Third time's the charm

I've known the Prince of Persia way back when he was still in a side-scrolling 3-bit game. As a fan, I had a lot of expectations in the latest film franchise — expectations borne out of fantasizing. Kidding. Gyllenhaal's okay, but there's just too much to ignore, especially for a Masscomm dropout, who has seen the movie three times. Guess who.

This isn't a movie review, in fact there's much to say on the concept as a whole. I can't say I'm impressed, nor disappointed (towards the movie), as that will be your hypothesis by the end of this article. But, as far as you're reading on, there's one thing to ponder: What is an epitome of a typical Prince of Persia?— if there could be any.

I imagined the prince during my childhood wits as this paradoxical figure, a fierce but gentle soul; has an austere sense of justice; and menacingly handsome in appearance. Clearly, I wasn't any ordinary kid off the block. There was a lot to imagine way back when textual descriptions and visual sprites can't seem to provide a clear reference to this elusive being, whom I've been so curious about. As far as development and profit was concerned, there was a need to improve on the illustration, to delve in the persona of the prince to give more substance to his character, to market this prince. When I knew that Disney conceptualized their own interpretation of Prince of Persia, I scowled to the thought of them likening him to that conventional prince-charming archetype, who's reputably polygamous by connotation. My prince is mine. Growl. Well, they were kind of close to doing that and I was close to abhorring it without even being halfway through my own guidelines of a film review. In my thoughts I try to preserve his mystique by comforting myself to the fact that it is a cultural reference that's been widely improvised for promotion. The gaming franchise, so far, is creative but the focus is not on content. In fact, this scheme of heavy abuse on the graphics is an excuse that is most often foregone because it's purposefully driven to awe their (viewer) critical thinking into oblivion. And as for the 2010 movie, their accent had my eyebrows raised; the mostly-Caucasian cast was tolerable for a foreign production; the casting was, in a lack of a better term, close to satisfactory; and a true Persian beauty has no freckles. Gyllenhal seemed to lack a deep connection with the character but he certainly has the Persian package. Pun intended. Did they (Disney people) seriously think that by moderating its viewer discretion, people would stop paying attention to details? I would've preferred a production in an authentic Persian medium, that way, everything in the context but the subtitles are forgiven.

Anybody can have their own subjective views about the prince, especially if you're the type who is obsessed. Like someone I know. By now, you'll be able to tell that this is officially a rant. I guess it's back to imagining. It's the Prince of Persia and me, alone in the perversion of my thoughts.

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Got my fingers crossed on Prince of Persia ;)

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A Separate Piece: Chapter 2 (partial)

The next morning I forgot about the whole thing and I was surprised to find him knocking at my doorstep. My bag was firmly clenched in his hand with unbearable strength of one's feelings, as though the inanimate object would almost squirm in pain. It took me quite a while to remember all the agitation yesterday from that unexpected misdemeanor he demonstrated. His unsightly appearance first thing in the morning already ruined my day. He reeked, so much I couldn't even smell my own morning breath. There was this sort of miasma issuing about him that I had randomly distinguished strangely similar to the odor of a radish. Assuming from how thick the sweat running from his face was, I figured that he was from a jog. More strange, he knew where to find me. I'm not a bit of a morning person, so my head wasn't functional enough to realize that my exploitation yesterday was due to his deplorable skill in rummaging without consent. In our native colloquial term, we call that the 'pakialamero'. Naturally, he would already be familiar with my contact information, which I've withheld from him ever since. By then, I've come to regret the neat-freak that I am for having completely addressed all my notes and journals that with them, even a primate could follow the directions to my residence. When it dawned on me that everything wasn't a dream, my disheveled appearance was just a euphemism of me being wretched beyond the pale. Something tells me this won't be the only time I would get myself involved in any way with this guy.

Before he could sport any attempts for an apology, I outstripped him with the most menacing look I could portray. I'm sure he was able to sense that I was really upset, he was able to realize the gravity of his offense, seeing the remorse on his face—that face, which is so painful to look at. Those eyes of his were in an effort to soften my rising tension, masquerading that uncouth attitude that he's been recognizably known for. He tried to appease my gurgling volcano of thoughts as he slowly handed me my bag without any single word. No sorry, not one bit of regret. That just irked my temper into a broiling pique. I was about to exhale the pressure out when he finally decided to open his mouth first.

"I didn't know that you were—," go ahead, say that word.

"—my neighbor."

I was speechless. That woke me up.

ʚϊɞ