One Million Years B.C. (1966)

"Their laws are simple: the strong take everything."

Tonight I have learned a valuable lesson. A film may have great special effects, by no less a creator than the great Ray Harryhausen himself, showing his usual genius even within the consraints of what is clearly a lower budget than he's used to... and still be a terrible film. If you want Ray Harryhausen, watch The Valley of Gwangi. It's a much better film, and has cowboys in it to boot.

There are some awesome monsters in here- a family of pterosaurs; a giant tortoise, a saurapod, a tyrannosaurus and a triceratops being the highlights.They all interact with humans, so... yes, let's gloss over the histotical accuracy and move on to briefy praise the location filming. I suppose there's also amusement value at the start as we see Robert Brown, a future M to Roger Moore's James Bond, as a Palaeolithic chieftain. But that's literally all the positives.

Because this is an awful film. Other than some cringeworthy narration at the start there's no dialogue. The plot consist of M's son beng banished, encountering various monsters, joining another tribe where Raquel Welch's character likes him for some reason, being banished again, fighting more monsters at the end, and finishing off with a bit of natural disaster action. There's a lot of visual spectacle. The film looks good.

And yet... it's just dull. Without dialogue, it simply isn't possible for any of the characters to be interesting, or for us to care about them. And without charactesr to care about we have nothing to watch but empty spectacle.

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: Dance of the Dead

“Questions are a burden to others. Answers are a prison for oneself.”

A bit of a downturn in quality this episode; it isn’t bad, far from it, but seems a little incoherent. Certainly this is less high concept than any previous episode, there being no particular big idea at its centre.

The basic concept is, if anything, a bit ho-hum; Number Six finds a body on the beach and a radio with it, to which he listens a bit. He is caught, tried and condemned but gets away on a technicality. That’s it. Oh, and the body is made to look like him so he can be thought dead.

So there’s not much here to hang the episode on. What saves it are the details- Mary Morris as the only female Number Two, or at least the only one present throughout. A nice surreal little cameo by Aubrey Morris, and indeed the whole spectacle of the fancy dress trial, conducted as in Revolutionary France. There’s the fascinating girl who watches Number Six throughout, a true believer in the “rules” no one gets to see and a good little authoritarian drone, yet fascinated as well and repulsed by Number Six’s rebellious ways. There’s also interesting dialogue from Number Two suggesting that Number Six is somehow important; others are expendable, but he is not, and it is important to truly win him over rather than use the torture they use on his unfortunate friend Dutton.

Not the greatest episode, then, but nicely surreal and with a real sense of the Kafkaesque.

The Prisoner: The Chimes of Big Ben

"I don't want a man of fragments..."

I’ve asked around and ummed and ahhed and done a bit of reading to see what the best order is to watch the seventeen episodes, and concluded that the order in my DVD set (the ITC order) will do. So here’s a somewhat arbitrary second episode for your delectation.

There’s a new Number Two, the splendid Leo McKern, although Christopher Benjamin as Number Two’s assistant seems to be a kind of Permanent Secretary. There is our first “I am not a number. I am a free man”. There’s the same opening sequence with the resignation, albeit truncated, I suspect the version we will get from now on. And there’s the Village, of course, both as Orwellian and as Kafkaesque as ever, with its curfews, it’s awful tannoy waking everyone up at the same time in a dreadful conformity, and, worst of all, “alcohol-free” whisky and vodka, which is an affront to civilisation itself.

This episode focuses on new arrival Number Eight, or Nadia, a seeming parallel to Number Six, from Estonia or so she says, although her surname sounds suspiciously Slavic to me. She gains his confidence and they exploit an art competition to escape together, believing they are in Lithuania and escaping across the border to Poland. They seem to arrive in London and... it’s all a simulation. They never left the Village, and it was all a plot to get him to explain to two familiar faces, both seemingly in on it, why he resigned. And Nadia was in charge all along.

