Scanners (1981)

 "You murdered the future!"

Before I get into it... yes, I haven't blogged for about a week and there won't be much for the next week either. Nothing bad, just life stuff.

It's been a while since I blogged a Cronenberg, hasn't it? Don't get me wrong: all his stuff is bloody good. But the early body horror films are particularly delightful... if that's the word.

This film is a masterpiece. The use of the camera and of music, as ever, creates a uniquely Cronenberg atmosphere. Interior spaces always seem so very liminal. And then we have the subject matter... psychic nutters who can read your mind while making you feel ill, move objects with their mind... and make your head explode. There are some deeply effective body horror moments, not least with the duel at the end. Those pulsing veins... brr!

The performances... well, they're generally bland, Michael Ironside and the ever-superb Patrick McGoohan being very much the exception, but it doesn't matter. This isn't a film about characters, about people. It's about themes, the horror, the ongoing mystery and the visuals.

The big reveal at the end, about what's really been going on, is clever, satisfying and topical. Big Pharma can indeed be a bad thing. Just, y'know, don't let that lead you down the rabbit holes of anti-vaxxer nonsense or "alternative" medicine.

Do you feel a nosebleed coming on...?

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: The Girl Who Was Death

"My name... is death!"

Well... at least the game of cat and mouse and the sequence with all the booby traps was entertaining. I loved the cyanide candles. In fact, I also used the cricket ball bomb which blows up the Colonel, complete with magnificent facial hair, just short of his century- a delightful touch, and I love that this detail appears on the headline! I also love Number Six’s response to being poisoned- drinking magnificent quantities of alcohol and making himself sick.

The set pieces are great. But that’s all this episode is- a collection of set pieces. The conceit at the end- Number Six is just reading a bedtime story to some children in a flimsy plot by Number Two to get him to let his guard down- feels very token, and this leaves the episode looking very superficial, very filler, very running-out-of-ideas. You can see why McGoohan decided to end it after just two more episodes.

Perhaps I’m being harsh; on an action/adventure level the episode works splendidly, and I’m sure it was a favourite of younger viewers. But this just isn’t what I expect of The Prisoner. I suppose you could just about manage to squint and find some kind of tenuous subtext about fear of female sexuality, but the episode isn’t really about anything.

The Prisoner: Living in Harmony

“Welcome to Harmony, stranger...”

Argh. I want to like this episode, I really do. It tries to do something brave and left field, and I'm glad they went through with it, but the novelty wears off halfway through.

They do it properly, though. No usual titles and immediate immersion in the American West, at least as far as that’s possible with locations that are very obviously in Blighty. The American accents are ok and, in many cases, genuine, and we can forgive Patrick McGoohan- and, indeed, any slip in verisimilitude as the whole thing is a simulation. At first the novelty is riveting as the same story is played out but in a different context- our hero resigns as sheriff for unknown reasons, finds himself in a new town that he can never leave, and finds the place to be ruled by a powerful figure with a propensity for dirty tricks and show trials.

Thing is, the novelty wears off halfway through and the plot- fairly standard Western stuff but slow paced, begins to look rather dull. And the resolution- Number Six is still in the Village and this is just an induced shared hallucination-  is predictable.

There are positives other than the concept itself- the Kid is creepy in a very #MeToo sort of way, and gives a sense of surrealism with those pink clothes and that top hat. But I’m afraid I see this episode as a brave experiment that doesn’t quite come off.

The Prisoner: Do Not Forsake Me Oh My Darling

"For once I am dictating!"

Well, I can’t like them all. I know nothing of Prisoner fandom; is this episode disliked?

This episode stretches the format to breaking point. There’s no dialogue at the start, the Village appears only at the beginning and end, and Number Six is played by Nigel Stock in what must be a claim to fame; Patrick McGoohan hardly appears. Even more strikingly, the episode is centred around Number Six’s life in London, where his flat is suddenly his again, and he meets his fiancée and his boss/prospective father-in-law. Number Six is “wearing” a different body, yes, and disbelieved, but revealing so much about his life at home removes much of the mystery and would have been best left alone.

The conceit, of course, is the decidedly fantastic one of swapping minds between bodies, and there’s a nice twist at the end. It’s fascinating that Professor Seltzmann is played by eighty-one year old Hugo Schuster, who was born in Aachen in 1886, in Bismarck’s Germany and a subject of Wilhelm I, first kaiser of a united Germany. This sort of thing reminds you that the seemingly distant past was perhaps not so very long ago.

