Reviews often share certain assumptions about what makes good gameplay. Despite the old claptrap that all quality is subjective and that objectivity is only possible when comparing cardboard thickness, there is one argument that a wide range of game critiques point to as a drawback: downtime.

Too much of it is a bad thing. Or at least worth a mention in a diligent game review. These parts of the game when you’re not actively making decisions or directly influence the course of the game are considered a necessary evil. One which a good design seeks to minimize.

Games are defined by the agency they give us. At least as long as it is our turn. When it ends, we see ourselves as passive observers of the game. Not unlike sitting a movie theatre. But we don’t play to watch something like a film play out. We play games, to take part in them and to have a significant impact on the outcome.

All this is fair and good. Yet, I don’t like that it is treated as self-evident fact that downtime in a game is a flaw. Treating it as a weakness exclusively, suggests that its opposite is an uncontested strength in a game. To be constantly involved in the action. To continuously weigh decisions and act on them. High levels of interaction to always draw our attention. Lighting-quick microturns that change the game state from moment to moment. Undivided attention. Full engagement. Unlimited dopamine hits. Hit the bell. Leave a like.

As a long-time Tik Tok-use this kind of high frequency input is familiar to me. And I don’t really consider it an obvious evil. It’s simply an integral part of certain media and platforms. In many cases, this speed of delivery is the reason we were drawn to them in the first place. Many social media channels are appealing because they quickly present us with new ideas, images and arguments. You don’t need to bend over backwards to draw a parallel to boardgames and our desire to have agency. That is arguably the reason why we devote time to them.

This desire for things to “happen” isn’t limited to games alone. When we talk about films, our interest often circles around the plot. Was it any good, because a lot of things happened? Or was it kind of disappointing, because you could easily sum up everything in a glib sentence or two?

Here, at the latest, it should become apparent that nothing happening isn’t quite the mark of a bad film. The plot in film’s like “My Neighbour Totoro”, “Before Sunrise” or “The Breakfast Club” is at most impressionistic. Things happen, but they aren’t continuously driven by the actions of the respective protagonists. A large part of the film is spend with the characters during their “downtime”. They are films that seem to exist in the breathing space between plot events. Sometimes these scenes are called character beats or character scenes. They are times in which we get to know the characters better, sink deeper into the film’s setting or simply have time to reflect on our own emotions.

Skilled film makers use these moments to control a film’s narrative speed and by extension our experience. Between the story’s loud and dramatic moments, we routinely have quiet scenes that set up events or allow for their impact to be felt. This interplay between plot and “downtime”, between loud and quiet or even between fast and slow, is a purposefully employed storytelling tool.

I think we should look at downtime in games in a similar light. They are the parts of the game, that allow for an up and down in the game’s plot – i.e. the course of play. Downtime shapes the game’s momentum. It also offers us the possibility to be “in the moment” together, instead of rabidly responding to new impulses. Yet the most important difference to film’s narrative flow is that it’s players who control a game’s downtime. They are the ones who through their behaviour add downtime to a game.

Ultimately, this is why I think treating downtime as a design flaw isn’t useful. It is always a consequence of player behaviour. It can enrich our experience, because it gives us some breathing space between impactful decisions. But it can also suck out all the momentum in a game. It can bring play to a screeching halt, break the game’s magic circle until rolling dice and playing cards is little more than triviality. Just adults fidgeting at the table.

That a game can have downtime is an irrelevant observation for a critique, I think. These moments can have a positive and a negative impact. There is a far more interesting question in why downtime emerges.