It’s a fun little twist, and tells us something about what we may expect from the format. We have another escape, a last minute sleight of hand, and we are back to square one in a village which we no longer have any reason to believe is in Lithuania. There’s some interesting talk about “sides” and the Cold War which very much dates the whole thing, but it’s interesting that, overwhelmingly British though the Village may feel, we’re invited to consider that it is not necessarily in the UK.

A fascinating episode, although I’m genuinely intrigued to see what else they can do with what seems to be a rather restrictive format.

The Prisoner: Arrival

"We're all pawns, my dear. Your move."

This blog started out with Doctor Who and then Blake's 7; I think it's time I took a look at another example of British "telefantasy", to use a word utilised only by those of us who are fans of it. I've seen the odd episode of The Prisoner before, but that was in another century. I recall pretty much nothing, and I've only seen three or four. So this is all but a fresh viewing, my only preconceptions coming from the programme's reputation and the eponymous song by Iron Maiden.

So what have we here? The bare bones of a backstory- Patrick McGoohan's unnamed character (let's disregard Danger Man, partly because I haven't seen it and partly to avoid dull, reductive attempts to find a literal explanation) used to drive a flash car and work at a posh building in iconic Sixties London but has resigned on a matter of principle (I love the way we see, but don't hear, this happening), only to be returned home to be gassed unconscious... and wakes up in the Village, where we will be spending a lot of time.

Portmeiron is, of course, extraordinary-looking, striking, distinctive, all those things, as well as giving a very Welsh coast feeling of isolation. But what strikes me about the Village as a setting is the stultifying conformity, which is almost as bad as the ubiquitous Orwellian slogans discouraging curiosity. This is a tiny place where everybody knows everybody, with a few permitted pastimes in which one is not just permitted but expected to participate. This smells a little of forced jollity, even of Butlins, and there is nothing more totalitarian than that.

There’s a lot of surface charm in the Village, but it’s a place where a woman desperate to escape is persuaded to work as a “maid” (sexual services are implied) on empty promises of release. It’s also deeply surreal, as though the powers that be control reality itself- the big white balloon of death is scarily effective, and all the more so for being utterly surreal, but even more chilling is the fact everyone stands absolutely still while the balloon follows and kills a man for an unspecified crime. This is achieved by freezing the screen, giving the impression that the laws of physics themselves are under control.

We end the episode with the first of what I’m sure is many failed escape attempts, following a great deal of manipulation involving a fake suicide. Can Number Six (please let us never know his real name) trust anyone?

Even more sinister, it’s heavily implied that Number Six, who has knowledge very much desired by the powers that be, is being treated with kid gloves for the moment. What happens when the gloves come off?

Brilliant, philosophical drama that avoids reducing things to the literal and is delightfully weird. Nice cast, too- we see a young Paul Eddington and an especially young George Baker, whom I’ve just seen in I, Clavdivs. But at the centre of it all is McGoohan himself as a very macho, stubborn man who will not give up his freedom...

Jason and the Argonauts (1963)

"The gods of Greece are cruel! In time, all men shall learn to live without them."

This film looks great with its location filming, is a rollicking adventure story, and has a mostly good cast with Honor Blackman as Hera and an outstanding Patrick Troughton as Phineas, although the casting of a middle-aged and weedy-looking Nigel Green as Hercules is somewhat odd. Still, not many films have a special effects person as executive producer: this film is all about the one and only Ray Harryhausen and his stop motion animation, awesome here as always. Everything else is just window dressing, and rightly so.

So we get, at the climax, both a hydra and a phalanx of skeletons. We get a huge statue coming to life and picking up the Argo. We get two winged harpies. These are what the film is about, and they look amazing, far better than modern CGI. And if the myth is amended a little to accommodate all this, then so be it. This is why the film is worth watching.

I'm also pleased to see the inclusion of the gods at Mount Olympus, though: too many films based on Greek myths omit them. This isn't a film that claims to be more than a simple adventure, but it's a pleasingly accurate portrayal of the spirit of the Greek myths and a highly entertaining way to spend an hour or two.