NOTE: If you haven't played the most recent Prince of Persia games, please be aware that I will not tell you when spoilers erupt from the essay below. This blog post is full of them. Also, the formatting in this blog is different from how I actually wrote it. Don't worry about the lack of italics or bold or whatever. It just doesn't matter enough for me to change it. Also, there is a footnote at the end of the essay, but it is not hyperlinked. Chalk it up to laziness.
I have a distinct memory of my first experience with Prince of Persia. It was the original Apple II game from 1989, developed by Jordan Mechner. In it, the gamer controls the dynamic hero through a set of fiendishly difficult traps in an attempt to save the princess. Standard fare, by all counts. My memories are a bit blurry, in part because I was still very young. I don't think the game was new when I was first exposed to it, but even then I can't be sure. I do remember this:
I was at my friend's house. His dad was a casual gamer of the late '80s, and was instrumental in introducing me to a number of classic titles, including an animated 3-D chess game, an updated version of Pitfall (released for the Windows 95 OS) and the original Wolfenstein. What was remarkable to me, though, with PoP, was the difficulty I had (when I tried it) of simply playing the game. Jumps were tricky, requiring precise timing and endless practice.
There was a brutal time limit counting down, adding to the stress of the situation. Worse than that, with a keyboard full of potential buttons, I never knew what to press when stuck in a fencing match with one of the poor guards who was forced to keep me in my dungeon pit. I remember watching my avatar crouch over three possible vials, not knowing which one might be poisonous--and invariably finding that one, instead of the 'full life' vial I had been searching for. More than anything, though, I remember watching my friend's dad's hands tremble on the keyboard (he has a type of palsy that makes his hands twitch--it wasn't because of passion for the game or anything). That image has taken up a permanent residence in my mind.
Now, two decades later, I have just finished the latest Prince of Persia, a very interesting addition to the franchise. (This, to be clear, is the one that was released for the Xbox 360, PlayStation 3, and PC in 2008.) Though not as difficult as previous titles, I did find that my hands occasionally trembled on the controller--more from incontinent rage about 'the computer cheating' (an accusation that I level frequently at the PoP games) than anything else. Still, I found PoP to be fulfilling and worthwhile from both a ludological and narratological point of view.
Digging Deeper Through the Desert
There is a missed opportunity within PoP that bears reconciliation. This isn't accusatory, for the narrative told was told this way for a reason. Still, the possibility of what it could have been--indeed, the ghost of every murdered choice haunts us in this as in real life--should be considered.
Secondary NPC, primary character, Elika is the love interest, the moving force, and the exhausting gimmick of the game. As an NPC she is pure utility--useful for propelling the Prince as much as the plot, but little else. As primary character within the narrative, she is the motivation for the wall-runs and the numbing battles. As love interest she falls into a cliched deontological paradigm of being worth the sacrifice of the entire world. As the moving force, she operates as the encyclopedic expression of the diversity and richness of the world now Corrupted. As exhausting gimmick, she circumvents the conventions, providing a 'life-animation' instead of a 'death-animation' when the gamer fails.
The game's eponymous Prince has a past that is loosely described by him, yet fails to reveal--either in the main course of the game or in its overpriced epilogue--how the game should have derived the Prince of Persia title. Granted, the land is barren and desert-like, reminiscent of the Arabian Nights. Yet any mention of Babylon or Persia is missing. The Prince's past is best explained by the manual, in which it says that he is prince "in name only." Though he is prince in name, he is not in the game. With an obvious refusal to acknowledge his royalty within the confines of this first installment, the game would perhaps be better called Elika, for she is what, in the end, matters in the game.
Herein lies the missed opportunity. The game has already eschewed the logical connection between it and its predecessors, an opening that allows growth outward in an industry that seems to fears intellectual expansion almost as much as it craves audience expansion. With this gap available, why make the Prince the playable character? Why have Elika be relegated to a 'damsel in distress' stereotype only slightly fractured by her useful and necessary role? She is no Ashley Graham (from Resident Evil 4), but she is no Lara Croft (from Tomb Raider) either. With a possibility so broad, why ultimately regress into standard gender roles?
