, the challenge will lose focus. Too many game  elements plus too much interaction between those elements plus too great a level of difficulty just  ends up being a convoluted mess. The player will not be sure what they’re supposed to focus  on, what skills they’re supposed to build, or even what the point of it is. You’ll  end up with a challenge containing a bunch of dis

parate elements, which all  overlap but don’t necessarily relate. As a result, if the challenge loses focus, it will  not provide narrative satisfaction. Without focus, the challenge cannot have a satisfying  conclusion where the player feels like they’ve practiced a skillset, mastered  that skillset, then beat the boss. So, if you want to increase  difficulty and/or depth, and you want the player to foster  new skills and build on old ones, complexity has to decrease. We need  room for difficul

ty and/or depth. Let’s look at Dr. Kahl’s Robot. Compared  to the first phase, the last phase of Dr. Kahl’s Robot is relatively simple. There are  three game elements the player interacts with: Dr. Kahl’s gem projectiles, the electrified  walls, and Dr. Kahl himself floating around in an erratic manner. This translates to a  relatively simple but fairly difficult phase where the player must move up and down between  the walls while also accounting for Dr. Kahl’s erratic movement. It is generally

a well-designed  phase and a good use of late simplicity. However, the trio of complexity, depth, and difficulty  are not as well-balanced as they could be. The phase overstays its welcome primarily  due to a blatant overabundance of health. [MatPat & Steph] Oh no! Awww so close! Oh not that close nevermind… you actually  still had a good ways to go. [Dawko] That was so intense;  I got hit right at the end. I was like, one life left, how  long is this going to go on for? [CoryxKenshin] Stop! Pl

ease, stop this! Please! [Grayfruit] Gosh. I was exactly  halfway through the fight there. What the f-. He’s still going. It just  keeps happening. There you go. [Dashie] Look at how much s- I’m dodging. *Sigh* Not even halfway. [Chris] Ahh, I can’t, I died trying  to get to you. How close were we? [Sam] We were not even close! [Chris] No! [Dashie] They can’t be serious! This is ridiculous! Do we just keep going for the whole time?! I’m about to have an emotional breakdown. [Vinny] *Agony* And t

hen like… you see the percentage  done, and it’s still not enough. It’s a long f- fight. *Sigh* F- cock. *Sigh* Like is there any reason for me to say that? Like I don’t need to defeat  a boss and say f- cock. [Shawn] Because both complexity and depth are  low, the player exhausts the relatively small possibility space quickly. And with a high  difficulty, the player will likely replay the phase multiple times with very little mastery  potential. A phase with low complexity and depth but high di

fficulty works ideally when the phase  is kept short. Unfortunately, this phase is by no means short, and that’s an understatement.  However, it’s still a pretty good example. All this is to say that, if you want to create  a satisfying structure with a climactic ending, use late simplicity. All three,  complexity, difficulty, and depth, exist in a balance, and late simplicity  is one way to achieve that balance. So far, our guidelines have focused primarily on  complexity. Based on our guidelin

es, a challenge should progress from complex to simple, from  widest possibility space to narrowest possibility space. This prevents tedium by concentrating  gameplay possibilities in the section of a challenge that a player will spend the most time  playing — the first phase of a boss — which has the added benefit of encouraging mastery. In  addition, modulating the player’s mental burden across the whole challenge reduces the chances for  burnout, while also creating the opportunity for the ri

sing action to terminate in a climactic  ending. It’s basically the best of all worlds. Depth is basically the opposite. Instead  of a descending arc like complexity, we want an ascending arc. The  challenge should start relatively shallow, but still meaningful, and work its way  deeper. This ascending arc supports the rising action of a challenge, and is one  of our two direct sources to create it. But in order to INCREASE [oops] depth,  we have to employ our next guideline. The third means by

which multiphase challenges  mitigate tedium is through early key learning, or more specifically, by punctuating ‘early key  learning points.’ Early key learning points are pretty much what they sound like. They introduce  a mechanic or concept in a limited capacity, either with less depth and/or easier  difficulty, so that the player can learn and practice that mechanic before  the mechanic evolves. Early key learning points lay the foundation for depth, and in so  doing, encourage mastery and

decrease tedium. For example, Super Mario Bros. introduces  the moving platform very early in the game, and as the player progresses, the  moving platform slowly evolves. The first iteration is a simple up/down  platform. It’s easy to maneuver through because a jump is unlikely to miss, does  not require varying horizontal movement, and there’s a backup platform  underneath in case the player misses. The next iteration is a side-to-side  platform. It’s much more likely a player falls off a side-

to-side platform than they do  an up/down platform. The side-to-side platform also requires the player to jump from one to  another, so it’s a little more challenging. Further along, there are smaller up/down  platforms, and multiple in a row this time. Later on in World 3-3, Mario has to  traverse up/down platforms that fall when he lands on them, as well as jump to and from those up/down platforms while also  navigating side-to-side platforms. What was a relatively shallow mechanic now  affect

s both horizontal and vertical movement, which affects how quickly Mario traverses  the level, and it acts as both a hazard and a tool to either run into enemies,  or to evade them. Depth increases. But imagine if the game didn’t have those early  key learning points. Imagine if the game never introduced the platforms until World 3-3, and the  first platforms the player ever encountered were the up/down, side-to-side combinations. That would  be potentially infuriating. Because of the nature of

forced replay, the player would have to replay  early worlds over and over just to get a shot at practicing all of these different types of moving  platforms. The early worlds would become tedious. Let’s look at Cuphead. Dr. Kahl’s Robot is, again, a pretty good  example. Almost all of the robot’s attacks act as key learning points for the  fight’s last phase. In the last phase, the player has to move up and down  between the electrified walls while moving up/down and side-to-side to avoid the 

gem projectiles, while also keeping on target. If we look at Phase 1, the antenna  laser, the light bulb drones, and the chest bot with the electric  wall all support this up/down movement. The homing death bomb teaches the  side-to-side movement required to simultaneously move through phase 3’s  electrified walls and keep on-target. And the nut and bolt projectiles are a  direct precursor to the gem projectiles. In Phase 2, the flying head forces the  player to alternate between the top and bot

tom of the screen, in the exact  same way that the electrified walls do. There are a lot of key learning points  here, and each of them does a pretty good job of introducing a mechanic in a limited  capacity, giving the player time to learn. So if nearly all of the attacks in phases  1 and 2 are leading up to Phase 3 in what should have been a climactic moment, why  does Phase 3 seem a little lackluster? In addition to Phase 3’s overinflated  health pool, Phase 3 falls flat because, despite all

of the fight’s key learning points,  it doesn’t really have any depth. Or I should say, Phase 3 doesn’t increase depth relative  to the other phases. All of the key learning points stressed the up/down, side-to-side  movement. But that’s the thing. If the fight actually conformed to an ascending  depth structure, whereby depth between game elements increases over the course  of the fight, we would see each of those elements introduced gradually and in a way that  starts with less depth and ends

with more depth. In order to conform to the ascending  depth structure, the fight might have introduced the up/down movement or  the side-to-side movement in the first phase. In the second phase, the fight might  have focused on the other element. But Phase 1 encompasses all of the elements,  in a more interesting package, and with a ton more total depth than the other two  phases combined; it’s not even close. By the time the player gets to Phase 3, they’ve already done all of the  things Phase

3 has to offer. They’ve put together the  up/down, side-to-side movement, and they’ve practiced staying on  target despite numerous projectiles. There’s nothing new, no additional  skill the player needs to learn, no new interactions between game elements.  It’s the same thing the player has been doing the entire fight, just with less  depth and more difficulty because the gem shoots a greater number of projectiles,  faster. It’s boring, therefore tedium. Let’s look at an example that incorpora

tes  early key learning a bit better: Cala Maria. The theory behind Cala Maria’s stone gaze  is really neat and effective. The idea is that the player reduces the number of  projectiles by destroying the eels, then predicts where they need  to position themselves, so that, when they’re hit by the stone gaze and  frozen in place, enemy projectiles miss them. The stone gaze is introduced in the second  phase and carries on into the third. Each of the attacks in the second  phase complement the sto

ne gaze. The eels’ attacks are crisscrossing  projectiles that create a grid of ‘safezone,’ which the player must  quickly identify and position within. This idea of the safezone  repeats in the third phase but with a greater emphasis on predicting attacks. The third phase introduces new attacks  which are each very simple but which drastically increase the depth of  the stone gaze. Each attack requires more forethought in positioning  than Phase 2 does. Not only that, but Phase 3 ratchets diffi

culty and, therefore,  tension by enclosing the space above and below. [Steph] Oh geez, oh geez. Oh  my gosh, oh my gosh, okay. [Jerma] *Laughing from relief* [Jack] Whaaat?! Oh, she freezes  me, she freezes me. Oh s-. Come on. Come on. Come on. I’ve  gotten so close. I’m so close! [Shawn] The sudden increase in difficulty and  tension works incredibly well for two reasons. For one, the core mechanic of the fight, the  stone gaze, is an early key learning point, first introduced in Phase 2. Beca

use the  stone gaze mechanic is introduced early on, it creates a more intuitive and gentler  learning curve across both Phases 2 and 3. Cala Maria allows players to adjust to the new core  mechanic and incorporate it into their skillset. Therefore, while Phase 3 ramps up its difficulty  and tension, it also reduces the number of new elements for the player to learn at once. The  player is already familiar with the stone gaze, so Phase 3 significantly reduces its chances  of introducing tedium o

r overwhelming players. Phase 3 can safely increase its difficulty and  depth for a satisfying tension-filled finale. [Dawko] Come on. Come on. Yes! We did it! [Shawn] The second reason Phase 3's  increase in difficulty and tension works well is actually related to late  simplicity, but you’ll often find that these structural guidelines work together  to create the best possible experience. Phase 2’s eels fill the screen with projectiles, which can also be managed by interacting with  the eels a

nd so increases the phase’s complexity. Phase 3 then reduces the objects on screen to  only two — the skulls and spiked columns — and decreases the playable space. Phase 3’s complexity  decreases. There’s less to focus on, less mental burden on the player, and therefore, Phase 3  can comfortably increase difficulty and tension without worrying about introducing tedium from  an overcomplicated and overwhelming third phase. Overall, Cala Maria’s third phase only  works because it introduces the co

re stone gaze mechanic as an early key learning  point in Phase 2, then simplifies Phase 3 in order to further focus on the core  stone gaze mechanic — to increase depth, difficulty, and tension until the  climactic, satisfying conclusion. What makes the stone gaze especially great,  though, is that it reinforces the thematic presentation of the boss, pulling the phases  together and creating a cohesive challenge. Reusing or reimagining a game element  across multiple phases — in this case, the

stone gaze — creates a ‘narrative thread’  that we can trace through the fight and which defines the core gameplay loop. Being such an  iconic attack, the stone gaze really works as the core of this boss, and every other attack is  simply an extension of it. Thus, we increase depth over the course of a fight, giving the player  new skills to master and decreasing tedium. The fourth means by which multiphase  challenges mitigate tedium is through ‘early replayability.’ Replayability is an  elusiv

e concept and one that’s hard to define, but it generally means that, ‘repeated attempts  or playthroughs will not significantly reduce a player’s desire to replay content.’ You can  imagine how important replayability is in a game that exercises forced replay. And  again, given the nature of forced replay, the beginning of a challenge should be  the most replayable, or else, tedium. Since tedium is a surefire way to reduce a  player’s desire to replay content, tedium and replayability generally

cannot coexist. Therefore,  increase replayability, decrease tedium. There are many ways to foster replayability, but we’re going to focus on the two  most-used: mastery potential and variety. We’ve already talked about mastery potential to  an extent in this video, but if you want a much more thorough investigation, I talk a lot more  about it in my video on the Cuphead DLC’s items. If you haven’t already watched it, I’ll link  it at the end of this video for your interest. The deeper the poss

ibility  space of a challenge or, the more depth a challenge presents,  the higher the mastery potential. Games with high mastery potential  typically have high replayability. Consider FromSoftware’s Dark Souls. Dark  Souls is a series of extended challenges, back-to-back, from bonfire to bonfire. Any one  of those extended challenges is typically linear. There are shortcuts and secrets, but most  challenges have to be approached head-on. This is how the gauntlet functions.  The player must over

