Prince of Persia

In this 2008 reboot of the Prince of Persia series, the Prince is separated from his treasure-laden donkey during a sandstorm and finds himself in a mysterious canyon. There, he meets Elika, a magical princess fleeing her father’s army. Together, they arrive at the Temple of the Tree of Life just as her father unleashes Ahriman, the ancient God of Darkness, from his prison. As the world is threatened by Ahriman’s corrupting influence, the Prince and Elika must work together to restore the Tree of Life by collecting Seeds of Life, battling powerful enemies, and traversing a stylized, cel-shaded world of platforming challenges and acrobatic combat.

Prince of Persia (2008): A Contested Rebirth

In the vast, sun-scorched annals of video game history, few names carry the weight and legacy of Prince of Persia. By 2008, the series had already been masterfully rebooted once with the acclaimed Sands of Time trilogy. Ubisoft’s decision to reboot it again was a bold, perhaps audacious, move. The resulting game, simply titled Prince of Persia, stands not as a mere sequel, but as a profound and deeply divisive re-imagining. It is a title that prioritizes a sublime, painterly experience and a character-driven narrative over traditional challenge and complex mechanics, a choice that would define its reception and cement its place as a beautiful, flawed, and unforgettable outlier in the franchise it bears.

Development History & Context

Ubisoft Montreal, fresh from the success of the Sands of Time trilogy and the ambitious, if flawed, Assassin’s Creed, approached this new Prince of Persia with a clear mandate: to reinvent. The gaming landscape of late 2008 was dominated by gritty realism, military shooters, and a push for graphical fidelity. In this environment, the development team, led by Producer Ben Mattes and Creative Director Jean-Christophe Guyot, made a series of conscious, radical decisions.

They abandoned the hyper-realistic aesthetic of Warrior Within and The Two Thrones in favor of a bold, cel-shaded art style that resembled a living watercolor painting. This was a direct response to the industry’s “brown-yellowish” palette, aiming for a timeless, dreamlike quality. Technologically, they leveraged the Scimitar engine (a precursor to the Anvil engine used in Assassin’s Creed) to create vast, open “levels” that were more like interconnected playgrounds, a significant departure from the tightly scripted, corridor-like levels of the previous trilogy.

The most controversial design choice, however, was the integration of the new character, Elika, as a core gameplay mechanic. The team sought to eliminate player frustration, moving away from the “trial and error” and “Game Over” screens that defined the platforming genre. Their vision was one of uninterrupted flow, where the spectacle of movement and the developing relationship between the two protagonists would take center stage. This was a gamble—an attempt to court a broader, perhaps more “casual” audience, while hoping the series’ core fanbase would appreciate the new direction.

Narrative & Thematic Deep Dive

The narrative completely severs ties with the Sands of Time storyline. Our protagonist is no longer a prince; he is a nameless, wisecracking adventurer and treasure hunter, voiced with roguish charm by Nolan North. After a sandstorm separates him from his donkey, Farah (a clever nod to the previous trilogy), he stumbles upon Elika, a princess fleeing her father’s guards. Her father, the Sultan, has just freed Ahriman, the God of Darkness, in a desperate bargain to save Elika’s life. The duo’s quest is to heal the land by cleansing fertile grounds corrupted by Ahriman’s oily darkness and ultimately re-imprison him.

The plot serves as a functional framework, but the true narrative strength lies in the character development and their dynamic. The Prince begins as a self-absorbed, sarcastic fortune-seeker, while Elika is initially stern, duty-bound, and resistant to his flippant attitude. The game’s most innovative storytelling mechanic allows the player to initiate optional conversations by pressing a button when the characters are idle. These dialogues, which range from playful banter to revelations about their pasts and fears, are not merely exposition dumps. They are the engine of the relationship. Over time, the archetypes soften; the Prince’s cynicism gives way to genuine care, and Elika’s rigidity melts into warmth and vulnerability.

This slow-burn partnership evokes comparisons to games like Ico, focusing on the emotional bond between two characters reliant on each other for survival. The central theme is one of responsibility and sacrifice versus freedom and self-interest. The Prince is dragged into a cosmic conflict he wants no part of, while Elika is bound by a destiny she cannot escape. Their journey is about finding a middle ground, a shared purpose that transcends their individual motivations. While some critics found the Prince’s dialogue annoyingly anachronistic, others praised the writing for its ability to make players genuinely care about the duo by the story’s poignant conclusion.

Gameplay Mechanics & Systems

The gameplay of Prince of Persia 2008 is the epicenter of its controversy. It is built on three pillars: acrobatic platforming, simplified combat, and the omnipresent role of Elika.

The Platforming: The controls are supremely streamlined. A single button handles most acrobatics—running on walls, jumping, swinging—with the context determining the specific action. The level design is less about precise, pixel-perfect jumps and more about finding a “flow state.” The Prince magnetically snaps to ledges and beams, creating a cinematic, fluid spectacle. The challenge shifts from execution to observation and rhythm. While this creates an exhilarating, dance-like sense of movement, it removes the tension and consequence that defined earlier games. The platforming is a visual delight, but it can feel automated, like an “interactive movie” or a series of quick-time events without the button prompts.