Lara as a Leader
The idea of Lara Croft being what the Prince calls himself (a 'tomb raider') may be a slight explanation for wanting to avoid casting Elika as the main character, but comparisons between the two dry up rapidly.
Lara Croft is buxom (always, though the degree has changed over the years) and oozes a latent sexuality in every animation. This very characteristic of hers was capitalized upon by casting Angelina Jolie as Lara Croft in the movie offshoots. Elika, conversely, though aware of her femininity, does not use it as a tool to manipulate the Prince (he does it to himself by falling for her). She is--for a video game character--modestly dressed in her default costume* and recognizes that, despite the Prince obviously sending out signals, she is focused on the task at hand.
Lara is also extraordinarily proactive (a natural extension of being the playable character), a trait that plays well into her abilities as an avatar. Elika, on the other hand, is passive almost to a fault, only stepping forward when it's to save the Prince from death. Every other action she does only occurs when the gamer (via the Prince) presses the Assist Button.
Lastly, the motivations that drive the two characters are about as opposite as possible. Lara's long history has also lead to a lot of retconning of her past, her family, and why she does what she does. Yet it all started with a tank-top, short-sporting should-be model shooting exotic animals and solving centuries-old puzzles inside of tombs. Her motivation is similar to that of Indiana Jones': Go on adventures because it'll be adventerous. The higher motivations failed--in part because the idea of deeper complexities within a character had yet to be recognized within the gaming form. Elika intially rejects the Prince, trying to push him away so that he would not get harmed by assisting her. Her goal is to undo the terrible damage that she is indirectly responsible for, an atoning action that forces her every step of the way--to the point that she ultimately abandons the Prince at the end of the Epilogue, knowing that what they have done is an irreparable harm to the world she sought to save.
Still, the comparison still fits in that both women are intelligent, capable, athletic, beautiful, and other important characteristics. Nevertheless, there is enough difference between who Elika is--gameplay mechanics and visual style aside--that sets her apart from her longer-lived sister. Wanting to avoid comparisons to Lara Croft could never be a justified reason for pushing Elika into her subservient role.
But aside from this juxtaposition, how else is Elika slighted by her stance as secondary character? It is notable and lamentable that the story served the Prince more than the princess, but even within the confines of the game and its story there is a subtle statement about worth. Not only is the Prince essentially invincible (in a fight, even if the gamer fails to execute a QTE command properly, death is not the result; instead, the opponent is forced back by Elika and heals back some of its lost health), but Elika, quite pointedly, is not. In fact, she dies twice, before the beginning and at the end. Life for men, it seems to insinuate, is endless, but the life of women is transient, fragile, throw-away.
This type of comment is probably rejected by most readers, and the developers certainly weren't thinking about making a statement about the worth of women's lives over men's. And I do not think that the game ultimately argues that. It should be pointed out that this woman's life is of such great worth to the Prince that he undoes everything that the gamer has done throughout the entire game! In a more literal sense than Metal Gear Solid 4 could ever hope to do, the Prince takes Prince of Persia and brings it back to zero. All effort, all violence, all near-death experiences are rendered void for the simple expression that is most frequently sung about and most rarely understood: love.
Elika cannot be the main character when the story's exploration is about how a man who has never cared for much (save 'carpets this thick!') now cares more than the world for a single woman--who may or may not reciprocate. The unrequited love theme is a trope, is an archetype, and is enhanced by the way this game plays.
When looked at from one angle, it is because of how important, subservient, and 'pushed back' she is that the Prince begins to understand how deeply he needs her. At the very end of the game (not the Epilogue), the Prince has to destroy the four trees that he and Elika have spent the entire game ameliorating. Without Elika, the process of climbing up to where the trees are is more laborious and requires additional innovation. In other words, her absence makes life more difficult. This realization pushes the Prince to do the unthinkable; it seems to provide a counter-argument to the idea of the worth of Elika's life.
What Works, What Doesn't
As the gamer moves the Princely avatar from one Fertile Ground to the next, performing acrobatic feats that would green any parkour runner with jealousy, a sense of immortality arises. This comes, in no small part, from the fact that Elika is always there to save the Prince. Any misstep, failed jump, or poorly aimed run will result in an instant 'respawn' at the last flat surface--carried out by a brief animation of Elika reaching down and plucking the Prince from doom, their hands clasping together as she carries him to safety. This is part of the redemption of the religation to subservience that Elika suffers--though she is not the one in control (nor being controlled), she is the only one that is capable of completing the task. She may not be the titular character, but she is the only reason the game works.