come the challenge in any way they can, given the tools at  their disposal (weapons, spells, etc.). Each time the player engages with the gauntlet,  their skills improve, and they are more likely to succeed. But while player skill increases,  the gauntlet never changes. The worldmap never changes either. No matter how many times  the player replays a specific challenge, or even the whole game, they experience  the same challenge. So if nothing changes, why do players enjoy playing  the same cont

ent repeatedly? Replayability, in this case, originates from  the player’s urge to improve. And depth is the vehicle for that improvement. Without  depth, there would be no room to improve. Improvement is also an active process.  In order to increase their skill level, players must stay engaged. They can never  just go through the motions. The challenges in Dark Souls force players  to pay attention and adapt because the enemy’s and player character’s positioning  and attacks all interact in a d

angerous arena, which creates consistently engaging scenarios.  If the game was shallow, there would be no interaction between game elements, and mastery  potential and replayability would be small. What about variety? Variety is a simple, direct tool for increasing  replayability. In the most basic terms, variety provides different stuff to engage with on  each attempt. In a more technical sense, variety means that ‘on any repeat attempt, a player will  encounter a different selection of game e

lements.’ Variety should not be confused with the  replayability from depth that we just discussed. Although both depth and variety  are capable of creating unique situations, depth focuses on the interaction between  game elements and actual mastery potential, while variety changes which game  elements are present. Switching out game elements does not affect depth nor, oddly enough, even  complexity. Variety simply provides something new to discover on repeat attempts and nothing more,  but it’

s still a useful tool in the right hands. When we’re using variety, we want it to  be in the right place. Place variety too late in a challenge, and players will get  stuck. They’ll have to replay the whole challenge each time they practice the different  variants. Keeping players stuck at the end of a challenge for too long introduces tedium. It  is best, if a designer wants to use variety, that they place it early in the challenge. This  is the same mindset behind upfront complexity. Djimmi th

e Great is a decent example of early  variety with some flaws. In his first phase, Djimmi pulls out a chest that contains  one of three possible attacks. The other two unchosen attacks aren’t used in that  fight. When the player replays the boss, Djimmi chooses one of the three attacks again.  By switching up the first attack of every fight, the player experience changes. In theory,  this reduces the tedium of repeated attempts. In this example, the early variety is  extremely simple. There’s a

list of attacks; the boss chooses one attack from that  list to use. Variety can also be more complex. For example, a boss might  change attack patterns, attack timing, states or stances, special abilities,  status effect infliction, arena hazards, or any other mechanic that changes  which game elements are in-play. When using early variety, designers should  be wary of a few different pitfalls. There are inherent difficulties in  establishing early variety, especially with the grab-bag type of 

variety like we see with Djimmi the Great. Firstly, when trying to increase replayability,  using only variety does reduce tedium, but the result will not be particularly  interesting or engaging. When we look at Djimmi, we see that his first attack  has variety. It does not, however, have any depth. There is minimal interaction  between game elements here. A complete lack of depth results in flat gameplay, and nothing  variety can do will save it. Djimmi’s first phase is not interesting or eng

aging and,  therefore, causes tedium on repeat attempts. Secondly, establishing key learning points  becomes more difficult when the possible game elements are too numerous. It’s difficult  for the player to establish patterns or hone in on specific game mechanics that the  designer wants to solidify. Djimmi falls into this same trap. Each of the three  variations on his first attack teach a different skill. While each of these  skills may be relevant for the boss, the player will have difficult

y identifying  them as actionable key learning points. Thirdly and somewhat related to the  previous point, too much variation can create too great of a mental burden.  Djimmi doesn’t have an issue with this, but imagine a scenario for me. You’re playing a  boss battler, and the first phase of a multiphase boss has a dozen different variants, ONLY ONE  of these variants spawns for each attempt, and for each variant, the player has to  remember a specific visual or audio cue. This would obviously

overwhelm the player  and present too steep a learning curve. To avoid overwhelming players, most designers  implement variation in groups of three. Lastly, each variant has to be balanced against  each other variant. This is probably the most difficult trap to avoid, since each variant should  be distinct enough to offer something unique, and unique elements rarely lend themselves to  balancing. If one variant is easier than the others, the easy variant becomes boring and  tedious. Not only wi

ll it introduce tedium, it also misrepresents the difficulty of the fight and undermines the rising  action that we get from tension. Djimmi’s sword attack is an absolute joke compared  to his other two attacks. It’s essentially free damage and a free parry. And what’s worse,  if the player doesn’t get the sword attack, the player is incentivised to restart the  boss immediately in order to minimize the chance they take damage from the more difficult  attacks. This is a tedious strategy, and one

, unfortunately, supported by the design.  And we cannot be mad at players who, in all rational thinking, decide to  take the path of least resistance. Now that we’ve defined these guidelines, it’s  important to reiterate that these are, in fact, only guidelines. Some of them may apply to  certain challenges and bosses, while others may not be necessary or may not be the right tool  for the job. It all depends on the context. SO, we’ve talked about why tedium is  important in an extended challen

ge, how forced replay exacerbates tedium, and what attributes of a challenge  create opportunities for tedium. We’ve also looked at four structural  guidelines that minimize tedium. Now that we have our tedium,  talking-point ammunition, let’s finally dive into Doggone  Dogfight’s structural issues. Doggone Dogfight suffers  from three structural issues. 1. The fight abandons established skills and  mechanics nearly as soon as they’re introduced, causing each phase of the  challenge to feel disj

unct. 2. The poorly conceived transition phase, Phase  2, erodes any sense of tension established in Phase 1. Without tension, the second phase drags,  and the first phase becomes retroactively boring. 3. The immensely complex Phase 3 overshadows  both of the other phases, while introducing a new mechanic at the end of the fight which  is way harder than all the others. This new, difficult mechanic causes players  to fail and subsequently retry, meaning they have to play through most of the  cha

llenge in order to practice a small part of it. Repeating the first two phases over and over  exhausts any fun a player might get out of them. When we combine all these  structural issues together, we have a challenge containing three unrelated  phases, the first two of which are boring, and the third, which causes players to replay  those boring phases. Naturally, we get tedium. Each of these issues seem simple  when listed out like this, but they are far from it. To show  you how we came to th

ese conclusions, we’re going to break down each phase  in depth, starting with Phase 1. Phase 1 begins with a visual  introduction of Sergeant O’Fera, the central antagonist of the fight, and  Pilot Bulldog, our Phase 1 antagonist. After her introduction, Sergeant O’Fera  zooms off in her chinook helicopter to chill for a couple phases while  her minions do all the work. Once Pilot Bulldog has his  orders, the fight begins. Pilot Bulldog hovers in his plane at top-screen,  occasionally popping d

own on his jetpack to the left or right-screen to shoot lateral yarn  balls and returning crossbone boomerangs. His plane maneuvers side-to-side while  his minion pops out of the wings and throws fanning, tennis ball projectiles downwards. We also get a bonus attack in the form of  Sergeant O’Fera’s slow-moving, fire hydrant, homing missiles coming from off-screen.  Overall, we have a very projectile-heavy phase in addition to the minor arena hazard  of falling off Canteen Hughes’ plane. For the

most-part, as a standalone phase, Phase 1 is solid. However, multiphase  challenges cannot be properly evaluated solely on an individual-phase basis. They  have to be viewed as a ‘whole.’ Because, afterall, a multiphase challenge will only  ever be as strong as its weakest link. Each phase is an essential piece of the whole that  will be replayed countless times, where any amount of tedium compounds with each additional  attempt. That’s the nature of forced replay. But we gotta start somewhere.

Let’s examine Phase 1 through  the lens of our four guidelines: upfront complexity, late simplicity, early  key learning, and early replayability. We’ll start with complexity. To begin talking about complexity, we must  first define our game elements. I’m dividing them up into groups to make them easier to talk  about. Phase 1 has three groups of game elements. The first group comprises all  the elements that go into Canteen Hughes’ plane. This is the movement,  the platform, and the visual cue

s. The second group comprises all of the  enemy projectiles and their visual cues. And lastly, the third group is Pilot  Bulldog himself and his movement on-screen. Each of these groups are, in and of themselves,  complex aspects, the most complex among them being Canteen Hughes’ plane. Canteen Hughes’  plane contains multiple game elements all in one package. It acts as an arena hazard,  a helpful tool, and a thematic guide. The plane achieves these purposes through  interactivity. Unlike most

game elements in Cuphead, Canteen Hughes’ plane reacts directly  to player input, beyond just a simple parryable or destructible element. This interactivity  demands an entirely new level of engagement from the player. As opposed to simply reacting  to a boss, the player can proactively change the arena. This is a unique feature of the DLC and  one that really takes the fight to the next level. From a strictly mechanical point of view,  Canteen Hughes’ plane has three game elements. The first el

ement is the most obvious; the player moves from side-to-side on the  wings, and the plane shifts accordingly. The second element is more subtle but goes  hand-in-hand with the first. While the plane is in motion and the player jumps, the plane  continues moving according to a ‘predictable motion curve.’ While this may seem like the same  thing as the first element, they are separate because both ‘moving the plane by standing on its  wings’ and the ‘predictable motion curve’ interact with other

game elements in distinct ways,  which we will discuss in greater detail later. The third element is the relatively small,  moving platform that is the plane’s wing and its associated negative, or void, space  — the arena hazard. If the player isn’t precise with their jumps, they can fall  into the negative space and take damage. We don’t need to go super in-depth on  the projectiles group or on Pilot Bulldog since neither of them introduce anything  incredibly unique to Cuphead. It is enough to

simply recognize that they are groups of  elements and take up space in this phase. However, one thing to note about both these groups  is that they rely heavily on visual cues. Sergeant O’Fera’s homing, hydrant missiles are telegraphed  way in advance, the yarn balls similarly so, and the crossbone boomerang is displayed  on Pilot Bulldog as he slowly descends to fire them. These telegraph windows give the  player plenty of time to adjust the plane. These visual cues are, themselves, game elem

ents, and they exist to support the potential depth  created by Canteen Hughes’ plane. This is good. With all the elements defined, we can see  that Phase 1’s possibility space is very wide. There are a ton of game elements here,  certainly enough to keep a player engaged, and with such a wide possibility space, the chance  that a player exhausts that possibility space too early and encounters tedium is relatively  low. AS LONG AS these conditions are met: Condition #1) Phase 1’s complexity must

  be supported by a proportional level of depth — in other words, the numerous game elements  must interact in meaningful ways. Without depth to tie the numerous elements together, Phase 1  devolves into a hodgepodge of random attacks. In a mastery-based game like Cuphead, the  depth must justify the existence of complexity. We’ll see how Phase 1’s  depth holds up in a moment. Condition #2) Phases 2 & 3 must  not overstay their welcome. Again, anytime the latter phases of  a multiphase challenge

take too long, the nature of forced replay will inject tedium  into otherwise well-designed content. If Phases 2 & 3 do overstay, then the possibility  space of Phase 1 will be prematurely exhausted. To ensure they don’t overstay  their welcome, phases 2 & 3 should follow a descending complexity arc. The number of game  elements should decrease each phase, allowing room for increased depth and/or difficulty  without imposing too great a mental burden. Remember, the thing about multiphase challe

nges  is that each phase relies on each other phase to form a cohesive challenge. Phases 2  and 3 must support Phase 1’s existence, or else the whole thing  breaks at the weakest link. If it sounds like I’m foreshadowing something  about Phases 2 and 3, you’d be correct. So, upfront complexity achieved, as long as Phase 1 contains enough  depth to justify that complexity, and as long as Phases 2 & 3 don’t cause Phase  1’s possibility space to be exhausted too early. Moving on. Late simplicity. J

ust kidding, we’re going to skip  late simplicity since it doesn’t apply to Phase 1 and continue  right into early key learning. Right off the bat, the player will  notice that Canteen Hughes’ plane is the star mechanic. Every other  element is designed around it, from Phase 1 through to Phase 3, and  rightly so. The plane is unique and fun. As such an integral part of the fight, we would  expect the plane mechanic to evolve and build new layers of mastery on top of the old. Each  phase might re

quire a new skill expression or in some other engaging way interact with  the plane, so that, by the end of the fight, the player feels there was a beginning,  middle, and end to their mastery journey. They were introduced to the mechanic, they built new skills, then they put it all together and beat the boss. We introduce the concept in a limited capacity, so that we can grow depth and increase  difficulty as the challenge progresses. And that is exactly what Canteen  Hughes’ plane does NOT do.

