From only a few minutes into its opening scene, I could tell that Uncharted 3: Drake’s Deception wasn’t going to stray far from the formula that made its predecessors so special. And why would it? You can call Uncharted an Indiana Jones knock-off, but developer Naughty Dog has a knack for balancing fantastical, Lucas-esque plotlines with a solid, heartwarming foundation of very believable, very human characters. At times, I almost feel closer to Nate, Sully and Elena than I do to some of my real-life friends–and I don’t say that lightly.

But since completing the much-anticipating threequel last week, I’ve been pondering a persistent and troubling question. Sure, I understand that Uncharted’s most compelling feature has always been its genuinely lovable (or despicable) cast of characters, and I commend its creators for going to unheard-of lengths in fleshing out that intangibly “human” element. Most of that comes through in the ways you’d expect, especially after playing Uncharted 2: great voice acting, real-world dialogue, expressive faces and natural body language.

All of that continues to be great in Uncharted 3. At some point, though, I wonder if that priority interferes with Naughty Dog’s ability to deliver tight, responsive gameplay.

One of the staples in Uncharted’s bag of development tricks is excellent motion capture–basically, an actor puts on a skin-tight, electronic suit that records his or her movements for use in the game. It’s a great way to make convincing animations without too much effort, and in non-interactive cut-scenes, at least, I don’t think anyone would argue that more is better when it comes to mocap. But as I’m dodging gunfire or escaping a burning chateau, I’m not won over by believable animations. I’m just looking to get the hell out of there.

Consider that opening scene I mentioned, an old-fashioned bar brawl that shows off the game’s overhauled melee combat. If you push the attack button in the right place, Nate might grab a bottle or pool cue to smash over some poor fool’s head. It sounds pretty good–hell, I’d probably do the same thing if I was in a tight spot. But in execution, it slows down the pace of the action and, more damningly, removes control from the player. The camera cuts to a new angle, begging you to soak in the sight of Nate slowly, deliberately lifting a half-empty bottle of beer off the table and cracking some skulls. As the animation loop plays out, the player has virtually no control beyond “keep smashing”–in essence, you’re hitting the “replay” button on some motion capture by actor Nolan North. I admit it’s an amusing touch, and you’ll get back to the traditional action soon enough. But compared to the relatively straightforward combat of Uncharted 2, it’s almost like Naughty Dog is a little too in love with its animations. They want you to see it, and they want you to see all of it.

It’s more noticeable in the way Nate moves about the environment. Push the stick all the way forward, and he saunters into a full jog at the same pace you’d expect from your typical 30-year-old dude. It looks good, and it’s quick enough to get you where you need to go. But say you come around a corner and run into a shotgun-toting thug. You jam the stick the other way, expecting an immediate, game-like reversal of momentum. Not so here. Nate shuffles to a stop, deliberately transfers his weight, then starts to pick up speed in the other direction. Yes, it looks good. But by that point, you’re already nursing wounds.

Uncharted 3 is ultimately a masterful experience, but it’s also a reminder that in some ways, games have it rough. A film director, assuming he has a decent actor, can create a believable human character just by pointing a camera at one. Books, too, have the luxury of meticulous, word-for-word control. But inherently, a game creator is forced to hand over the reins–if there’s a bug or if an animation looks silly in a certain context, the illusion is broken. I’ll be glad to see the day that believable animation and tight controls can contribute to immersion without tripping over each other, but I don’t think it’s arrived quite yet.