The episode lacks sparkle, though, and feels like filler to get them up to seventeen episodes. The format, outside the village without being based on a cruel twist, simply doesn’t work for the programme. And it’s McGoohan-lite. An eminently skippable episode. Please let there be no more like this

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: It's Your Funeral

"I can think of better ways to die..."

"And better causes to die for."

Well, here’s yet another very good episode in a run of what have been particularly good ones- at least in the order I’m watching. It takes a while to work out what’s going on- acting Number Two trying to discredit Number Six as a Cassandra so he can carry out a plot from on high to assassinate the actual Number Two at the moment of his retirement (is the motive really just to avoid paying a pension?!), and it’s she slow reveal of what’s happening that makes the episode so enjoyable. It leads to some questions, though. Who are all these Number Twos? How many of those we’ve met so far have been “acting”? How long is a Number Two’s term? Why have we never seen the actual Number Two before? Were all the others just “acting”?

A big highlight of this episode is Derren Nesbitt’s excellently mannered performance as the acting Number Two- and, for us Doctor Who fans, this is a veritable Marco Polo reunion with both Mark Eden and Kublai Khan himself, Martin Miller. Not only that but there’s a minor role for Wanda Ventham. Not many episodes have such a cast as this.

We also get to see the bizarre, crash-helmeted, trampoline-based sport that is Kosho, which briefly appeared last episode- I think this is completely made up. In any other series I’d describe it as utterly surreal but, well...

Yes, I suppose the resolution is predictable, but I love the stoic fatalism of the outgoing Number Two, who survives but probably not for long. This is a superbly weird piece of telly.

The Prisoner: Hammer into Anvil

”Each man has his breaking point, you know...”

This is possibly the finest episode yet. A simple plot- Number Six is outraged at the sadistic new Number Two for goading a poor young woman to suicide and slowly destroys him through psychological manipulation- is simple.  But the slow unwinding of Number Two as he descends into paranoia and ruin is masterfully done.

This episode  is, perhaps, a different kind of surreal, all instigated this time by Number Six, listening to the same Georges Bizet record multiple times and making notes, and hiding blank sheets of paper.. McGoohan is brilliant, of course, but so is Patrick Cargill as a confidently sadistic Number Two, an assured and capable man who quotes Goethe and Cervantes in their original German and Castilian yet gradually ends up an absolute wreck.

The episode works because it consists entirely of the unwinding of Number Six’s plan, and the mystery of what he’s up to. It’s the Day of the Jackal of The Prisoner, and it’s a triumph. This is far from a typical episode (does such a thing exist?) but it may be the best yet.

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: Many Happy Returns

”Where is this?”

Seven episodes in and I’m still fascinated in what plots can be got out of such a seemingly limited premise. This episode centres around a conceit which could be done only once; Number Six genuinely escapes-  but his own curiosity in locating the Village leads him to return in the conceptually cleverest way possible.

It’s a weird, and simple, premise- Number Six wakes up alone in the Village. No people, no Rover; nothing to prevent his escape. So escape he does, as simple as that, and we go through the motions of seeing him build a raft, stow away on a gun running vessel, make his way to an obviously real London, and speak to the rather nice lady who now lives in his flat and drives his car. So, he’s free, and that’s seemingly it- although he seems to have no close personal friends or relatives. And he certainly seems to be well-trained in the James Bond stuff. National Service, probably.

But Number Six is curious, and wants to find where the Village is. So, with help from his former establishment employers (was he a spy?) he traces its location- just outside the entrance to the Med, apparently; is this official? And, as a final act of hubris, he flies over it, only to be forcibly ejected back into the Village where he finds the same nice lady, who has prepared a birthday cake and a terrible pun. It’s all rather clever. This is another good one, even though it’s nearly 22 minutes until anybody speaks. And there’s no Number Two, no regular cast aside from Patrick McGoohan himself. Most unusual.

The Prisoner: The General

“Nothing’s impossible in this place.”

Another intriguing episode this time, with yet another very ‘60s and very British view of freedom and repression- the conceit is that the “Professor”, with the aid of the “General” is able to create subliminal educational courses which can deliver a three year degree in three minutes. This is, of course, an obvious means of brainwashing, as we see. And the “education” it imparts is of doubtful value- learning by rote set phrases about the Treaty of Adrianople does not impart any real understanding, as Number Six immediately sees.