Unfortunately, this super cool  mechanic that everything is built around is not done the justice it deserves. Canteen Hughes’ plane is a static mechanic. It does not evolve as the player progresses;  it does not create new avenues for mastery. No early key learning points apply. It’s the same in Phase 1 as it is in  Phase 2 as it is in Phase 3. Now, if you’re familiar with this boss,  you might think the wild screen rotation in Phase 3 changes the plane mechanic. Not  quite, but we’ll get to th

at in Phase 3. Don’t think, however, that just because the  plane doesn’t employ early key learning, that there are no early key learning points  in Phase 1. That is to say, there’s one. Well, there’s actually two, but one of the  two is only relevant for the secret Phase 3, so I’m not even going to count that  since most players won’t encounter it through natural play. We’ll talk about the  secret phase more at the end of this video. To be fair, the one key learning point is  important and does

interact with the plane. What is that key learning point? Jumping over projectiles, which  sounds boring just by itself, until you consider the implications in regards  to the plane. Remember how we talked about our plane game elements in the previous  section and how ‘moving the plane’ isn’t the same game element as the ‘predictable  motion curve?’ This is where that comes in. The motion curve means the plane does not  immediately stop moving when the player jumps, so forcing the player to jum

p, like  with Phase 1’s crossbone boomerangs, causes the player to interact with that  motion curve. The player has to get good at judging where the plane is and  will be. Jumping over the plane becomes a core skill in every phase, and  the different projectiles in each of those phases slightly change the player’s required  skill — early key learning point established. However, when viewed next to the plane  mechanic, jumping over a bone seems way less interesting than the potential evolution of

  the absolute core mechanic of the whole fight. Moving on. Recall that, for our purposes in this video,  early replayability has two sources: depth and variety. To get a sense of how replayable  Phase 1 is, let’s take a look at that depth. Now, if one wanted to talk about depth, a core  mechanic would be a great place to start. A core mechanic is one which, ideally, all the  game elements relate to and interact with. You could think of it like a holiday dinner. The  turkey is the essential core

of the whole meal, and the cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, and  stuffing all exist to complement that core. Core mechanics are the centerpiece of depth,  and they help create a cohesive challenge. Not every challenge is going  to have a core mechanic, which in most cases I would consider a design  failure, but in this case, we do have one. Oh look, we’re back at Canteen Hughes’ plane. The projectiles and Pilot Bulldog both  serve to complement the plane. And if we look at each one of these, w

e can  see the core mechanic at work. Both the projectiles and Pilot Bulldog  are pretty boring. Both of them, just on their own and even in relation to  each other, exhibit a shallow level of depth. But then you add in the core mechanic, and  we get a depth explosion. In this case, the core mechanic makes the “whole  greater than the sum of its parts.” Again, the core mechanic here is Canteen  Hughes’ plane. Without the plane, the relative shallowness of the enemy projectiles  and Pilot Bulldog

would have made for a boring fight without any rising action. But it doesn’t  matter that these other game element groups are shallow on their own because that’s not how depth  works. Depth takes into account all elements. Let’s look at why this is effective and  what it actually means for gameplay. The projectiles complement the plane  mechanic exceedingly well. Unlike most bosses where the player simply moves  Cuphead to avoid the projectiles, there’s an extra step with The Howling Aces. The

player’s movement is restricted to the  biplane, so in order to avoid the projectiles, the player must maneuver Canteen Hughes’ plane  across bottom-screen. For each projectile, there is a biplane “state,” or position, that  will minimize the player’s chance of being hit. And those positions are largely conflicting.  One projectile might be best countered in one plane position, while a different  projectile might require another position. For the yarn balls, the player wants to be  close to or m

oving toward Pilot Bulldog, so that the yarn balls pass over their  head as quickly as possible. The sooner the projectiles are past the player, the  sooner the player can start moving again. For the crossbone boomerangs, the player wants  to be directly center-screen, so they have enough time to react to the boomerangs on both their  forward path, and also on their return path. For the fanning tennis balls, the  player wants the plane to be stationary, allowing them to pass easily  between the

projectiles. And lastly, since Sergeant O’Fera’s homing  missiles are destructible, the player wants to be at a forty-five degree angle to the  projectile’s approach from top, corner-screen. Or, wait until the player can safely  move underneath it. Either method allows the player to aim and destroy  the missiles before they get too close. In addition to all these projectiles,  the player must also constantly readjust the biplane to stay on-target as Pilot  Bulldog’s plane floats from side-to-sid

e. So many conflicting elements might have been a  muddled mess, except for the fact that all but the tennis ball attacks are very well telegraphed,  giving the player plenty of time to react. Conflicting elements are  key to depth. For example, the yarn balls are a catalyst for conflict  here, since they force the player to crouch and remain stationary. If the player moves with  yarn balls over their head, they’ll be hit, but if the player does not anticipate the other  projectiles and pick a g

ood spot to crouch, they could get hit by a different  projectile, most likely a tennis ball. The player has to commit to their choice,  a difficult task with so many projectiles. The crossbone boomerangs also serve a similar, confounding purpose. The boomerangs force  the player to jump in order to avoid them, but because Canteen Hughes’ plane does  not immediately stop when Cuphead jumps, the player must exercise air-control to both avoid  the boomerang but also ensure they land safely. Each o

f these interactions create  unique and engaging situations. However… it’s worth noting that much of Phase 1’s  depth relies on equipping standard, non-homing weapons. In the previous video, we discussed how  incredibly unbalanced the Crackshot weapon is, allowing players to deal consistent damage while  dodging, maneuvering, parrying, and otherwise not aiming at the target, and we can see that in play  with Doggone Dogfight. In Doggone Dogfight, if the player has Crackshot equipped, there is ne

ver a  need to reposition the plane. The player can deal consistent damage even when the plane is out of  position, and the homing hydrants pose almost no threat due to Crackshot’s homing. By eliminating  the confounding effects of our different game element groups, Crackshot, to a fair degree,  invalidates the core mechanic of the entire boss. How homing weapons can affect a boss and  what we can do about it will be discussed in the upcoming Glumstone the Giant  design video. For now, just know

that, when I speak of Phase 1’s depth, I’m  assuming that the weapons are balanced. Overall, Phase 1’s depth is sufficient.  Like we talked about in complexity, the interaction between game elements  justifies the existence of those elements. The depth justifies the complexity. We have a  reason for so many different game elements to exist. Without a reason, the entire phase would  devolve into random nonsense — an inherent pitfall of surrealism — and the challenge would quickly  become tedious

. Depth justifies game elements. So what about variety? Our depth is good, but depth is only one of our two sources  of replayability. Variety is another. So how about it? Is it used? No. Phase 1 forgoes variety in favor  of depth. There is no variety in this phase. The player will experience the  same attacks, maybe in a different order, but with no variation in type. Pilot Bulldog’s  plane will always sway back and forth. Bulldog himself will always shoot yarn balls and  crossbone boomerangs —

every single retry. Is there room for variety? That’s a big maybe. When we consider the pitfalls of variety, and we consider that the current Phase 1 is a  solid phase with a strong foundation of depth, it seems unlikely that Phase 1 would benefit  from variety. Two of our pitfalls apply here, the first being that key learning points  are difficult to establish when the game elements are switched up, and the second,  that too much variation creates mental burden. Phase 1 already has an issue wi

th key  learning points. Any added variety might take away from the minimal key  learning points that have been established. Adding variety would worsen  an existing structural issue. Not good. And regarding mental burden, in this phase, there are already several game elements  and their interactions that the player must attend. Adding any more would likely push  that mental burden beyond an acceptable level. So, to answer the question, is there  room for variety? Probably not. If there is room

for variety, it would  need to tie into the core mechanic, Canteen Hughes’ plane, and not  into our other two game element groups. Tying variety to the plane would  minimize the effects of both pitfalls. Any additional key learning points generated from  variety would — ideally — be based on the core mechanic, which would at least give  the core mechanic a learning point. And for mental burden, tying variety  to an established mechanic would make that variety easier to digest  and keep organized

in the mind. But even then, variety would most likely  just confuse both the player and the phase. Overall, just utilizing depth, we have a  pretty decently replayable first phase. Alright, so that’s our four guidelines to  reduce structural tedium applied to Phase 1. Overall Phase 1 is pretty  well designed. Just by itself, Phase 1 is not a big source of tedium. It  has an acceptable number of game elements, which the level of depth supports,  and the phase is replayable enough that a player l

ikely won’t get tired of it,  given that the later phases don’t overstay. Since a multiphase challenge  breaks at its weakest link, we have a lot riding on the second and  third phases here. So, let’s move on to Phase 2. And unfortunately, Phase 2 is  where Doggone Dogfight enters a nosedive. At the end of Phase 1, we see our little  minion friends fire up their jetpacks as Pilot Bulldog goes blasting off again.  Thus begins the battle with the Yankee Yippers — the cute name officially recognize

d  in the DLC’s translator notes. In Phase 2, the Yippers fly circles around the player and  shoot little “BOW WOW”s at them. That’s it. That’s *laughs* that’s it. That’s the phase! That’s it! Compared to phases 1 & 3, Phase 2 is  simple. That’s probably an understatement. Phase 2 takes all of that established  complexity and depth and interesting, engaging situations and pitches them directly into  the burning wreckage of Pilot Bulldog’s plane. So goeth the transition phase. [MatPat] This secti

on is weird. This is like,  eh, we needed a thi- another phase for this, so… [Studio MDHR] just decided to throw these  guys in here. Kind of underwhelming. They’re like, eh… it’s a phase, I guess… [Shawn] I’m going to take a moment here to talk  about what a transition phase is and why it has almost no place in a multiphase boss battler.  Any time a multiphase challenge with forced replay includes a transition phase, there  will be tedium. It’s not even a question. Transition phases create tedi

um. What is a transition phase? Transition phases are short phases that sit  between two other primary phases. Typically, they are simpler and exhibit a shallow level of depth. They usually exist to bridge  the gap between thematic elements, or, to distinguish between  distinct, unrelated game mechanics. Or, in the pursuit of the misguided notion that  “more phases are better” — quantity over quality. Let’s take a look at two transition phase examples  from Cuphead. I want to be very clear up fr

ont, both of these are examples of what not to  do in a multiphase challenge with forced replay, but one of them is considerably  more forgivable than the other. In Djimmi the Great’s second phase, a series of walls with destructible  elements block the player’s path. The player must destroy the correct block in the  wall while maneuvering around flying blades. Djimmi’s second phase is a transition phase. You can tell it’s a transition phase because  the mechanics involved are completely unrelat

ed to any of the other phases, the phase lacks any  sort of depth, it’s incredibly simple with only two game elements, and playing it more than once  makes you want to hit your head against a wall. Any rising action or tension the first  phase mustered immediately evaporates in Phase 2. Replaying it is tedious. There is  zero mastery potential, and what’s worse, it takes the same amount of time to complete  no matter how skilled you are. There is no way to play this phase better. The player’s  s

kill level is practically inconsequential. Normally, when a player fights a boss,  they constantly improve their skills. On each repeat attempt, they dodge more  reliably and deal more consistent damage. In Djimmi’s second phase, the player  can still avoid taking damage, but they cannot demonstrate deeper mastery  of or interact with any game element in any meaningful way. This phase checks  pretty much every tedium box there is. Now let’s look at Dr. Kahl’s Robot. In the second  phase, the pla

yer moves up and down to avoid the big robot head as it zooms across the screen,  while also avoiding the electric death bombs. This transition phase for Dr. Kahl’s  Robot, while simple and lacking depth, is not nearly so offensive as Djimmi’s  transition phase. Why? Let me tell you. The robot’s transition phase is relevant.  It acts as a key learning point. As we talked about in the key learning  points section, the act of moving up and down to avoid the robot head solidifies  that avoidance ma

neuver as a core skill. That avoidance maneuver is immediately  repeated in the third phase in the form of the electrified walls. Without  introducing the maneuver ahead of time, the third phase might have had too high of  a learning curve, which would introduce tedium. However, this raises some questions. If the player has to practice  the maneuver regardless, why not let them practice it sooner?  Why not implement it in the first phase? Or, why not just get rid of the  transition phase altoget

