The Prisoner

Slightly early for its 40th anniversary, the enigmatic British TV series, The Prisoner, makes its second DVD encore, raising more questions than it offers answers and extolling the virtues of the medium as a societal critic while delivering a thoroughly entertaining and mind-altering viewing experience.

Upon resigning from a top secret post in Her Majesty’s government, a British agent (Patrick McGoohan) is abducted from his London flat to awaken in a surreal holiday camp known as the Village. An introduction to the chief administrator, designated “Number Two” (Guy Doleman), reveals that the prisoner has been incarcerated because the confidential information in his head is too dangerous to leave at liberty. Designated “Number Six,” the Prisoner immediately sets about undermining the seemingly endless succession of Number Twos’ (George Baker, Eric Portman, Mary Morris, et al.) attempts to break his will while simultaneously seeking any escape from his picturesque coastal (or island?) prison. The brainchild of actor Patrick McGoohan—then famous for his portrayal of NATO/M9 spy John Drake in Danger Man (1960–62, 1964–66, known in the U.S. as Secret Agent)—and writer George Markstein, The Prisoner was as much a struggle between the two men’s personal æsthetics as it was McGoohan’s philosophical assault on 1960s British society.

At the heart of the concept resides McGoohan’s desire to create an avant-garde exploration of society that criticizes everything from rote learning in schools (in “The General”) to free democratic elections (in “Free for All”) while script editor George Markstein aimed to tell riveting adventure stories in the espionage/sf milieu. The constant tug of war between the two creative forces ensured that the series could be appreciated as straightforward television fare while offering hidden depths for viewers keen to look below the surface.

The honeymoon of the first 13 episodes ended with Markstein’s resignation—an irony, as he portrayed the official to whom the Prisoner submitted his resignation during the title sequence every week—and the final four episodes exhibit unbalanced excess on McGoohan’s part, with the underlying allegory of the earlier episodes rampaging over any semblance of narrative realism. The anarchic finale “Fall Out,” for example, is rich with symbolism, but lacking in substance, and the audience is forced to take their metaphorical medicine without any storytelling sugar.

Nothing is sacred as far as the series and McGoohan are concerned. The tropes dividing one genre from another were trampled with abandon. “Living in Harmony” re-stages the series as a Western with Prisoner as a retired sheriff unwilling to take up arms on behalf of the Village while “The Girl Who Was Death” spoofs the very style of spy earlier series in which McGoohan made his name. Sf elements like virtual reality and thought transference play key roles and an undercurrent of mystery informs every moment that the Prisoner remains in the Village, unsure of the true reasons behind his imprisonment. In keeping with the mystery element, the show dispenses an unending array of questions about the nature of the Prisoner, the Village, and indeed the world in which the story is set. Unlike traditional mysteries, the questions are rarely answered, and only with ambiguity when they are. It’s up to the viewer to fill in the blanks and establish the meaning of what they’re watching. In that way, The Prisoner is a Rorschach test with the audience interpreting the show in light of their own psychological baggage, rather than offering a concise interpretation dictated by the anti-authoritarian McGoohan.

The only disappointment with this otherwise-fine DVD release is the dearth of new supplemental materials. Though the informative interview with production manager Bernie Williams sheds some light on the show’s tumultuous origins and the ubiquitous early, alternate edit of “The Chimes of Big Ben” offers a different take on the familiar material, the rest of the extras are trivial ephemera and the same tired facts and figures available in any worthwhile book on the series (as is the case with The Prisoner Video Companion). The absence of any documentaries on the series and the inexcusable omission of the alternate version of “Arrival” (available on the UK collection The Prisoner – 35th Anniversary Collection) is a serious oversight for a series so often reissued by the same label.

More potent in today’s computerized, politically correct, and socially conscious world than it was even at the height of the ’60s, The Prisoner’s exaltation of the individual over society stands as a monument of relevant television written for a purpose. Style imbued with substance, and occasionally overrun by its own ambition, the series serves two masters seeking to both enlighten and entertain.

[For the record, this reviewer presently recommends two separate Region B Blu-ray releases of The Prisoner available in the UK: Network’s 2009 reissue (briefly available in Region A from A&E, but tragically out of print) was absolutely brilliant with a superb supplemental package including the documentary Don’t Knock Yourself Out, the aforementioned early edit of “Arrival,” and stunning transfers of the episodes accompanied by restrained-but-effective new 5.1 sound mixes (and the original mono, for purists). The other contender is Network’s 2017 50th Anniversary Limited Edition, which features the same transfers as seen on the 2009 release (sans 5.1 mixes), dumps most of the earlier supplements and adds informative text production commentaries, film historian Chris Rodley’s enigmatic exposé of Patrick McGoohan—In My Mind—six CDs containing all the specially composed and library music used in the series, and a hardbound book by television historian Andrew Pixley.]

Review © 2006 by Jason Davis. All rights reserved. Images courtesy of Incorporated Television Companies Ltd.