Prince Of Persia is divisive. As we played through hour after hour of what is undeniably a visually beautiful experience, what dawned on us was a growing sense of horror. A creeping fear that this may well be one of the most difficult reviews we’re ever likely to have to write. Because, as the title suggests, Prince Of Persia wants to start afresh. It wants to exist as if nothing of the series had existed before. And it aims to bring in a new audience that hasn’t picked up a Prince game.

We’d even stretch as far as say that it aims to bring under its wing folks who haven’t even played games before. And like so many series that opt for a dumbing down in favour of sparking the interest of a new audience, alienating fans is nigh-on unavoidable. But, where other games fail in paying necessary fan service once the handholding has released its restrictive grip, Prince Of Persia segues into a rhythm that’ll be reassuringly familiar to both noob and fanboy alike. A balance has been struck, and as precarious as it is at times, Ubisoft has provided the stabilisers to pull it off.

A long time ago, in a place called youth, we recall having to wade through an instruction manual before even inserting whatever the media into whatever device would eat it. Over the years of course, manuals have become a shiny marketing peripheral, whose purpose has been eschewed in favour of a training mission or level. While some games will allow experienced players to cut through the BS and get straight into the good stuff, others do not.

Prince Of Persia is notable for a level of guilt in this respect. It’s not ashamed of it. In fact, it’s quite happy to admit that it’s chopping down your cherry tree as it gleefully takes you through the first couple of hours in a Simon says-like stream of button prompts. Press B to continue your wall run, it politely suggests. “I see,” you remark as you continue your wall run. Ten seconds pass. Press B to continue your wall run, it politely suggests. Surely even the most cack-handed of aunties will take offence at handholding so tight as to crack every one of their clumsy digits.

But on the other side of the coin, those who are new to the series – the ones for whose training the dumbbell tolls – may well appreciate all this mollycoddling. We now live in a world where us so-called hardcore gamers are no longer those for which the industry as a whole primarily caters. And we’d better get used to it. But there’s only so much of this nonsense anyone can put up with. And thankfully, once the game world opens up and the frequency of on-screen prompts becomes less like pigeons and more like snow leopards, things become far more enjoyable.

The plot is standard platform-game fare. All such games revolve around the hub to objective to hub structure, and when you think about it, there’s only so many stories that’ll fit. The Prince is your main player, with Elika – the love interest – following you along to assist you with magic, engage in witty repartee and to point you in the right direction when you’re hopelessly lost. The Prince, of course, is your stereotypical callous, narcissistic dandy, a man apparently out for himself who becomes an accidental hero, unwittingly entwined in the game’s events. He’s Han Solo. He’s Aladdin. He’s Tom Sawyer.

… continued