her, and let the player arrive at Phase 3, the  phase they actually need to practice, sooner? By letting the player get on with it, they would spend more time on the  difficult phase, but less time overall. Or, here’s a crazy idea if you really  need to inflate that play time, make the transition phase a real  phase with depth and engaging scenarios and which resonates with the core mechanic of  the fight — that is, if the fight was designed well enough in the first place to have a  core mechani

c — and then shorten Phase 3. If the transition phase exists just to be  gotten through, why have it at all? So if transition phases are just  so awful, why use them? The first reason one might use a  transition phase is to introduce a new mechanic that otherwise does not fit elsewhere.  And I stress that last part. The mechanic you want to introduce in the transition  phase cannot fit anywhere else. Recall Dr. Kahl’s Robot’s first phase. That phase  is deep. It is also complex. The possibility

space is huge. And with so much going on, there  simply isn’t room for another key learning point. The phase is jam packed full of game  elements, and all those projectiles and moving elements force the player to maneuver  constantly. To an extent, in that maneuvering, the ‘up/down avoidance’ is present,  but it was not so nearly the focus as it is in Phase 2. Making it more of a focus in Phase  1 would have proved too much. In fact, adding anything to Phase 1 would create too much mental  burde

n. The key learning point simply doesn’t fit. Then, there’s the thematic reason for using  transition phases. We’ll talk more about this later, but, a transition phase may be  used to create a narrative or thematic breaking point — which ideally launches the rising  action forward as opposed to stalling it. However, theme and mechanics go hand-in-hand. Mechanics must support theme in the same  way that theme must support mechanics. A transition phase cannot be justified on  solely a thematic bas

is, at least not in the case of forced replay. If a phase exists  solely for thematic reasons, forced replay forces the player to replay that phase which  has no mechanical significance, and, therefore, no gameplay significance. We do not want a phase  in our game that is not a part of the game. And that’s pretty much the only reason why anyone should ever use a transition phase in a  multiphase challenge with forced replay. The only time to use a transition phase  is when a core mechanic must b

e introduced but doesn’t fit anywhere else. I repeat, exhaust all possibilities first. If you think you need a transition  phase, you’re probably wrong. Back to Doggone Dogfight,  Phase 2, the transition phase. Doggone Dogfight’s second  phase is a transition phase. And if you couldn’t guess from everything  I just said about transition phases, it’s not a good one. Let’s find out why. In Phase 2, aside from Cuphead, there  are two relevant game elements, and, surprisingly, neither of them  are C

anteen Hughes’ plane. The first element is the four Yankee Yippers  revolving around the plane. All four Yankee Yippers are, for all intents and purposes,  identical. As such, all four of them count as one unique element. Again, some of you that  are familiar with the boss may think otherwise, but we’ll talk about that when we get  to the secret phase. It doesn’t matter how the player deals with the Yippers,  so long as all of them are dealt with. Our second relevant game element is the Yippers’

  projectile, the “BOW WOW”s. The projectile is fairly straightforward and requires that the  player simply jump around it. Nothing else to it. Both of these elements together form an  incredibly simple picture. Shoot the boss; avoid simple projectiles. And then there’s the core mechanic of the  entire fight, Canteen Hughes’ biplane, which is just sitting there feeling left out. It’s  not that the biplane isn’t present in this phase. It’s that the biplane just doesn’t matter.  It still functions

as a minor arena hazard, but only insomuch as it is a small platform that  the player can fall off of. That’s all it is. But what’s interesting about the plane taking  a backseat is that the mechanic itself does not change. It’s still the same plane. The player can  still maneuver the plane by standing on the wings, and a predictable motion curve still defines  the plane’s movement when the player jumps. So if the mechanic itself doesn’t change,  why does the plane cease to matter? Canteen Hugh

es’ plane loses its significance along with the removal of all those game elements  which interacted with it. In other words, Phase 2 strips out everything that  made the plane matter in Phase 1. By simplifying the projectiles  and boss positioning, Phase 2 eliminates the need to  maneuver the plane. Not only is there no need to move the  plane; there’s not even a reason. Recall that, in Phase 1, the plane  served multiple functions. Moving the plane was necessary to stay on-target  as Pilot Bul

ldog moved side-to-side, but it also helped the player avoid the  various projectiles. There was incentive to move the plane beyond just the simple  necessity of shooting Pilot Bulldog. And the combination of necessity and incentives  created depth, since necessity and incentive were often in conflicting states. A certain  enemy projectile might incentivize the plane being in one position while the boss position  required another. That conflict created depth. With the removal of those conflictin

g elements,  all that depth disappears in Phase 2. The result: the possibility space shrinks dramatically, and  the core mechanic of the entire fight becomes irrelevant. Just like most transition phases,  there’s nothing to learn here and extremely limited gameplay possibilities. And with so few  gameplay possibilities, why include it at all? Recall that one of the reasons to use  upfront complexity is to increase the allowable depth and/or difficulty. By  reducing the complexity of later stages

, we free up space in both the player’s mind and in  the challenge itself. This space can be used to increase depth and/or difficulty, which naturally  ratchets tension and creates a rising action. Here, we can see a graphical  representation of this concept. The rising action is overlaid on top  of the relationship between complexity and difficulty/depth. This graph is our  guidelines at work in an ideal situation. Now let’s compare this ideal  graph to Doggone Dogfight. I’m going to keep sayin

g this: in order to  evaluate a single phase in a multiphase challenge, one must evaluate the challenge in its entirety.  This is how we identify structural issues. So, let’s start plotting what Doggone Dogfight  looks like on our structural graph here. In Doggone Dogfight’s second phase, both  complexity and difficulty/depth fall off dramatically, causing our rising action to stall,  and our mental burden to bottom out. In our ideal graph, we see that, as complexity falls,  difficulty/depth ris

es. This keeps the mental burden at an acceptable level, thereby — hopefully  — keeping the player engaged, and also supporting the rising action. This reduction in complexity  provides space for the difficulty and depth. In our ideal situation, reducing complexity  has a purpose. In Doggone Dogfight’s Phase 2, reducing complexity does not  have a purpose. The possibility space becomes very shallow at the same time that  it narrows — becoming low in both complexity and depth — resulting in an ex

tremely  small space with very little gameplay. Mind you, low complexity is not necessarily a  bad thing, as long as it is supported by depth. In this case, it is not. And unfortunately in this  case, any tension we got from Phase 1 evaporates. In our holistic view, looking at all the  phases together, we can identify our first, major, structural issue with Doggone Dogfight. When we evaluated Phase 1 by itself, we deemed it, solid. However, when viewed  in light of Phase 2’s issues, we get our f

irst glimpse of how tedium injects  itself into previously, well-designed content. There was a caveat attributed to Phase 1’s  “solidness:” the later phases must not overstay. When we look at Phase 2’s possibility space, it  is very clear that, just from a single attempt, the player will exhaust the small  space. The player will experience and master all it has to offer. And when  the player exhausts the possibility space, any additional attempt will be replaying  exhausted content, thereby crea

ting tedium. [MatPat] This is like… “eh, we needed another phase for this.” It’s a phase… I guess… [Shawn] So, if a single attempt exhausts  Phase 2’s possibility space, Phase 2 is already overstaying its welcome  by attempt #2. That’s really bad. And that’s why transition phases do not work in a  multiphase challenge with forced replay. That was our first structural issue.  Phase 2’s possibility space is too small, so it’s essentially deadweight.  Now let’s look at key learning. Early key learn

ing points establish core skills  that evolve as the challenge progresses. They allow a player to practice the most relevant  skills as early as possible, which, in effect, reduces the chances for tedium. A player doesn’t  waste time on irrelevant skills in the early phases, and they don’t get stuck practicing  entirely novel skills in the later phases. In order for a mechanic to  function as a key learning point, it needs follow-through, it  needs to actually be used. It’s pretty clear from Pha

se 1, that Canteen  Hughes’ plane is the star mechanic. When we combine the star mechanic of ‘the plane’  with the projectiles, we get a core skill. That core skill is ‘maneuvering the  plane while evading projectiles.’ This skill expresses itself in multiple ways,  from jumping over the plane with its predictable motion curve, to crouching on the plane, to  positioning, shooting, etc. of/from/around the plane. There are a lot of expressions of  this skill, which, if you just list them out, the

possibilities are pretty exciting. There is  so much you could do with this skill group. As a key learning point, Phase 1 establishes a lot  of these skills and really primes the player to receive. It sets the player at the base of a  huge mastery window and promises to deliver. So does Phase 2 follow through? Is the core skill used? Or, did the player just spend an  entire phase learning something that they don’t need? No… no…. Unfortunately, kind of…. In Phase 1, the player jumps over the  cro

ssbone boomerangs at the same time they maneuver the plane. That mechanic  is carried through into Phase 2 but, unfortunately, drops the  maneuvering the plane aspect. Neither the Yippers nor the projectiles  incentivize plane interaction. Since the Yippers fly in a circle, the player can  hit them no matter where the plane is, and since the projectiles don’t block  off areas or in some way force the player to move their safe platform (the  plane), it’s a simple matter of evading them, something

the player already does in every  fight with projectiles. It’s mundane, despite the boss having one of the most  unique mechanics in the entire game. Moving the plane is pointless, so moving the  plane while evading projectiles is also pointless, which, recall, was our core skill:  maneuvering the plane while evading projectiles. THAT was the whole point of  Phase 1. THAT was our key learning point. Yes, the player does evade projectiles in Phase 2, but the plane no longer factors. It just gene

rally  stays in the middle. Key learning point wasted. And here’s the strange thing. Instead of focusing  on that unique mechanic, Studio MDHR chose to carry Phase 1’s most shallow and boring aspect  into Phase 2 — that is, jumping over projectiles. Now, I’m not saying jumping over projectiles is a  bad mechanic. That’s a basic part of Cuphead. But I am saying that jumping over projectiles  should not have been the focus when they spent so much time and effort making Canteen Hughes’  plane so da

ng cool. Especially because the projectiles were only interesting  in Phase 1 due to their conflicting plane-maneuvering incentives, which Phase 2  abandons because there’s only one projectile. Phase 2 had the opportunity to develop the plane mechanic further — take it to new  heights, so to speak *laugh track* — — and THEREBY build new layers of mastery on  top of the old. And by using layers of mastery, Phase 2 would have been a direct continuation  of Phase 1. Build on the skills learned. Thi

s could be done, for example, by focusing on  the confounding effect of the projectiles, a concept which has already been established.  In this example solution, Phase 2 could use area denial attacks like the yarn balls or create  some type of risk-reward situation where putting the plane in a dangerous spot allows the player to  deal more consistent damage. These two ideas would be a natural evolution of our skill, ‘MANEUVERING  the plane while AVOIDING projectiles.’ By focusing on skills alrea

dy learned, Phase 2 becomes  the logical next step in the challenge, as opposed to ‘random stuff happening.’ We  get a cohesive challenge, and we avoid tedium. And if Studio MDHR still wanted to keep  Phase 2 short, they could have. Phase 2 could have remained a transition phase, but  have been justified as such, by its use of key learning. Keep the phase short, but use it to  build new layers of mastery atop the established core mechanic. The only justification for a  transition phase would be

satisfied. However, again, only if the key learning point within  the transition phase could not fit elsewhere. Worse than being a poorly designed phase just  by itself, however, Phase 2 retroactively makes Phase 1 worse. Since Phase 2 just kind of  abandons everything we got out of Phase 1, it makes Phase 1 look like a bunch of random  attacks thrown together and forgotten about. Remember the chain breaks at the weakest  link. It all just seems disconnected. We’ve already established that Phase

