"But these changes are less meaningful because they have no impact on the game world. All that has happened is The Witness has taught you its made-up language of stars and Tetris shapes and squirming lines worming through seemingly countless mazes. Once you realize how little is actually happening in the world of The Witness, progression relies more on endurance than curiosity. You won’t revive any vast machinery. You won’t put massive gears into motion. You won’t find the man behind the curtain. There is no curtain. There is no man. No one waits behind any of these doors. Well, that’s not entirely true. The cutscenes are like Woody Allen’s documentary in Crimes and Misdemeanors, in which his character just runs footage of some elderly intellectual prattling on. It’s fascinating to him. He can’t comprehend that it wouldn’t be fascinating to everyone else.
As far as worlds go, The Witness isn’t the least bit interested in telling you anything about itself. Imagine playing Portal without GlaDOS, without Wheatley, without the dark hints about Aperture Science, without being able to see behind the bright white panels, humorless and sterile. It holds forth with lectures it heard once about Buddhist koans or it cites long quotes from some sort of 16th century manuscript that it happened to be reading for god only knows what reason. By the time it ends — and it does end, so make sure to keep those saved games handy if you’re interested in the optional puzzles — you’re none the wiser about any sort of place or story. If you persevered through The Witness hoping for a twist, or reveal, or resolution, the joke’s on you. Puzzles all the way down. Quite literally.
When I was done, the feeling wasn’t elation or even satisfaction. It was that feeling you get when you finally pass part of a game you never want to have to play again. I couldn’t shake a vague resentment that I’d squandered dozens of hours to no effect beyond now knowing the made-up language of The Witness’ puzzles. Not that I’m above squandering dozens of hours in a videogame. It’s just that I prefer squandering them because I’m building something, or leveling up a character, or beating a time or score, or resolving Trevor’s storyline, or collecting more pointless stuff in virtual Gotham, or figuring out how to use banelings, or rescuing the princess from whatever damn castle she’s finally in. The Witness probably sneers at those hours because they didn’t teach me self-contained rules about when a green star can be in the same section as a yellow star. They didn’t expand my mind by teaching it what those little hollow blue squares mean. They didn’t make me look up James Burke on Wikipedia."
...
"It’s also not as narrative-free as I’m making it sound. I think of narrative, of storytelling, as a progression from ignorance to wisdom. In the beginning, I don’t know who these characters are or what they’re doing or what’s going to happen to them because of the choices they make, or whether it will have any resonance with my life. By the time it’s over, I do. A story is the act of learning these things. The Witness is the act of learning rules. Or, more accurately, of being taught rules. Because The Witness is a teaching method minus any content. It is — forgive the use of this word, because I usually wince when I read it, but it belongs on the other side of a colon at the end of The Witness’ title — pure heuristics, entirely and only about how you learn something with no regard for what you learn because it’s useless for anything other than getting to what you’re going to learn next, which is again useless for anything other than getting to what you’re going to learn next, which will in turn be useless for anything other than what you’re going to learn next. Pure and empty. Puzzles that teach you how to solve other puzzles. Most puzzle games do this. I don’t know of any puzzle games that do only this. The Witness eventually folds in on itself in a dizzying self-referential and self-reverential masterclass that collapses into a black hole of puzzle solving from which no story can escape."
...
"I might have preferred The Witness as a long-term proposition, taking time off to let my head clear, to occasionally ponder it, to spend time elsewhere for a while. This many puzzles, this much time spent staring at this many grids, this much trial and error is a bit much to take in the space of a week or so. But there’s no other way to play The Witness. As with any language, your Witness skills will atrophy if you don’t use them. When you come back after a few days, after a week, god forbid, after a month, you will have to back up and relearn everything. This is not a game about intuition or logic. It is a game about learning the made-up language created by the developers, who painstakingly teach you what a dot means, what a star means, what a star with a dot means, what a color means, what a shape means, what a shape and color mean, what a shape and a color and a star mean, combining, interacting, conjugating like verbs, hyphenating, neverending neologisms. Did I mention everything will be on the final exam? The various drawn-out finales merge all the rules into a tangled clotted polyglot of rules for rules’ sake. Just when you thought everything has come together in a fiendishly clever intersection, you still have a mountain more of puzzles. Imagine opening a hatch expecting to find a trove and instead discovering a deep pit. If you think there’s a trove down there, you’re in the wrong game."
That's disappointing to hear. I already own it but not that excited to play right now after reading Tom Chick's review.