It is the season of superheroes. To the astonishment of film critics across the continent, last weekend's debut of Fantastic Four ended a Hollywood box-office slump and put an even brighter shine on the fortunes of the Marvel Comics empire. A few weeks earlier, Batman Begins shook off the lingering embarrassment of George Clooney's codpiece, and also showed the world that Christian Bale is much better looking when he eats regularly.

Moments after the new Batman finished its first screening, fans gathered wherever fans hang out (i.e. the internet) and began swapping glowing reviews. The movie was pretty good, some said. Others thought it was brilliant. A few thought it was a little too dark. A few others said there's no such thing as too dark when you're talking about Batman, on account of he's a troubled soul. Even today, the fanboy yammerings continue, with most of the people who care to voice their opinions feeling good about the movie.

What does this mean for Batman Begins, the video game? It means that its publishers will do very, very well, no matter how the thing plays. Games based on licenced properties are dodgy propositions at the best of times, because nothing says "why try harder?" like an audience of fanboys who will reliably open their wallets for the latest from Capt. Picard, critics and word of mouth be damned.

The good news is that Batman Begins is better than most licence-based video games. Usually it is fun and sometimes it is brilliant. Overall it is OK. If you like Batman and if you liked the movie, you will be happy with your purchase. If neither of those conditions apply to you, you won't buy the came anyway so who cares what you think?

The game is a straightforward retelling of the movie's story. We are young Christian Bale. We go to the Himalayas, where Liam Neeson teaches us to be a ninja, and where we set off a series of explosions before heading home to Gotham. We roam the streets of our city fighting crime, swinging from cables and swooping down from the ceiling and generally trying our best to frighten the bejeepers out of the bad guys. We are tough.

We are also focused. Even though we have access to a stunning range of gadgets and technologies, and even though we are impossibly fit and rigorously trained, we cannot be trusted to figure out where to go next. The game is a series of linear, linear missions, where we do one thing and then we do another and then we do another, all at the prompting of little blinky icons, and we cannot make any decisions about when or even about how.

Much of the play hinges on scaring the bad guys. When they're frightened they don't fight well, and sometimes they drop their guns, so we look for ways to get them rattled. Check that; we tiptoe until we're near the bad guys, and then the game tells us what we should do next to frighten them. Usually this involves blowing up crates or barrels. Blink, blink, blink, says the little icon. We throw a ninja star, or we punch the crate, doing as we're told. Once fear is in the air, we swoop in and kick everyone's ass, and then it's off down the hallway, in the direction indicated by more blinky icons.

It would have been nice if there were a few more ways to scare people. We are wearing a suit of armour with pointy ears, and we have an enormous swoopy cape. We could throw a few scares just by showing up and pirouetting, never mind blowing stuff up, but no. We follow the icons, the Fear Meter goes up a notch, and that's all.

It isn't even a bad thing, all this linearity. We look cool leaping from the shadows, and we land our punches with satisfying noise. If we feel a little unchallenged, that's OK. Deep as it was by popcorn standards, it's not like the movie was a total thinkfest either.