  2 has practically no replayability since the player likely exhausts  its possibility space after the first attempt. This quickly becomes tedious.  But, again, we cannot look just at Phase 2. Recall that replayability represents any  given player’s willingness to replay content, and due to the nature of forced replay, that  means playing that content in consecutive order. And this is why the connection between  phases is key to the health of the challenge. Between the utter lack of depth, engag

ing  mechanics, and mastery potential; in addition to an unsatisfying complexity curve that leaves the player wondering  when the fight will actually begin; and because practically nothing the player  learns in the first phase matters for the second, forced replay leaves the player  wondering what the point of it was. In order for a multiphase challenge to  have early replayability, playing the early phases must seem worthwhile  in the context of later phases. Phase 2 exists just to be gotten th

rough, making  it pointless, and, by extension, makes Phase 1 seem pointless. Any replayability we had in Phase  1 disappears, or, at least, is greatly reduced. Not before long, trudging through phases 1 and 2  feels like an eternity just to arrive at Phase 3. [Brett] Every attempt at this feels like  an eternity. As my skull screams out, “BRETT, WHY DO YOU KEEP MAKING LOUD  NOISES AND MAKING IT WORSE, WHYYYY?” F-ing go away, you weird, cloud-farting freaks. Every attempt at this feels like an e

ternity. [Shawn] Honestly, the only thing I can say in conclusion about Phase 2 is  that it should not have existed. Given the plethora of directions Studio  MDHR could have taken this phase — and included the core mechanic while they were  at it — it’s astounding they chose this one. The whole fight would be better  if this transition phase simply did not exist. At least it would  not retroactively ruin Phase 1. [Smiling Friends] Look Pim. I know it's our job to help this guy and everything bu

t I think this guy is a lost cause. Why don't we just cut our losses and get out of here? [Shawn] And then we get to Phase 3, and oh boy,  does Phase 3 turn everything on its head, literally. But not in the  way Studio MDHR intended. At the end of Phase 2, each of  the Yankee Yippers are destroyed. *Lego Yoda scream* [Monty Python] "And there was much rejoicing. *weak yay's*" [Shawn] And Sergeant O’Fera finally  decides to join the fight. Zooming in from — wherever the heck she’s been this whole

time — Sergeant O’Fera  arrives in her giant metal beast, which, in a spectacular show of breaking the  fourth wall, grabs the edges of the screen. Somewhere in the ideation process of  this fight’s design, when Studio MDHR were devising a core theme, they likely  wanted to push the boundaries of player experience. This is a big hallmark of the  DLC — push boundaries, defy expectations. [Maya] We really honed in on our craft, pushed  the boundaries on what we were able to do. [Creating the DLC

was] more challenging  in the fact that we were pushing our limits in terms of the quality and  the scope of what each boss is. [Shawn] Between riding on Canteen  Hughes’ plane instead of in it, and the fourth-wall breaking metal-dog  chinook, we can see that intent coming through. But, while the chinook gets a little  handsy with the player’s screen, they’ve got bigger problems to deal with:  specifically lasers, which oddly enough have nothing to do with dogs? Anyways, laser  guns pop out of t

he chinook’s hands and shoot horizontal and cross-screen diagonal  beams for the player to jump. After that, we get our first look at the hulking metal  beast’s true power: screen manipulation. The chinook grabs the screen and  yanks it 90 degrees, changing the player’s orientation and controls. Meanwhile, it’s chow time, and Sergeant  O’Fera pops out to finesse some buttons, which I guess makes dog bowls fly  around. These dog bowls are similar to previous projectiles in that they  mimic the ju

mping action of both the crossbone-boomerangs from Phase 1 and the  laser beams the player just encountered. But we’re not done yet, folks. After the dog bowls, the screen flips a further  90 degrees, changing the player orientation yet again. The player must now control Cuphead  upside-down. Laser beams ensue. After this, the screen-flipping continues all the way  around in a circle until the phase is defeated, alternating between lasers  and dog bowls each rotation. While Canteen Hughes’ plane

was clearly  meant to be the star mechanic of the fight, Sergeant O’Fera’s Chinook is its  crowning achievement. Just from its visual presentation alone, the Chinook is awesome. [MatPat] Oh! This is cool! [Dashie] Okay, what’s happening? WHAT?! Grabbing the screen like… I didn’t know that was happening! I didn’t know THAT was happening! What are you suppo- WHAT THE F- IS HAPPENING?! [Hammy] Yeah, let’s see, let’s get some intel. *Immediately screams and dies* [Grayfruit] *Makes concerning noise

s* [Max] Wow! Oh this is something else…  oh my gosh. *Duck noises* That was very fast. Oh nuts… this is such a cool… wow! [Ryan] We’re on the last one- Whoa whoa  whoa whoa… oh my gosh. What the heck! [Shawn] Add in the utterly game-disrupting  screen-flip, and the combined complexity and crazy visuals of Phase 3 totally eclipse  the first two phases. Pilot Bulldog and the Yankee Yippers have nothing on the  Chinook. It’s not even close. Phase 3 is the core and crux of the entire fight, and  ye

t, due to the nature of forced replay, players must trek through comparatively  unremarkable phases to get there. [Charlie] What the- what the f- is this? Okay… that’s rough… This is the first challenge so far. That was confusing. [Vinny] Oh my gosh… OH MY GOSH… What was that?! [Brett] I don’t like that, I don’t  know how I’m supposed to- *screams* This is the worst thing  I’ve ever experienced since- [Jerma] Oh my gosh… I just went  the- f- my fingers, I just… [Gab] Oh gosh, what are we doing?

Nooo don’t put me upside-down!  Nooo this is so confusing. I can’t… [Mad Matt] Oh no… that’s insane! [Grayfruit] *Laughs from the insanity* Oh f- this… oh gosh… Oh- oh gosh… What do you mean?! [Jerma] It hurts my f- brain. [Jerma noise #1] [Jerma noise #2] [Jerma noises #3] [Jack] Oh my gosh… what is happening?! *screams* What am I supposed to do to that?! [Mad Matt] How am I gonna deal with that…? [Brett] Do you remember when I  said my brain couldn’t handle the… And then that went ahead and ju

st  twisted it like Jason Voorhees would? This is the worst gimmick ever. [Chris] What the f- is happening. [Sam] What is going on?! Why is it reversed?! Why would they do that? [Chris] I mean it’s not the worst but it’s very  difficult. And it’s not fun, I don’t like it. [Sam] I hate when games do the reversed controls. [Shawn] Which brings us to our final  and most damaging structural issue: bookended complexity. Naturally, since this phase  is jam-packed full of late complexity we’ll focus on

our structural guideline, late  simplicity, to explain how Doggone Dogfight’s third phase creates structural tedium.  After that, we’ll look at how the fundamental controls change of the screen-flip invalidates  previously established key learning points. Recall that late simplicity keeps  the player’s mental burden in check, thereby reducing the chance for burnout and  allowing room to increase difficulty and/or depth. Doggone Dogfight’s third phase does  not conform to our late simplicity gui

deline. Phase 3 is too complex. This bookended  complexity creates too much mental burden, and at the same time, does not provide enough  room for the drastic increase in difficulty, created by the screen-flip. The result:  an overwhelmed player and tedious replays. As usual, let’s start by first defining  the game elements. Like every other phase, Canteen Hughes’ plane, along with all its  associated elements, remains the core mechanic, yet, similar to Phase 2, the plane plays  a relatively sma

ll role since it fails to interact with other game elements in meaningful  ways. Everything we talked about in Phase 2 regarding the plane also applies to Phase 3,  so we can largely ignore the plane and move on. Our next game element group comprises the  projectiles. There are only two projectiles in this phase, the laser beams and the  dog bowls. Compared to the first phase, this projectile group is relatively  simple. Only one projectile fires at a time, and avoiding each of them  entails a s

imple, evasive jump. These two groups, the plane and the  projectiles, contain a relatively small number of game elements compared  to the same two groups from Phase 1, especially considering that Canteen Hughes’ plane  is a non-factor, an irrelevant game element. If we just look at these two groups, it appears  as though Phase 3 is simpler than Phase 1, which would conform to our late  simplicity guideline. However, we do have one more element group that we  haven’t talked about yet, the screen

-flip. The screen-flip, on its own, is a simple concept.  The screen flips, and the player adjusts their controls relative to the plane’s orientation. When  the screen is on its side — as in the 90-degree or 270-degree flip — the player pushes the stick  left or right to move along the plane. From Cuphead’s perspective, he moves left or right,  but from the player’s perspective, Cuphead moves up and down. When the screen is upside-down, the  player’s controls are still relative to the plane, so

pushing the stick left moves Cuphead toward the  left wing, but appears reversed from the player’s perspective. To move left on-screen,  the player moves right and vice versa. So what’s the purpose of the screen-flip? Since it does not deal damage, the screen-flip,  by itself, is not a threat. That may seem strange since, narratively, the Chinook is clearly  acting with malice as it yanks the screen around. Nevertheless, the screen-flip is not  inherently a hostile game element. What makes the s

creen-flip dangerous is its confounding  effect over top the other game element groups. The screen-flip increases the chance a player will  be hit by projectiles or fall off the plane. So, while it is not a threat itself, the screen-flip  increases the threat of other elements. In this way, the screen-flip is similar to  the yarn balls, in that it creates conflict with other elements. This is potentially a  great source of satisfying depth. However, I want to be super clear that  the screen-flip

differs from the yarn balls in a fundamental way. The  yarn balls are themselves a threat, and they exist as their own unique game  element. The screen-flip, on the other hand, does not exist as its own element. The screen-flip  piggybacks on top of other elements. From a purely mechanical point of view, aside  from the visual effect of the screen rotation, the screen-flip adds nothing to the fight. It is not a  game element with which the player interacts. Yes, it does require some experimenta

tion from the  player in order to determine which direction they must push the analog stick, and it does require  spatial reasoning in order to orient to the new perspective, but, on the most foundational  mechanics level, the player pushes the stick to move and presses the jump button to avoid  projectiles in the same way they would without the screen flip, just in a different orientation.  The screen-flip is not an element in itself. Instead, the screen-flip changes existing  elements. It embo

dies a fundamental game elements change, the effect of which  changes all the mechanics built on top of it. If you were to flip the orientation of a  foundation stone in a building, all the bricks, walls, columns, etc. that rested on that  foundation stone are going to shift around. That’s what we’re doing here with our game  elements. We’re moving the foundation around. Changing the input required to  move a character affects all of the game elements that interact with the  character moving, wh

ich is ALL OF THEM. The projectiles group and the plane group  are both affected by Cuphead’s movement. Changing the movement changes the other  groups, essentially multiplying the complexity. The result being that the  player has to relearn not only the fundamental controls of the game, but  every single element and every single skill. And here’s the kicker. For what purpose?  Why is the player relearning every skill, including the controls, especially  so late in the challenge? [MatPat] Whoa…

what?! Hold up. Wait. Wait, are the controls- hold  up… are- no the controls aren’t… They aren’t fl- oh geez… now they are flipped. [PBG] I don’t know what I’m doing.  I don’t- how do I control that?! [Grayfruit] The controls are like f- up by the  way. It’s not like… the controls don’t change, it’s like the controls are the same.  Er, no… it’s all f- up, it’s all f- up. [PBG] Is down, left in that?! What  is- what was that?! I literally- Like, my mind saw it, and just gave  up. [gibberish] “I d

on’t know.” [MatPat] Wait wait wait wait  wait… okay, the controls weren’t… Okay the controls weren’t flipped and now  they are?! And now they… oookay… what is… Shoot, I can’t figure out if  the controls are flipped or not. And now we’re gonna go up again. Shoot… [the controls] did shift, it did shift. [Shawn] Recall that we use late simplicity  to make room for additional depth and/or difficulty. Decrease one source of mental  burden to increase another source which fosters player engagement. N

ow, the screen-flip  certainly creates an increase in difficulty, but it does so at the cost of major  mental burden from compounded complexity. So to answer the question, for what purpose  does the player have to relearn everything, well, aside from the thematic, big appearance  of the chinook — which is impressive — I’m not seeing one. Mechanically, we’re increasing  difficulty, but that’s it. That’s it! So, is an increase in difficulty worth  the overwhelming mental burden? Or, was there mayb

e a better way? Multiplying the  possibility space might seem like a good idea because it creates more gameplay. However,  the POSSIBILITY SPACE itself isn’t changed. It is simply repeated. From a purely mechanical  perspective, each new possibility space is the exact same thing as the original  space. We haven’t added anything new, or increased depth, or facilitated engaging  situations. We’ve just rotated the space. Why? Just why? We can only guess, but it’s clear in each of  the DLC bosses th

at Studio MDHR wanted to get big player reactions from novel gimmicks  wrapped up in huge presentation. This is a reasonable assumption because it’s  not just Doggone Dogfight. Each DLC boss incorporates remarkable mechanical and/or  thematic escalations in their last phases. The screen-flip is certainly a shocking and  entertaining surprise. Mission accomplished in that regard. But that’s the end of the  positives. They got their “wow” moment, but they did so at the cost of  overloading the pla

yer while disregarding both the core mechanic  as well as the structure of the boss. Studio MDHR changed the entire foundation of the game at the tail-end of an extended  challenge and thought “this is fine.” Overloading the challenge is not the only  thing the screen-flip screws up. It also undermines our key learning points, something  Doggone Dogfight has trouble with already. We’ve already established that Doggone  Dogfight treats key learning points and learned skills as if they’re disposab

le. This  is evident through the diminished relevance of Canteen Hughes’ plane in Phases 2 and 3, as  well as the abandonment of the player skill, ‘predicting and committing to safe zones  created by enemy projectiles’ — both of which are interesting and engaging elements  of Phase 1 that are totally dropped in Phases 2 and 3. The only learned skill that  remains relevant throughout the entire fight is ‘jumping over projectiles,’ which, of all  the learned skills, is the least interesting. But t

hen Phase 3 comes along, sees  that last remaining key learning point, and tosses it in the trash with  the others. Which is odd because the player still jumps over projectiles.  The skill is still expressed in Phase 3. But because the screen-flip forces the player  to relearn each element from the ground-up, all early key learning points are invalidated. The  player learned ‘jumping over projectiles’ already; now they have to relearn it in  Phase 3. Basically all skills start over. And that’s e

ssentially the same thing  as saying that the fight doesn’t begin until Phase 3. And If the fight doesn’t begin until  Phase 3, guess how much Phases 1 and 2 matter. [Jerma] Am I hurting him?! What the f- Dude how am I supposed to play like this?! Oh my gosh… okay… That makes the first phase NOTHING. That makes the first phase NOTHING. That makes the first phase NOTHING. [Shawn] Welp. Here comes the tedium. The time it takes a player to  learn an essential skill is a direct determinant of tedium

