A Pot Shot at a Prince of Persia.

I was in a charity shop the other day rummaging through their DVDs, and I came across one called Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time. The man standing next to me tapped the box and said ‘Good film, that.’ ‘I rarely watch historical epics,’ I replied. ‘They’re usually too much Hollywood and not enough history.’

But then I realised that it wasn’t a historical epic, but an epic fantasy supposedly in the style of Pirates of the Caribbean. And so I decided to buy it.

I watched the first thirty two minutes last night, having had difficulty getting through the last thirty of them, at which point I switched it off because I couldn’t bear to watch any more. Predictable script, wooden acting, uninspired direction, lamentably low on plausibility even by the standards of an epic fantasy… Worst of all was the scene in which we first see the princess billed as a woman of legendary beauty. She was hanging her more-than-ample breasts, loosely encased in a less-than-ample silk bikini top, over the edge of the battlements while giving orders to the manly minions waiting to repulse the might of the Persian army. I suppose the silk was authentic, but I doubt the bikini was and I remained unconvinced. The princess would have looked more at home on one of those soft porn calendars you see in mechanics’ workshops.

But of course, it was a Disney production and therefore high on sugar but low on substance. And legendary beauty is represented by an extensive frontal battery so as to appeal to the LCD. That about says it all.

Should I engage in deeper analysis? Nope.