When people ask Polina Dadabaeva how she got into game development, she often smiles and says, “Not by accident, but definitely not by plan.” Today she is a producer with credits across AAA and indie titles, including Saints Row, The Lord of the Rings: Return to Moria, and several in-development games across international teams. But her journey into the industry, and her growing influence within it, have been shaped by one overarching principle: production should protect people, not break them.
We spoke with Polina about building burnout-free teams, what it takes to translate across cultures and disciplines, and why producing games is as much about clarity as creativity.
Let’s start with the big one. What does a good producer do — especially in a small or growing team?
Polina: I always say the same thing: a good producer protects the team. Especially in indie or hybrid studios, where structure is often lacking, a producer is the person who stops chaos from becoming culture. They set priorities, protect calendars, and ensure people are solving the right problems at the right time — and that they aren’t doing it at 2am with coffee and a panic attack.
Early in my time at Tripunk, we grew from a team of 3 to 10. More people meant more pipelines, more cross-team communication, and more deadlines. It was a turning point. If we had continued with the same informal approach, it would have led to misalignment and probably burnout. So I brought in structure: sprint planning, Kanban boards, agile retrospectives. We used RACI matrices to define responsibility, and I introduced feedback loops that worked even with time zone differences.
A lot of this came from my belief that crunch is not just a production failure — it’s a management failure.
Do you see cultural differences in how teams approach production and crunch?
Yes, very clearly. In Russia, where I started, there’s a kind of pride in pushing through pain. Crunch is often seen as normal, or even as a badge of honour. In the UK and US, thankfully, it’s more challenged — even if it still exists. There’s more expectation that a studio will support rest, offer flexibility, or at least recognise the toll.
That said, in multicultural teams, the difference in communication styles can be a bigger challenge than the difference in hours worked. I’ve worked with teams combining Brits, Russians, Italians, Indians — and every culture has different defaults. Some avoid confrontation. Some are direct. Some assume things should be documented, others prefer Slack pings.
That’s where I see the producer not just as a scheduler but as a translator. I often explain that part of my job is “translating” between artists, programmers, designers, and the business side. Not just languages, but expectations. I’ve had to adjust briefs because the wording led to misinterpretation, or restructure team meetings to suit quieter voices. Tone of voice matters. Cultural fluency matters.
What tools or habits help you keep that clarity in complex teams?
I rely a lot on visual clarity. I love tools like Miro, Notion, Trello, and Confluence. In hybrid teams, you can’t just rely on verbal updates. You need documentation that’s readable, traceable, and transparent.
But tools don’t replace communication. I hold regular one-on-ones, gather team feedback, and make sure people know why a decision was made, not just what the decision was. That applies equally to artists wondering why a feature got cut or developers trying to understand why a design spec changed. If you want alignment, you need context.
And sometimes, your job as producer is to choose who gets priority when trade-offs happen. That’s when your principles are tested.
You’ve worked on huge IPs like The Lord of the Rings. What stays the same between AAA and indie production? What changes?
The scale is different, the stakes are different, but the human dynamics are the same. People need to feel heard, projects need to be scoped realistically, and someone needs to hold the process together. With Return to Moria, we saw 50,000 downloads in the first hours after launch. It was one of Epic’s Legendary Titles of the year — which, given the company it was in, like Hogwarts Legacy, was an incredible achievement.
Even with that level of visibility, what made the project successful wasn’t just the IP or budget. It was the ability of our team to hit delivery, align on artistic vision, and react fast without collapsing under pressure. My role, as always, was to make sure the process didn’t break people.
You’ve also created your own internal product: the Sprint Tracker Dashboard. What led you to that?
After working across many studios, I saw how fragmented our production tooling can be. Jira’s fine. ShotGrid’s fine. But producers were wasting hours stitching together insights that should be obvious: Which sprints are slipping? Who’s overloaded? Where are the blockers?
So I decided to build a tool that would do that better. I’m designing the UI/UX, system logic, and data architecture, and partnering with a developer for implementation. It’s about 60% done and should enter testing this year. The goal is to save time, cut through noise, and let producers actually focus on the team — not the spreadsheets.
I think product design is a natural extension of good production thinking. You see the pain, and you build the fix.
What would you tell someone trying to build a career in game production today?
First, it’s okay to learn on the job. I started knowing almost nothing. I cried a lot at the beginning. I made mistakes. But I kept asking questions. I paid attention. I watched how good producers operated. And I made it a point never to prioritise process over people.
Second, don’t be afraid to bring your own voice to the table. I’m a woman, I’m Russian, I’ve worked in multiple countries — and I’ve learned that empathy, structure, and honesty work everywhere.
And finally, always remember: the best production isn’t the most complicated. It’s the one that helps people do their best work, without breaking them in the process.