As I said earlier, this is not necessarily an attack on the game. It wouldn't work if the roles were reversed, in part because natural archetypal baggage is at play within the game that allows the gamer to take mental, narrative shortcuts. (Princess-in-peril: this provides an easy reference for goals that the gamer should already know, a shorthand that gives the story a mesh of preconceived narrative bits, ideally allowing the story to move forward without scaffolding additional background motivation.) More than that, however, the Prince in this game is much more helpless than he lets on, which allows Elika additional expansion as a character.
The Prince is pointedly ignorant of what is going on--done so that gamers have a relatable character with whom they will learn about the world they now inhabit. Thanks to his naivety, one of the important steps in developing video game narrative is exposed: plot progression at the pace of the player. The gamer is allowed to reference Elika for hints, recommendations, and backstory. This is accessed by speaking with her (pressing either L button), and can be done at almost any time. Those who are interested in learning why Ahriman is eroding the world are welcome to hear more; those more interested in the next wall jump can proceed immediately to it.
What works is the concept of control; the gamer is allowed to control the quantity of story that is fed in--whether it be much or little. The dialogue also furthers the relationship that the two have, the way they learn to trust each other, and an understanding of the Prince's interest in Elika as a potential love interest. All of this compounds together to enhance the storytelling, a beautiful execution and acceptance of the paths that interactive storytelling provides.
There is a flaw in this, however. Despite the fact that when the story is revealed, it still, of necessity (it seems) breaks into brief cutscenes, during which time only the slight manipulation of the camera is possible. When Elika is explaining about the Corruption that's infesting her home, the gamer cannot be simultaneously exploring it. This is for the best; the story would be lost in the spectacle of incessant bounding and climbing. However, it has again fallen into the trap of traditional storytelling in an untraditional format.
Lastly, there is an issue with the necessity of the Epilogue to describe what actually occurs within the story's architecture. The game's ending fits the game, the Epilogue provides enough closure to allow for patience until the sequel is (and should be) released. But what is most important for the Epilogue is establishing the fractured relationship that Elika and the Prince now share. She had knowingly sacrificed herself to prevent a worser evil, but the utilitarian philosophy that she espouses grates against the more deontological view that the Prince adheres to. This fundamental difference provides a lot of growth (narratively) for the characters, but also exposes the rationale that the Prince uses for justifying his actions of releasing the Dark God. He claims that her death is precisely what Ahriman wanted, since with her death so dies any chance of resistance. Yet the attentive gamer can't help but feel that he felt guilt for having not fully performed his duty toward her in protecting her from Ahriman, while simultaneously coming to grips with the love he feels for her--a love that she has essentially expressed as being one-sided.
The Epilogue pursues these threads fairly well; the price tag for continuing not even 2 more hours of the game, however, is a little steep. Monetary gripes aside, the Epilogue ultimately ends up being an essential part of the experience, as well as providing the wanted closure that keeps the game from suffering from the Assassin's Creed syndrome.
Closing Thoughts
Prince of Persia has moved video games forward, I think, in some small but notable ways. But, as will always be the case, the characters' depth and complexity, their burgeoning respect and (possibly unrequited) love for each other making for a more vested interest in the game. The mechanics are wonderful, the levels brilliantly designed, and the semi-open ended approach is a refreshing take on the franchise. More than that, however, there is a sense of wonder at the world that was explored, a sentiment of awe that provides the best kind of games--the type that live in the imagination and memory long after the disc has stopped spinning.
*Bonus content: One of Elika's alternative costumes is a remake of the outfit worn by Jade in BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL, which casts a very strong, independent, and un-stereotypical woman in the leading role. Jade is strong, smart, and resourceful--the same as Elika--but she carries the title, rather than Elika's religation to the back seat.
Of course, it would be remiss not to mention that Farah, the silk- and scantily-clad love interest of the earlier PoP games is also available for Elika to wear. This only further emphasizes the arguments in the essay.
Comments