The Prisoner: Fall Out

“You are the only individual.”

That was... a lot to digest, utterly glorious and at the same time quite, quite mad. On the surface this may not be quite as surreal as the first episode but there’s so much going on and we certainly aren’t spoon fed the subtext. Those who insist on a diet of strict realism probably hate this. Personally, I found it a fitting and magnificent ending. What straight- up realist finale could possibly have satisfied? Who actually cares why Number Six resigned, what his name is or the backstory of the Village? Revealing any of that would ruin everything. Patrick McGoohan knows this, which is why he reveals Number One to be a mask beneath a mask under which is Number Six himself. Is this a literal metaphor about Number Six being a repressed man who has really trapped himself, with the Village being within his own head? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Why reduce it all to one meaning when you can have the possibility of many? Keep the box closed, or the death of Schrodinger’s Cat may become real.

Has Number Six won and convinced the Village that individualism is best? Perhaps; suddenly the Judge who seems to be running things is fawning before him and he’s constantly praised and promised an “inauguration”. Yet his much-encouraged speech is drowned out by choreographed enthusiasm, and his own victory is juxtaposed by the trials of Numbers Two and Forty-Eight for, essentially, being individuals (Forry-Eight, of course, would be better charged with sexual assault...), the very quality for which Number Six is now suddenly being praised. Are the promises of power or freedom real? We will never know, as the narrative collapses and the escape of all three is a decidedly fourth wall breaking event.

So what does it all mean? Let us not spoil the fun by nailing that down. The author is dead, and Patrick McGoohan is jumping on his grave here. We, the viewers, are left to construct our own meaning from this wonderfully barmy text, and I for one am glad of it.

As for the series as a whole- yes, there are half a dozen episodes that we could have done without, but it wasn’t McGoohan’s wish to pad the whole thing out to seventeen episodes. The Prisoner is indeed a justly renowned and legendary piece of telly, and in 1967 was pointing forward to what television drama could be and do.

The Prisoner: Once Upon a Time

”Why don’t you resign?”

The Prisoner has never really cared much for realism; it’s full of surreal imagery and relies on it, being a programme about freedom and integrity in a world that’s always trying to gaslight you. But it’s never gone so far as in this penultimate episode, clearly no story of the week but part one of the finale, entirely studio bound (and, no doubt, cheap) and very much like a stage play, while making very few concessions to realism at all. This is “the” surreal episode of a programme that’s pretty bloody surreal to begin with. I’m not sure I fully understand it, but it’s brilliant.

Leo McKern is back as Number Two, reluctantly, and increasingly frustrated both by his return and by Number Six’s intransigence. And so begins a week of “degree absolute” where both are locked in a stage set for seven days and Number Two tries intense techniques to regress and brainwash Number Six with techniques seemingly based on Shakespeare’s “Seven Ages” speech from As You Like It. It’s weird but compelling viewing, and the school section is fascinating- this may have been broadcast in 1968, but both McGoohan and Number Six were born in 1928, so the school environment simulated here is that of the (public?) schools of the 1930s and ‘40s, where conformity is seemingly beaten into the traumatised children who presumably learn stoicism, emotional deadness and cynical smartarsery.

We end with the reversal of roles, Number Two dying simply because a countdown says so, and Number Six suddenly in charge and able to order about the butler and supervisor. I have absolutely no idea what’s going on, but that’s good; everything is on the level of metaphor and symbolism, the meaning of which are gloriously subjective. I love it.

The Prisoner: A Change of Mind

"Unmutual!"

Wow. This is actually quite a harrowing episode that goes to some very dark and totalitarian places, exploring the nature of tyranny to an extent rarely seen even in The Prisoner. It's almost a common cliche that British science fiction of the post-war, Cold War era deals with themes of totalitarianism, freedom and tyranny, reflecting a nation relieved to have escaped Hitler's clutches and looking nervously over to the Eastern Bloc.