. If it  takes a long time to learn the skill, the player will get bogged down in a specific  area or section of a challenge. After enough time spent replaying the same content  over and over, the player will burn out. [MatPat] ‘Cause this one isn’t too hard, it was  just- more just figuring out the mechanics of that section. And I still- usually I’m not too thrown  off by games when they, like, reverse controls and things like that — I actually th- I always think  it’s really fun when they do t

hat — but, for some reason here, I’m not- you’re not given too much  time to really adjust… and it’s happening so fast. [Studio MDHR] just decided to throw these  guys in here. It’s a phase, I guess… [Rob] I think I hate this boss  fight. I think I actually hate it. It sucks getting to the last phase and then  struggling so hard when I know I can do it. It sucks getting to the last phase. [Shawn] Key learning points serve to introduce  essential skills gradually and with as little friction as po

ssible. Therefore, invalidating  key learning points will likely cause tedium. In some cases, invalidating key learning points  might not cause too many problems. The player may be able to get by with a ‘just adequate’ skill  level. This is not the case with Doggone Dogfight. In Doggone Dogfight, the player must  relearn the essential skills of jumping and moving or they will fail. The player will  not be able to stumble through into a near-win, they’ll just fail. And — I bet you’re sick of  hea

ring me say this — due to the nature of forced replay, they’ll have to replay irrelevant content  to get back to the thing they need to practice. Games must handle changes in perspective  and controls with care because perspective and controls are directly tied to a  player’s physical ability. Therefore, those skills take much longer to relearn than a  mechanic that simply builds on top of them — like our foundation stone analogy. Doggone Dogfight  fails to respect this unique, complex feature.

For the sake of due diligence, I’ll mention the  Run n’ Gun level, Funhouse Frazzle. Changing screen orientation is not unique to Doggone  Dogfight. Funhouse Frazzle introduces the mechanic in the base game, Isle 2. I mention this  because, if the player plays through all Cuphead content in the order of its release, the player  will have experienced the screen-flip previously, certainly not to the extent that it’s used in  Doggone Dogfight, but still. However, I believe it’s enough to say that e

ach challenge in Cuphead  is self-contained. The introduction of a mechanic in Isle 2 does not justify its poor implementation  in the DLC’s Isle 4, especially considering that the player does not need to complete the  base game islands in order to play the DLC. All this is not to say the screen-flip was a bad  idea. It simply was not respected, and it was not done justice. The screen-flip was seemingly  implemented for no other mechanical purpose than to increase difficulty, which could  have b

een done a lot easier and with less effort. If, instead, the screen-flip built  upon previously learned skills, such as maneuvering Canteen Hughes’ plane  — you know that star mechanic the fight just ignores — and the screen-flip was  introduced earlier in the challenge, where the mental burden was relatively low — *ahem* phase  2 — the screen-flip could have been awesome. As it stands, the screen-flip is  pretty much just a frustrating mess. That is all three phases through  the lens of our fou

r guidelines. We can see how small problems add up  into larger structural issues. And we can see how even just one problem can have  a ripple effect in multiphase challenges, potentially causing problems in entirely  different phases. This is largely the work of forced replay. A multiphase challenge with  forced replay must be exceptionally-well designed, or even a small problem can create tedium. Not to  say that some of these problems aren’t gigantic. In games (like a lot of things in life),

there  exists an illusion of importance. In a game, whatever task the player is supposed to  accomplish feels important as long as the player remains engaged. Tedium wrecks  that illusion. The player realizes that, if the thing they’re doing doesn’t  matter in the context of the game, it really doesn’t matter in the context  of their life. In a mastery-based game, if there is no potential for mastery,  there is no game, there is no meaning, there is no accomplishment, there is no reason to  play

. Tedium can single-handedly destroy a game. Up until this point, we’ve focused extensively  on structure and mechanics. But there’s another piece of the puzzle that’s essential to a game,  and that is a Unifying Theme. A theme is an idea that ties an entire game, challenge, or level  together. A theme expresses itself through visuals, audio, gameplay, and narrative.  In Cuphead’s case, each boss has its own theme. This theme encapsulates the surrealist  inspiration behind the boss. In plain ter

ms, the theme is what the boss is about. A boss’  theme is the central, core idea that ties every phase together into one cohesive experience and,  as the glue that holds everything together, must be supported by its game elements and mechanics.  A core theme which is unsupported by its elements is not really a core theme, and elements which  do not support the core theme are irrelevant. Video game designer and author Jesse  Schell describes Unifying Theme perfectly: “The primary benefit of basi

ng your design  around a single theme is that all of the elements of your game will reinforce one  another, since they will all be working toward a common goal. The sooner you have settled  on a theme, the easier things will be for you, because you will have an easy method of  deciding if something belongs in your game or not: If it reinforces the theme,  it stays, but if it doesn’t, it goes.” “Our goal is to create powerful experiences. It is  possible to create games that do not have themes or

that have very weak themes. However,  if games have unifying, resonant themes, the experiences will be much, much stronger.  If you don’t know what your theme is, it is very likely that your game is not  engaging people as much as it could.” That’s putting it lightly in Cuphead’s case.  Likely due to mishandling its surrealist inspiration, Cuphead suffers  from a lack of Unifying Themes, focusing on a stream-of-consciousness  spewage of ideas, as opposed to structured content that leverages its

inspiration  to create zany yet well-designed content. Cuphead’s consistent lack of Unifying Themes  creates bosses with disjointed phases, awkward and steep learning curves that arise  partway through, and scatterbrained ideas. As an example of how the lack of a central  idea or focus can compromise the structure of a boss, look at the abandonment  of Doggone Dogfight’s core mechanic, Canteen Hughes’ plane. Phases 2 and 3  forget about the plane. The entire boss crumbled into a shallow puddle

that completely  wasted the potential of its core mechanic, resulting in no depth and nothing to  master and leaving tedium in its wake. But the Unifying Theme goes beyond just core  mechanics. The theme is what the boss is about — the idea that ties the boss together, so  that the boss’ elements and mechanics can align with it. The theme should reinforce the mechanics  and the mechanics should reinforce the theme. So let’s talk about the visual star of Doggone  Dogfight — the Chinook — and exte

nsively question in an over-the-top fashion: why oh why is  the Chinook not presented as the central theme and foundation of the boss from the very  beginning? I mean, come on, look how cool it is. The Chinook has a monolithic presence that  far outshines Pilot Bulldog and the Yankee Yippers, and this presence sets up The  Chinook as the clear star of the show, not simply because of its size but because  of its commanding presence, because of how it dominates the screen. No other antagonist  in

this fight commands the same presence. The Chinook does this primarily through  its hands — or paws, or helicopter… feet, whatever they are. At the start of the fight, the  Chinook’s huge, daunting hands grab the screen, creating a wall on either side of the playable  area and creating a sense of enclosure, a feeling of being trapped. And this  is awesome because it does two things. Firstly, this visual enclosure creates two  “danger zones” on either side of the player. And these danger zones ju

st so happen to  lie perpendicular to Canteen Hughes’ axis of movement. They constrain the player’s movement,  or at least, give the appearance of doing so. So, the Chinook is interacting with the boss’  core biplane mechanic in a big, visual way. Secondly, the hands help establish the theme,  the “us or them,” “only one of us makes it out of this alive,” sort of mentality. As soon  as those hands go up, the player is trapped, we’ve entered the clinch, the standoff, the true  dogfight. It’s visc

eral, and it’s super effective. Because the Chinook is colossal in its  presence and its fantastic thematic framing, it creates an expectation that it should  be the central focus and hook for the boss. It should be the  focal point of every phase. And by solidifying the Chinook as the central  focus, we would gain a greater emphasis on Canteen Hughes’ plane, the core mechanic. The  Chinook interacts thematically with the plane very well. Having both of them present in every  phase would carry t

hat strong dynamic throughout. The Chinook is the perfect, central idea that ties  every phase together into one cohesive experience. The core theme reinforces the core mechanic,  and the core mechanic reinforces the core theme. Now the foundation for the boss is set, and  the rest of the boss can be built on top of it. Unfortunately, the core theme instead  resides in only 1/3 of the fight, and the absence of that presence and thematic  framing compounds our existing problems. We already have s

tructural issues that make the  phases seem unrelated and irrelevant. But then, once the player witnesses the grandeur  of the Chinook, it feels like the first two phases are just warmup. The fight doesn’t  even start until the third phase. The result: the rest of the boss becomes  noticeably disjunct and overshadowed. [Jerma] Dude how am I supposed to play like this?! That makes the first phase NOTHING. NOTHING. [Shawn] For example, remember how  Phase 2 quickly becomes a menial, pointless tran

sition phase after a single attempt? [MatPat] It’s a phase, I guess… [Shawn] Phase 2’s flaws become — unsurprisingly  — more noticeable once the player realizes that the awesome, central Chinook Phase is basically  tacked on to the end as an addendum. The Howling Aces should be a single-unit boss centered on  the Chinook and not an arbitrary multi-unit boss. I mean, come on, Studio MDHR actually  chose to create a multi-unit boss out of one of the most grandiose designs in  the entire game. And

need I remind you, the Chinook hosts one of the most complex  mechanics imaginable — the screen rotation — which was unironically placed at the tail-end of  a multiphase challenge. What is going on?! So, clearly Phase 2 was a travesty by its  own merits but also when compared to Phase 3, both mechanically AND thematically.  Case closed, nothing more to say. Phase 1’s Pilot Bulldog, on the other hand,  is a much more interesting story. Firstly, even though Pilot Bulldog makes for a  solid first p

hase mechanically, he isn’t reinforced by the central theme. Pilot Bulldog  is overshadowed by the actual star of the show. What’s intriguing about Phase 1,  however, is how it appears that Studio MDHR was at least somewhat aware  of the Chinook’s commanding presence and thematic framing because the Chinook  actually makes an appearance in Phase 1. Partway through the phase, the Chinook  wiggles through the sky and blasts out homing fire hydrants which then descend  toward the player. Yeah, that