Number Six is aided, however, by Number Twelve, whose rebel sympathies are  never actually exposed, and it’s ambiguous whether he gets away with helping Number Six. He is played, of course, by a shockingly young John Castle, whom I know well from I, Clavdivs and RoboCop 3. It’s also odd to see Colin Gordon back as Number Two but with no suggestion that Number Six has met this particular Number Two before. Will this keep on happening as previous actors return?

The conclusion to all this is fascinating; the “General” turns out to be a very ‘60s advanced computer, covering a whole wall and with spoils everywhere. And we end with a very ‘60s viewpoint of computers meaning control and repression, of computers as calculating decision makers rather than toys for entertainment, of man needing to make his own decisions. If only they could look ahead...

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...

The Prisoner: Free for All

"Very good technique. Where did you get him?

"The Civil Service. He adapted immediately."

I know it's been a while since the last episode. Fear not; I spent a week not watching stuff while I applied for a promotion at work (fingers crossed!) and blogged only a couple of things I'd prepared earlier since that time, and afterwards I focused on current telly first. Fear not, The Prisoner will continue until the end.

Anyway, this is clearly a Very Important Episode, as Patrick McGoohan both writes (under a pseudonym) and directs. It’s also one with a very obvious subtext. It’s election time in the Village and Number Two (Eric Portman this time) decides that this time for once, he should be opposed, and Number Six accepts the challenge, not entirely seriously, using his candidacy as an excuse to goad the council, who are essentially a rubber stamp, giving a rather magnificent speech. At first, he’s the candidate of freedom, but he’s soon brainwashed, in a delightful scene with a former civil servant. So we have the prospect of someone with ideals standing for office and immediately abandoning those ideals in favour of the vested interests of the status quo. Of course, this would never happen in reality.

Before the election Number Six finally finds a place where he can get a proper drink (hallelujah) where he finds Number Two, who in private (a rare situation) is just as jaded with the Village as he is. Number Six wins by a landslide, but turns out to have no actual power and is beaten up, while the foreign maid-cum-spy who has been with him all episode turns out to be the new Number Two. It’s a superb indictment of the perceived impotence of the democratic process and, while I’m not at all in favour of “they’re all the same” apathy, especially in the current age of populism, Trump, Brexit and other dangerous nonsense, this has some considerable bite.

All this happens amongst lots and lots of splendidly disorienting surrealism, dreamlike, druggy, and utterly 1967. It’s a truly excellent episode.

The Prisoner: A. B. and C

"This is a dreamy party..."

Well, that was certainly different.

I suppose this is early in the series, it's too soon to have fully explored the possible formats, but this one is decidedly odd. Yes, we again begin with Number Six waking in the village- will we always? There's a new Number Two- will there be a different one each time? I was amused to note we had the same opening dialogue between Numbers Six and Two, but with a different Number Two. Will this be a thing?

All that was familiar. And yet...

This week we don't really explore the Village, although I note Number Two has by now accepted a maid. No, instead we follow a science fiction scheme to control Number Six's dreams to attempt to find out which of three possible individuals from within the spy world Number Six was attempting to sell out to. And we may actually have discovered something; we don't know why Number Six resigned, but he wasn't switching loyalies to another side.

And that's pretty much it. Number Six gets a bit of agency in that he realises what is happening and ends up taking control of his own dream narrative. But it all feels suspiciously like filler, as I understand many of the seventeen episodes pretty much were.

This isn't a bad episode. But compared to its two predecessors it feels a little perfunctory.

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...

Braveheart (1995)

“The trouble with Scotland is it's full of Scots...”

I’ve seen this film a fair few times but not for many years, and certainly not since, well, Mel Gibson gained a reputation for ultra-conservative religious beliefs and films to match, and somewhat unfortunate comments about Jewish people. So it seems rather pointless for this Englishman to complain about this film being “anti-English”- given the subject matter, which is broadly true even if the chronology is somewhat compressed and William Wallace seems to be both suspiciously older and less upper class than he would have been. But these days it’s far more notable just how pious all the good guys are here.

Still, the film isn’t a bad melodrama and Gibson himself is rather good, and gets some equally good performance out of a cast without a huge amount of star wattage, although I’m kicking myself for not recognising Patrick McGoohan as King Edward I until now. The whole thing looks good and the battle scenes, so often dull and hard to follow, are genuinely dramatic and gripping.

It may play a few tricks with history- Edward I did not die at the same time as William Wallace was hung, drawn and quartered, and Robert the Bruce didn’t have much success until years later- but Braveheart is an entertaining and fun, if rather violent, Hollywood treatment of a somewhat neglected historical saga. Still watchable after all these years.