Things are very dark from the start. Number Six is using his private makeshift gym again, until a couple of thugs rough him up a bit for having the effrontery to expect privacy. Things then escalate as he is made to confess before a "committee" which has no interest in protestations of innocence; this is a Stalin-type show trial and the confession of Number Six's bearded predecessor is deeply distressing to observe. Even the absurd surrealism of the committee's appearance is sinister in the same way as the Nazis' goose-stepping; yes, it's silly. But you're too terrified to laugh, which makes the silliness something quite different. And, as though things were not awful enough, a woman is being "treated" for obvious depression in this context. Then we get the sinister "social group", evoking Mao's contemporary Cultural Revolution as dissenters are verbally denounced, although I'd like to think that the rare casting of an actor of Chinese origin here is not stereotyping.

Things get even more horrifying as we turn to the medicalisation of dissent in the hospital- something which, at the time, would very much evoke the USSR of Brezhnev, with its treatment of dissent as psychiatric illness. But then we seem to observe Number Six being lobotomised- something which even Brezhnev saw as beyond the pale. Of course the series has to continue after this, so the lobotomy turns out to have been a charade and the reset button remains available for pressing. But this in no way lessens the horror.

Yes, Number Six sort of turns the tables at the end. But even here he finds the mob mentality a depressingly small-minded one. An extraordinary and outstanding piece of television, which disturbed me far more than any horror film I've ever seen.

The Prisoner: Checkmate

"It 's not allowed- the cult of the individual!"

A weird but very interesting episode this time, with subtle exploration of themes of totalitarian control through some sharp and nuanced dialogue and a very Brezhnev-like exploration of how dissent can be medicalised as a mental condition.

Yes, we get the visual spectacle early on of a chess game played with real people, but this is just done to introduce chess as a metaphor and introduce us to the likeable “queen” who, sadly, is fated to be used as a pawn-.and to show us a rebellious rook (never referred to as anyone else) who commits the crime of independent thought. It’s interesting, though, that this is followed by Number Six having an interesting and opaque conversation with one of the players, played by no less a figure than George Coulouris, who explains ways of distinguishing prisoners from staff.

The medical scenes are disturbing, with the rook’s individualism being punished by Pavlovian electric shocks and the psychiatrist, a Freudian quack, recommending to the new Number Two (a coasting Peter Wyngarde) that Number Six should be forced to have a “leucotomy”, better known as a lobotomy; in 1967 no longer quite flavour of the month but still legal to perform on a patient without their consent in the UK. Even Brezhnev’s Soviet Union had no truck with this barbarity.

Also cruel, though, is the way the queen is conditioned into unrequited love for Number Six. And the end is clever; Number Six is betrayed by his own accomplices who are in the end unable to accept him as a fellow prisoner because of his air of authority. This may not be the most high concept of episodes but it’s quietly one of the cleverer scripts.

The Prisoner: The Schizoid Man

" Your job, Number Twelve, is to impersonate him. Take his identity away."

This episode is an extraordinary example of institutional gaslighting, a word that probably wouldn’t have been used at the time, with Number Six told he is someone else and that he is to impersonate Number Six- and then introduced to a doppelgänger who seems to be far more himself than he is.

This idea is explored fiendishly, with devastating scenes at which the doppelgänger slowly and confidently makes him lose his sense of identity. And it’s arresting to hear him (well, his double) insisting that “I am Number Six “, the very thing he denies at the start of the episode. This is a deeply affecting example of destroying someone’s identity- all so he can reveal why he resigned “in your dream”. It helps that Anton Rodgers is a superb Number Two- with the venerable Earl Cameron as his deputy. But Patrick McGoohan is, as ever, superb, showing moments where our hero shows a rare, defeated vulnerability.

It’s interesting to see Number Six making a human connection with Alison, a believer in all this ESP nonsense; sadly Number Six believes in this crap, and accuses those of us who don’t of having no imagination!

But, as is traditional, we end with an escape attempt, with our nameless hero telling the latest Number Two that “Number Six is dead” and almost making it out in a helicopter. This is the cleverest plot yet, and the one which deals with some rather intense subject matter. One of the better episodes and a fine bit of telly.

And yes, I do have a certain track by King Crimson going through my head...