’s right, those fire hydrants come from the Chinook,  and I bet that comes as a surprise to many of you. The Chinook’s fire hydrant artillery  is more obvious when watching a playthrough, but is surprisingly tough to notice  while playing the game yourself. This is because the Chinook does not maintain  a reasonably strong presence throughout. Remember our mental burden. A player only has so much space in their head,  and they will only pay attention to those elements which are immediately relev

ant. In Phase 1, the  Chinook is presented as background information. Literally in the background. The background is not  relevant. If a player even notices the Chinook, they will likely ignore it since its presence is  supported by neither strong visual nor audio cues. For something that commands such presence, it’s  a wonder Studio MDHR put it in the background. Here’s a compilation of players not  noticing the Chinook in the background. Here’s another compilation of players  who notice the Ch

inook in the background but are unable to determine what  it’s doing or what its purpose is, or they notice the fire hydrants  and don’t know where they come from. [Hammy] Why does the dog… [PBG] They’re shooting fire hydrants. [Hammy] Well, they’re shooting fire  hydrants, but also, he’s shooting cats. [Grayfruit] Look at the  background, that looks so cool. *Notices the Chinook* Oh sh- I haven’t even seen the second  phase- fire hydrants, really? [Sam] Okay… and there’s a dog copter. [Shawn] T

here are several reasons  why the Chinook is easily missable background information and wasted potential. Firstly, the Chinook only shows up for a couple  seconds. It doesn’t become a prominent or even reasonably noticeable figure. Naturally, players  are going to miss an important detail when it’s only briefly shown, especially given how much  there is to concentrate on in the foreground. Secondly, while we can briefly see the black  cannons on the Chinook, the weapons disappear before the Chin

ook flies from the background  into the foreground and thence off-screen. The smoke from the cannons also blends into the  clouds, making even that detail hard to notice. Thirdly, the fire hydrants don’t arrive  on-screen as a relevant game element for another 6-7 seconds, so it’s easy to  disassociate them from the Chinook. Fourthly, when playing a game that  demands one’s entire attention, the player will concentrate only on what  immediately matters. There’s only so much concentration to go a

round. Anything that  does not immediately matter is filtered out. That doesn’t mean, however, that background  information cannot be useful. The information must simply be conveyed in a way that makes it  seem immediately relevant to a burdened player. Captain Brineybeard’s shark is a good example of  this. The captain whistles to spawn the shark and, after its background telegraph, the  shark immediately performs its attack. The background information here is the shark, but that background inf

ormation  is accompanied by a visual and audio cue. These are immediately relevant  because they are performed by the captain. If the Chinook wanted to be a part of Phase 1,  as it should be, then one easy yet significant change would be to incorporate audio cues.  In order to draw attention to the Chinook, there could be a distinct and noticeable  booming sound as each of the cannons fire, followed by a whistling, whoosh sound as  the fire hydrants close in. This would invoke a sense of persist

ence and continuity, and  would help tie into the theme. Imagine the player’s anticipation when they hear distant  cannon reports followed by a whooshing sound. That would be intimidating, and it  would help build the Chinook’s presence. As an alternate visual presentation, the  Chinook could have flown up beside the player at the screen’s edge to fire hydrants from the  foreground. A clear visual cue like this would make the phase feel more dynamic, although  it would likely overload the visual

space. Phase 1 is already at the tipping point  of the game elements it can support. Adding any more visual elements would  serve only to clutter the screen. So, even with better sound design, the  Chinook would still be confusing. To fix all these issues, we would have  to make some hard decisions. It’s a given that Phase 2 should be entirely reworked to  better integrate the Chinook and probably introduce the screen-flip while we’re  at it, but Phase 1 is a different story. Phase 1 is a prett

y solid phase. We would want  to change as little as possible while giving the Chinook space for its thematic framing to  work, but given how cluttered Phase 1 already is, the Chinook could not be given more space without  subtracting other elements. And subtracting elements would ruin the carefully-designed  interaction between the projectiles and the plane. Phase 1 balances on a pinhead;  changing anything would throw it off. So, do we simply add some audio  cues and leave Phase 1 alone, allow

ing the Chinook to take over Phases  2 and 3 after Pilot Bulldog is defeated? Or, do we start subtracting elements from Phase 1 and build it all back up with  greater emphasis on the Chinook? Or, does the Chinook take over the entire  fight and assume its role as the centerpiece, replacing Pilot Bulldog as the antagonist of  Phase 1 and embracing an ascending challenge structure like we see with Captain Brineybeard?  Pilot Bulldog could still feature in Phase 1, but he would play the role  of th

e background attack dog, instead of the central antagonist. Essentially,  the roles of Bulldog and Chinook would be reversed. This third option begins with  the Chinook and ends with the Chinook, and all other antagonists exist to complement it —  creating coherent phases and obvious core skills, all centered around both a Unifying Theme and  core mechanic. This is called “designing a boss.” Whatever direction a theoretical remake  of Doggone Dogfight would take is beyond the scope of this video

, but the problems are  very clear and the possible solutions in this case study align with solid and well-defined  game design. All that matters is that Doggone Dogfight must be structured in not only  its mechanics but also its theme. Without sufficient gameplay or mechanical structure,  the boss will feel unsatisfying, tedious, and frustrating. Without a sufficient Unifying  Theme, a player will be less likely to engage with the boss. The boss will feel disjointed and  will appear as a shallo

w assortment of objects. For those of you unfamiliar with the DLC, or for  those of you who’ve only played it through once, and especially for those of you who  don’t play a game by reading the wiki, you may be surprised to know that Phase 3  has an alternate version, a secret phase, which can only be triggered by defeating Phase  2’s Yankee Yippers in a very specific way. To unlock the secret phase, the player  must reduce each of the Yankee Yippers’ health below a threshold, at which point,  t

hat individual Yipper’s smoke turns gray. The player must then be careful not to deal  any additional damage to that Yipper because, if the player destroys any one Yipper, the secret  phase will remain locked until the next attempt. Once all four Yippers pass that health threshold, the Chinook comes and chomps them up,  thus starting the secret third phase. It’s important to note that the alternative  Phase 3 differs from the standard Phase 3 visually, mechanically, and thematically. The  altern

ative phase is extra, optional content, but it’s not just the same phase reskinned. It  is its own phase — strangely, one that’s nearly impossible to discover through natural play.  Which, begs the question: “Why does it exist?” In a game with very little optional content,  why spend the development resources to create an alternate version of something that  does not serve an alternate purpose? In other words, why create this secret  phase if it has the same purpose as the original phase? — that

purpose being, ‘beat the  phase, complete the boss, continue the game.’ Like most of Cuphead, the phases  exist for the satisfaction of beating them. But if we’re going  to create new, optional content, I would argue that new content  should offer something new. Does the Secret Phase exist just to be beaten? Or does the Secret Phase serve some other purpose? Does it exist to be  discovered, like an easter egg? Does it exist to offer a mechanical  variation to the screen-flip? Or does it exist b

ecause Studio MDHR had  too many ideas and just couldn’t decide? Does it even have a reason? Keep this question in mind as we explore  the Secret Phase and all it has to offer. Since the Secret Phase is its  own phase with unique visual, mechanical, and thematic aspects, let’s  briefly talk about what those are. First off, the Secret Phase  shares the same monolithic, domineering presence and initial thematic  framing as the standard Phase 3. The same huge, daunting Chinook hands grab the screen

,  creating a wall on either side of the playable area and creating a sense of enclosure,  a feeling of being trapped. It’s a visceral, almost personal standoff — a true dogfight  where one of us is careening below. It’s super effective and interacts with Canteen  Hughes’ plane in a visually significant way. What is unique to the  Secret Phase is what happens next. The Yankee Yippers pop out of the paw  pads and start throwin’ grenades at us, and this is what’s really neat about  the Secret Phas

e. Recall that one of the major sources of tedium within  Doggone Dogfight is its utter lack of mechanical follow-through. Doggone Dogfight  routinely establishes key learning points, and then immediately throws whatever skill  the player learns from those learning points in the garbage. The player quickly learns that  none of the skills they’re practicing matter in the larger scheme of things, so each  phase feels isolated and inconsequential. But the Secret Phase, and  specifically the pineapp

le grenades, buck this trend. The Secret Phase actually uses  previously-established key learning points, and most importantly, integrates our  core mechanic, Canteen Hughes’ plane. Recall in Phases 2 & 3 that Canteen  Hughes’ plane stops mattering because none of the boss’ projectiles  require the plane to move. In fact, most projectiles after Phase 1 actually  encourage remaining stationary. Phase 1 established the key learning point of  maneuvering the plane to avoid projectiles, but then Pha

ses 2 & 3 don’t use it. That’s  not the case with the pineapple grenades. The pineapple grenades incentivize moving the  plane. They do this by locking-on to the player’s current location and following a trajectory that  would guarantee a hit should the player remain stationary. A player cannot stand still after  being targeted by a grenade, or they will take damage. The grenades force the player to move,  and ‘forcing the player to move’ forces them to interact with the core mechanic. But that’

s  not all. There’s another level to the grenades. To further encourage interaction with Canteen  Hughes’ plane, the grenades are destructible. Wait a minute? Shouldn’t being able to  destroy them make them easier to avoid? Nope. Because… the pineapple grenades  do what grenades do best, they explode, and they create a big, fanning hazard  similar to the Phase 1 tennis balls. If the player destroys a pineapple  grenade, the fairly easy projectile turns into one that’s much harder to  both see an

d avoid. Instead of having the player want to destroy the grenades,  the player wants to avoid them. And by simply moving the plane side-to-side,  the player can consistently do so. The grenades don’t change trajectory, so once  they’re in the air, it’s easy to predict where they’ll fall. Add to that a huge  telegraph window on each of the grenades, and we start to see how the Secret Phase  takes those skills the player learned in Phase 1 and reuses them. Maneuvering  the plane is once again ess

ential to beating the boss. But that’s not the only  thing the Secret Phase takes from Phase 1. Remember how Phase 1 was full of confounding  effects? Same thing for the Secret Phase. And the plane is the center of it, as it  should be. Let me outline all the pieces because understanding the confounding effects  requires a holistic view. There are three pieces: Sergeant O’Fera, the Yippers and  their grenades, and the plane. The only way to beat the Secret Phase is  to deal damage directly to Se

rgeant O’Fera, the central antagonist of the fight. Any  damage dealt to a Yipper does not reduce the remaining health of the boss and serves only  to make that Yipper retreat into its hatch. So, shoot the Sergeant. Got it. However,  Sergeant O’Fera does not make it easy. Similar to Pilot Bulldog from Phase 1,  Sergeant O’Fera is constantly moving. She pops in and out of the hatches, making  it hard for the player to get a bead on her. Because the player can only fire in  six directions by holdi

ng the aim button, the player must position the plane in  the optimal location according to the hatch O’Fera pops out of. Each of the  hatches requires a different position. If O’Fera pops out of the bottom hatch, the player may easily target her  no matter where the plane is. If she’s in either of the top two hatches,  however, the player must fire up at an angle. You can see these angles here. Where the firing lines touch Canteen  Hughes’ movement axis is generally where the player needs to po

sition the  plane. Notice how the lines originating from the middle hatches require  the player to be fairly close, while the lines originating from the top  hatches require a center-screen position. And this is where the confounding effects come  in. In order to shoot O’Fera, the player needs to position the plane in specific places,  but in order to avoid the pineapple grenades, the player needs to constantly move  side-to-side. Just by themselves, these two elements conflict. This  is good. H

owever, that’s not all. The player must also be careful not  to shoot the pineapple grenades, and since the player is constantly  moving side-to-side, the trajectory of the pineapple grenades will frequently  intersect with the player’s firing line. All of these conflicting elements create depth. Thank goodness, finally our  core mechanic gets used. Now, let’s compare the Secret  Phase 3 to the standard Phase 3. The Secret Phase has some key strengths  compared to the standard phase. Firstly, th

e Secret Phase has mechanical  follow-through. Key learning points are used, and this helps foster a cohesive challenge.  The confounding elements concept introduced in Phase 1 is also carried into the Secret  Phase in a way that creates satisfying depth. Secondly, the Chinook’s hands are fantastic as  a thematic element. As the border of the arena, the hands help create an image of bouncing between  a rock and a hard place. Thematically, the hands are great. However, compared to  the standard p

hase, the Secret Phase does not have a whole lot of spectacle. That’s  where the standard phase really shines. The standard Phase 3 utilizes the Chinook  extremely well by not only zooming in on its face, but by using its hands to rotate the  entire screen. This is big and impressive, both thematically and mechanically. The hands  demonstrate that Cuphead is outmatched. The Chinook can just yank us around however it sees  fit. In the Secret Phase, we lose a lot of that spectacle. The Secret Phas

e uses the hands,  just not as spectacularly. As launch points for projectiles, the hands serve an important  mechanical purpose, and they create a cohesive challenge, but it’s really just the same thing as  Phase 1: Dogs throwing stuff at us out of holes. Overall, the Secret Phase is a much  tighter challenge. It’s well-designed and complements Phase 1. But when  compared to the standard Phase 3, we can see why Studio MDHR  went with the screen-flip. So let’s go back to our original question: 

why does the Secret Phase exist? Seeing the comparison between the two phases, I’m going to  speculate. It’s likely that the Secret Phase was the original, standard phase. It relates to the  mechanics of earlier phases and creates a cohesive challenge. But it’s kinda boring. So Studio  MDHR scrapped it and came up with something new, but they didn’t really want to just get rid  of it since they’d already done that work, so they made it a Secret Phase. And that’s all part  of the design process.