The Combat: The complex combo-based battles against multiple enemies from the Sands of Time trilogy are gone. Combat is now exclusively one-on-one, taking place in small, circular arenas. It revolves around a rock-paper-scissors system of attacking, dodging, and using Elika’s magic to break an enemy’s guard. The system is simple and cinematic, emphasizing acrobatic flourishes and cooperative takedowns. However, it is widely criticized for its lack of depth and repetition. Enemies, particularly the standard “Corrupted,” are visually homogenous (black, oily blobs) and become predictable, leading to battles that feel more like obligatory interruptions than engaging tests of skill.

Elika’s Role: The “No Death” Mechanic: This is the game’s most defining and debated feature. It is impossible for the Prince to die. A mistimed jump or a fatal blow from an enemy triggers an immediate, automatic rescue by Elika. She teleports the Prince back to the last safe platform or pulls him away from combat, with the minor penalty of the enemy regenerating some health. Ubisoft marketed this as a revolutionary feature, but in practice, it functions as an extremely generous checkpoint system. Critics lambasted it for eliminating all sense of danger and consequence, arguing it made the game “too easy.” Defenders, however, contended that it preserved the game’s pacing and artistic flow, preventing frustration and allowing players to focus on the spectacle and story. It was a conscious design decision that prioritized a consistent, enjoyable experience over traditional hardcore challenge.

World-Building, Art & Sound

If there is one aspect of the game that receives near-universal acclaim, it is its artistic presentation. The cel-shaded visual style is breathtaking. The world is a vibrant, expansive canvas of bright blues, golds, and greens in the healed areas, starkly contrasted with the oppressive, consuming blackness of the corruption. The architecture is fantastical and impossibly grand, with towering ruins and floating structures that feel like something from a myth.

The art direction, led by Mickail Labat, creates a powerful sense of atmosphere. Healing a fertile ground is a rewarding visual spectacle, as color and life flood back into the environment, pushing back the darkness. The character designs are equally stylized, with the Prince’s agile, fluid animations and Elika’s elegant, magical movements being a constant source of pleasure.

The sound design complements the visuals perfectly. The score by Inon Zur and Stuart Chatwood is a sweeping, orchestral masterpiece that blends Middle Eastern motifs with epic fantasy themes, enhancing the game’s dreamlike, fairy-tale quality. The sound of the wind whistling through canyons, the creak of ancient metal, and the unsettling whispers of the corruption all contribute to an deeply immersive audio landscape.

Reception & Legacy

Upon release in December 2008, Prince of Persia received a mixed-to-positive critical response, reflected in its aggregate Moby Score of 8.0/10 and a critic average of 81%. Publications like IGN (93%) and Destructoid (95%) praised its stunning art, fluid gameplay, and compelling character dynamic, often comparing it favorably to experiences like Ico and Shadow of the Colossus. Conversely, outlets like Game Informer (78%) and GameSpot (80%) criticized its low difficulty, repetitive structure, and simplistic combat.

The player base was even more divided. As seen in the user reviews, many longtime fans felt betrayed by the departure from the series’ core tenets. They missed the high-stakes platforming, the intricate combat, and the challenge that defined the previous games. The common refrain was that this was a good game, but a bad Prince of Persia game.

The legacy of Prince of Persia (2008) is complex. Commercially, it underperformed compared to the Sands of Time trilogy, and the planned sequel trilogy was abandoned in favor of the more traditional The Forgotten Sands. Its direct influence is subtle but discernible. The “no-failure” state has been experimented with in other narrative-driven games, and its emphasis on a continuous, cinematic flow can be seen in later action-adventure titles. More than anything, it stands as a testament to the risks and rewards of rebooting a beloved franchise. It is a game that dared to be different, to prioritize artistry and emotion over convention. It failed to win over the entire Prince of Persia faithful, but for many, it created a unique, beautiful, and emotionally resonant experience that remains singular in the action-platformer genre.

Conclusion

Prince of Persia (2008) is a game of stark contrasts. It is visually magnificent yet mechanically simplified. It tells a heartfelt story within a repetitive gameplay loop. It is a title that inspires both deep admiration and profound disappointment. To judge it solely as a Prince of Persia game is to miss its fundamental purpose. It is not a successor to The Sands of Time; it is an alternative vision, a “sightseeing tour” through a breathtaking world guided by a genuinely endearing relationship.

The final verdict is not a simple score, but an acknowledgment of its nature. As one reviewer aptly noted, had this game been titled Dragon’s Lair 2008, it might have been hailed as a resounding success. Its greatest flaw may have been bearing the weight of a name that came with immense expectations. Prince of Persia (2008) is a flawed masterpiece of style and emotion, a beautiful, poignant, and ultimately contentious chapter in video game history that deserves to be remembered not for what it wasn’t, but for the unique and unforgettable experience it was.