After an hour or two of playing - err, research - the lines that I had been looking for, between which I hoped to read the story of a world class software developer, began to appear.
It seems the identity of Ubisoft is lightly etched across their entire back catalogue, not particularly visible from any single game, but present in the background nonetheless; delivering a warm, familiar climate to its games via a deep undercurrent of experience. Let me explain how my personal meeting with the entire workforce of Ubisoft - past and present - transpired.
Although I looked up the Ubisoft timeline, the random selection of games I'd rented didn't really lend themselves to an anal consideration of chronological arrangement, and I got straight on with playing whichever game adorned the top of the pile - Prince of Persia: The Two Thrones. Being a one-time fan of the old Amiga version, I had high hopes for this game, and wasn't disappointed - in fact, it proved to be a superb introduction to the Ubisoft hive mind.
I suppose you could call it a strategy game, or a puzzle game, a fighting game, an RPG, even a racing game during a thrilling chariot race through the streets of Babylon. Suffice to say the list is endless enough to ensure the Prince cannot easily be pigeonholed into any specific genre. An impressive feat for a game that has a very distinct style and theme while refusing to restrict itself to one specific mode of gameplay; and without ever feeling like a mishmash of cobbled together mini games. If it must have a genre, it can only be classified as a "Prince of Persia-'em-up."
Once my mind had regained its composure from the toe-curling vertigo and breath-taking anxiety found high above the labyrinthine alleyways of Persia, I was put in mind of the company's name - Ubisoft. My seemingly wasted time surfing the still waters of the internet had at least dredged up the snippet of trivia about the origins of that name, "ubiquity."
Reflecting on the last couple of hours spent clinging to the window ledges of Babylon, sword fighting with savage hordes, deciphering the 3-D physical enigmas of an ancient city and navigating narrow pathways in a high speed chariot derby, the answer to uncovering the identity of the French developer turned out to be in the question.
Ubisoft, like the Prince of Persia himself, really is ubiquitous; everywhere at once, moving in a pattern of its own design. Whether this is an aspect of company policy that dictates the requirements of all Ubisoft titles, or a coincidental parallel of philosophies between the company's founder and the designer of Prince of Persia, it's not my place to say. But that parallel exists nonetheless, and after such an invigorating experience, I was itching to see if it was reflected in any other games.
Next in the pile was Splinter Cell; not an entirely different game. In fact, after the first 10 minutes I was prepared to journey back to Persia, but in the name of research I persevered. And, as you fans of Splinter Cell already know, I'm glad I did.
A favorite of mine back on the PS1 was Tenchu, but Splinter Cell took the concept of a stealth-based game to a whole new level. If I were the designer of this game, you can bet it would have descended into macho mayhem and juvenile violence a long time before the depths of this masterpiece had begun to be explored; a little bit of tip toeing around the corner followed by a bucket full of brawn and bloodshed would have been my course, much to the detriment of this astounding game.
By focusing the emphasis on the stealth aspect of gameplay, yet another new genre seems to have been cut from the dead wood of the often overcomplicated espionage thriller.
Even as I belatedly read the old advertisements and reviews of Splinter Cell, the descriptions suggested that all the best parts of this kind of game (for an uninspired player like myself, at least) had been pushed to the background for the sake of what seems a minor characteristic - stealth. Creeping around in the shadows instead of shooting, fighting and jumping off things (I'm shallow, and don't care who knows it); a risky strategy that has certainly paid off.