Ideas evolve and stuff. But let’s give Studio MDHR the benefit  of the doubt and assume they made the Secret Phase for a better reason than,  “our original idea was boring.” Again, that was just speculation. There’s no way to  know for sure what Studio MDHR’s intent was, since they unfortunately did  not respond to me for comment. Let’s look at our first reason.  The Secret Phase is a puzzle. The Yankee Yippers have the potential to be  a small yet interesting puzzle. The Secret Phase acts as th

e reward for solving that  puzzle. Hints and clues would be placed in the overworld and/or boss, and the  game would reward players for piecing them together. The act of discovery is  a game all in itself. Unfortunately, this was not done. It should have  been done. But it wasn’t. Generally, Cuphead doesn’t prop up the game’s secret phases.  It doesn’t provide clues. Doggone Dogfight is no exception. And if the player isn’t given clues,  how are they to discover these secret phases? Through natu

ral gameplay — and by this, I mean,  ‘playing the game without any outside sources such as online playthroughs or wikis, and only  experiencing the game as it is presented through gameplay’ — through natural gameplay,  there is only one other method by which a player may discover a secret phase: sheer  accident. Except, given how unlikely that is, the overwhelming majority of players are never  going to know about Doggone Dogfight’s Secret Phase unless they see it online. So, while the  Secret P

hase is a potentially welcome surprise because it’s different and unexpected, figuring  out how to unlock it is not a satisfying process. It isn’t really a process at all. It just  happens. The player just stumbles upon it. And while accidentally triggering the Secret Phase is  surprising, the actual act of discovery is absent. If a player stumbles onto the phase,  and they don’t know how they got there, the player will just be confused. They’ll start  looking for clues, but there won’t be any t

o find. Gab and Brett experienced this very situation.  After they accidentally trigger the secret phase, they lose, then have absolutely no  idea what caused it in the first place. [Brett] WHYYYY?! Oh… Oh….. Oh super mega secret level? I’m here now… and my life is so much worse. I got the secret stage, where the dogs are alive and I’m f- not. [Shawn] Gab in particular tries to experiment  to figure it out but is ultimately unsuccessful. [Gab] They’re being chomped on. So, when I see the lady… o

h, lasers?  That’s new, what the f-, what do I do?! Okay, I will not attack the  little doggos. And then I might have a different outcome. I’ll  just take the letters and wait it out. [Shawn] Mike also tries to solve it on his own,  but there’s nothing to solve since there are no hints or clues; it’s just there to discover on the  internet, which is exactly what he ended up doing. [Mike] Okay so I think you have to get every  single letter… if you miss one, then you won’t get the secret phase, o

r whatever. Should I  be hitting them? Maybe I shouldn’t hit them… Nooooo. I don’t know, that probably  messed me up. I missed one. No, I guess I didn’t do it right, maybe I’m wrong. So the YouTuber Flembons made a video about  it, and if you shoot the trails… oh okay okay. I did it wrong, I thought you  had to parry, I was wrong. I have to get all of their- you have  to get all of their smoke black. Oh, okay I got one. This is harder than  it looks. Three, just one more. OOOHHH. [Shawn] So, tha

t theory is  unsupported. Without the act of discovery, the Secret Phase can’t be a puzzle. What if the Secret Phase instead exists as  an accessibility option? The screen rotation changes the fundamental controls and visual  orientation of the game. This not only forces the player to relearn the controls but also inherently  increases the likelihood of physical limitations. [MatPat] Oh hello. Whoa… what?! Hold up. [PBG] My mind saw it and just gave up. [gibberish]  “I don’t know. I don’t know,

I’m dead.” [MatPat] Shoot, I can’t figure out  if the controls are flipped or not. [Shawn] Therefore, because a change in  controls may produce problems involving physical limitations and input devices,  an alternative third phase would, ideally, provide an equally challenging scenario  that does not fundamentally change the game. However, we’ve already established that  Cuphead’s secret phases would work best if they acted as discoverable puzzles  rather than random stumbling points, and that s

ame idea extends to accessibility.  There is one simple reason why the Secret Phase cannot be an accessibility option: accessibility  cannot be used if it cannot be discovered. Because the Secret Phase is not reasonably  discoverable by players who may need it, it would be dishonest to say that it exists for  accessibility reasons. The only way someone that needs the accessibility option could discover  it is by reading about it online, and a game’s features should not depend on external  source

s for the player to know about them. But get this, we actually do have  an accessibility option for this fight. This is an option that is specific to  Doggone Dogfight and only appears for this boss. And we have an unnecessarily  confusing naming convention to go with it. The default controls, which change the orientation  to the perspective of Cuphead are considered “R-Control A.” However, the player may change the  control type to “R-Control B.” For R-Control B, the player’s movement is no lon

ger relative  to the plane but to the player. When the screen is on its side, the player pushes the  stick up and down to move along the plane instead of left and right. The player  can swap controls whenever they want. But in case you were worried this accessibility  option would be too accessible, don’t. In addition to the confusing name, the  R-Control setting comes with unnecessary trial and error. Unlike a truly accessible  option, this one does not provide a tooltip or any useful indicatio

n of what  it does. You just have to figure it out. [Grayfruit] R-Control A… what?? Huh?? What does this mean?? That’s new … Is that like … … something to do with the plane? You control the plane by  walking on it. After this one, I’m gonna try R-Control B and  we’re gonna see if it’s different. [Chris] Let’s go back to the overworld. Wait,  what is R-Control A? What the f- is that? What? [Sam] I don’t know…  Right-Control A, Right-Control B? [Chris] I… I don’t know. Let’s exit to the map. [Chri

s] I still don’t know what’s going  on with the R-Control or whatever? [Sam] I don’t know either. I think it’s for  whenever it flips in that crazy direction I guess? [Chris] Yeah maybe- oh you know what,  it might be level specific, yeah. [Sam] I think it’s level specific. [Shawn] I know this is a crazy idea, but  I believe a feature which changes the controls should tell you what it’s changing the  controls to. It’s a plain and simple concept, but this is the same studio who wrote those awful

charm descriptions shown in my previous  DLC video, so it’s par for the course. Imagine playing through The Howling Aces up  until Phase 3 only to realize that R-Control A or R-Control B is not the control scheme you  thought it was. Or maybe you just didn’t know what it did. Oh look, you’re dead. You have to  start over. Now you have to change the R-Control setting again and try to figure out what that  one does. That’s called trial & error and creates tedium and frustration. Additionally, sinc

e  nobody initially knows what the crap R-Control A and B means without tedious trial & error,  most people are simply going to ignore it, even if R-Control B would help them. Players  who would love to use R-Control B will never discover that it exists because it sits  as an undefined setting. That’s called a lack of transparency. I’ll go into more  detail on trial & error and transparency in the upcoming Esther Winchester design  video, but suffice to say here, it’s bad. But that’s somehow not

all. Remember earlier  when MatPat was overwhelmed by the controls during the screen-flipping? Well, ends up,  his confusion of the controls has real merit. [MatPat] Whoa… what?! Hold up. Wait. Wait, are the controls- hold  up… are- no the controls aren’t… Now they are flipped. Okay the controls weren’t  flipped and now they are?! Shoot, I can’t figure out if  the controls are flipped or not. [Shawn] MatPat is, in fact, correct. As we’ve discussed, for R-Control A,  the controls are relative to

the plane, so moving left moves left on the plane, right  moves right, up looks up, and down crouches. This should work the exact same across all  orientations: upright, sideways, and upside-down. The controls work perfectly for upright  and sideways — both 90° and 270° — but, for whatever reason, when upside-down,  everything is backwards. When you’re upside-down, moving left moves right, right  moves left, up crouches, and down looks up. Incredibly, while upside-down, Cuphead  moves the exact

same between both control schemes — R-Control A and R-Control  B. What does this mean? It means the R-Control B control scheme somehow bled  into R-Control A. While upside-down, Cuphead should not move like R-Control B if  the player has R-Control A selected. Instead, Cuphead should move left when pressing  left, and look up when pressing up. We can already reasonably estimate  that the R-Control option was not thought through as an accessibility option  during the design and planning of the DL

C, but it goes beyond that: mixing the two  control schemes together is a massive and careless oversight for what’s supposed  to be an accessibility option. At best, it’s inconsistent controls,  and that’s bad enough as is. So not only is the Secret Phase virtually  useless for accessibility purposes, but the R-Control accessibility option is also pretty  much useless and doesn’t even work correctly. Let’s move onto our next reason. Honestly,  at this point, I’m just scraping the barrel. Does th

e Secret Phase exist as an  easier Phase 3? At first glance, this idea seems to run counter to the established  design intent of Cuphead. If a player is unable to beat a boss, that player is expected to  practice until they can. Offering a secret option that is easier than the intended  difficulty would violate this principle. Primarily due to the screen-flip, the  standard Phase 3 is much more difficult than the Secret Phase. The Secret Phase has  the benefit of relevant key learning points, ma

king the learning curve shallow.  The standard Phase 3 does not benefit from key learning points, so the  learning curve is steep. This is the major source of difficulty and the reason why  the standard phase is so much harder. And that creates a problem. The Secret  Phase now circumvents the challenge of the standard phase. In a mastery-based game, this is bad. But let’s not dismiss this  idea yet. Let’s look a little closer. There is a way an easier phase could work, and  that is by tying the

easier phase to the act of discovery. If discovery is a game all in itself,  then we’re not subtracting gameplay by making an easier phase gated by that discovery. But the  key here is to lean into the idea of optional content. We cannot have an easier phase  that serves the same purpose as the standard phase. That would violate our design intent. But  we can have optional content that’s easier. Instead of counting as a defeated boss,  which is required to beat the game, the easier Secret Phase

could give  the player an optional reward. For example, completion of the easier  Secret Phase could award the player a special Rank or distinct indicator  of completion, similar to the special pacifist P Rank awarded when completing  Run ‘n’ Gun levels without hurting enemies. Or instead, it provides no  Rank whatsoever but rather a new equipment option. That’d be really cool. Or maybe, the overworld is all just one  big puzzle, and if the player completes all of those puzzles, they get a  uniq

ue game ending or something. The DLC already introduces something similar  with the secret graveyard boss. Players unlock the boss by talking to the Lantern, Shovel,  and Pickaxe NPCs and using the information they provide to solve an overworld puzzle. And  it works pretty darn well. A giant, overarching overworld puzzle is probably an idea getting  too big for its britches, but you get the point. Make the easier content optional, make it its own thing, and it doesn’t have  to conform to the ori

ginal design intent. But none of what I just talked about exists.  This is all just theoretical. So obviously, this is not the reason why  the Secret Phase exists. That just brings us back to our original  question, “Why does the phase exist,” and honestly, I don’t have an answer. The phase is not  reasonably discoverable, which makes all of the reasons it could exist moot. And since it’s not  reasonably discoverable, it’s essentially wasted. Which is a shame because the Secret Phase is  pretty

well-designed, if a little lackluster, and given the numerous problems the  standard Phase 3 has, it’s a bummer that the two weren’t combined. Take the best  elements from both and leave the bad. Combine the good mechanical follow-through of the Secret  Phase with the big thematic presentation of the standard phase. And since we’ve got the entire  second phase to rework since it’s garbage, we can introduce the screen-flip earlier on,  making the whole thing more cohesive. Introduce the screen-fl

ip earlier, reduce mental burden and  carry key learning points through the whole fight. So anyway, here’s your 2-hour examination  of a 2-minute boss fight. Game design is complicated. But thankfully, you have this  channel to Subscribe and come back to. Listen — don’t leave quite yet. This video  is brought to you by YOU, the viewers, the people who find enough value in this  channel to wait patiently for each new release. I am always working on the next  big project in between videos alongsid

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