The Prince is so good at wallrunning, it feels like he doesn't need you to help at all.

I must admit, I let out an involuntary laugh when I heard the title character in Prince of Persia let loose with the line, "either of us could die any minute." This laugh came not because the line was a bit hackneyed (it was) or badly delivered (it wasn't). No, I laughed because the one thing that sets Prince of Persia apart from other platform games -- more than anything else -- is the fact that the main characters are never in danger of dying "any minute." No matter how many 100-foot chasms the Prince falls down, no matter how many times he's sliced up by an enemy sword, no matter how many times he stumbles into the undulating black "Corrpution" that dots the land, his God-powered magical companion Elika is there to reach out a glowing blue hand and drag him back to the safety of the nearest piece of solid ground.


In practice, this failure mechanic isn't all that different than those in the recent rash of "infinite life" action platformers (Jak & Daxter, Ratchet & Clank), where the only penalty for death is a brief animation, a fade to black and a reset at the nearest checkpoint. The difference is primarily one of flow. Elika's quick, magical corrections for every misstep give the platforming sections a nice, quick pace that's rarely interrupted by loading screens or extraneous animations. The game is further helped in this regard by some extremely forgiving controls (the Prince always seems to land in exactly the right spot to set up his next acrobatic move) and subtle visual clues that hint at the path the Prince should take. Faded scratches on a wall, for instance, highlight an obvious wall-running path, while a sudden on-screen color drain notes the need for a life-saving mid-jump heave from the floating Elika. It all combines to create a feeling of omniscience and invincibility , a smooth flow of inexorable progress towards the end goal, rather than the frustrating stop-and-go stutter-step of most other platformers.

I'm not sure why Elika bothers following you on the wall when she could just, y'know, fly.

But the things that make Prince of Persia so elegant and enjoyable to watch are the same things that make it so unengaging to actually play. The gameplay breaks down into a simplistic input-response feedback loop, where all you have to do is press the right button for each of the few different on-screen situations. See a golden hook on the wall? Press circle to grab it and keep the Prince running to the next location. Run into a magic plate on the wall? Press triangle to watch the Prince jump effortlessly to the next area. Sure, these oft-repeated set pieces are arranged into some beautifully organic levels, but they also combine to form minutes-long stretches where you don't even have to touch the control stick once. It feels like the game is largely playing itself for you, like a roller coaster that briefly stops at the crest of a hill to ask you to tell it to go down.

One of roughly one million grapples you'll mash buttons through during Prince of Persia's battles.

But even the enjoyable (if a bit simple) flow is unfortunately broken up by some incredibly slow and repetitive combat sections. These plodding one-on-one fights usually take place in a large, empty, circular room where you and your opponent slowly circle each other, waiting for the correct moment to strike. Getting a few hits in can lead to a near-effortless series of unblockable, beautifully animated combo strikes, but your computer opponents have a seemingly preternatural ability to parry most attacks, turning each battle into an overly choreographed war of attrition more than a measure of combat skill. What's more, the Prince's Elika-granted invincibility saps whatever tension might have come from the battles, replacing it with boredom and frustration as you continue to push your unstoppable force against the enemy's immovable object.

The Prince admires the game's best feature -- its amazing environments.

After these fights are over, the pacing is further marred when Elika uses her powers to bring verdant life back to her ruined, dilapidated kingdom. Don't get me wrong, it's a beautiful effect that highlights the excellent level design, where every wall and platform looks like part of a ruined civilization (rather than a simple contrivance designed to allow the Prince to move on). This revival, though, brings about the most tedious portions of the game, which require the player to backtrack through just-finished areas to collect the light orbs that power Elika's magical abilities. I suppose the point of these sections is to give players a chance to revisit these ruined areas now that they've been revived with new life, but any "Oh, now it's green" wonder at these new environments is overruled by the frustration of pointlessly repeating the same exact moves a second time.

The PlayStation 3 and Xbox 360 versions of Prince of Persia are nearly indistinguishable in terms of visuals, load time and gameplay. Even the button layouts are identical, so you should have no trouble transitioning from one version to another. The only major difference is a mandatory five-minute, 2 GB installation at the beginning of the PS3 version, giving the Xbox 360 the slight edge.

Late in the game, Elika remarks to the Prince that she "won't always be there to save you." But the real problem with Prince of Persia is that it seems designed to perpetually save you from even the slightest hint of challenge or frustration. For all its beautiful environments and animations, it's a game that makes the player feel extraneous and, ultimately, feel as if it's a bit pointless to continue playing.

This review is based on a retail copy of the game provided by the publisher.