As the title might imply, I’ve been playing Prince Of Persia: The Lost Crown. It’s the first game in the series for 14 years, mainly because publisher Ubisoft pivoted its energies into spiritual successor, and intense money-maker, Assassin’s Creed. The move makes financial sense, but after playing The Lost Crown, I’m burning up something rotten.
The Lost Crown is a well-designed Metroidvania but playing it unlocked a deep well of memories connected to 2003’s Prince Of Persia: The Sands Of Time – specifically the beauty in its platforming sequences. In that game, you’d jump, flip over bars, sprint across walls, accidentally die on a bed of spikes, before rewinding time so you can have another shot at not bungling the run. Many games are built around nailing tough platforming sequences, but few feel as elegant and rewarding as Prince Of Persia.
While playing The Lost Crown, I had that lovely sense of rediscovering an old joy. The same brutal assault courses are there, the Iranian vibes are still refreshing, and the movement mechanics possess the same fluid and satisfying zip. In short, the experience reaffirmed Prince Of Persia’s place among my favourite games ever.
I don’t know how to explain this transition, but I’ve now started to think I want to fuck Persia itself. I originally wondered if an actual Prince of Persia exists today, only to discover Persia is basically Iran and no royal dynasty has existed there since 1979. The oldest son of the last Shah (aka king) of Iran, however, is alive and his name is Reza Pahlavi. A Prince Of Persia! How my heart sang! He’s 63 and married with three daughters! Fuck.
I started to look at the box art for The Sands Of Time on PS2. Was I secretly into whatever this grimace is? He barely looks like that in the game, I thought. I brought up the fuzzy character model from gameplay footage. A long dormant feeling shivered my toes. Did I just like the way he shimmied across platforms in those shaggy harem pants all this time?
After some mild contemplation, I began watching a compilation video of Iranian/Persian men on YouTube – for research purposes. There’s clearly some cherry-picking involved in the chosen sample, but the vibe across the board is a winner. The closing section puts the spotlight on the Iranian football team. I’m flabbergasted. Why is anyone bothering with Jack Grealish when this man exists? And this man? And THE BELOW man?
By this point – the point where I’m stalking Iranian footballers on Instagram – I’ve concluded I can never visit the country. I would be vulnerable and frankly, in a permanent dreamlike state imagining my life with all these 10/10 kings. Did I just want to fuck the Prince all along? Let’s rewind and never speak of this again.
StarkTreatment 