Don’t worry, this is not a sordid story of jailhouse romance. Nor is it a tale of pen pals—one imprisoned, one hybristophilic—conducting a ribald epistolary affair with the distant hope of one day enjoying a conjugal visit (now banned in all but four states, by the way). This column is about a TV show, and it’s not like Oz, Orange Is the New Black, or anything else from the past 50 years.
The Prisoner is a 17-episode series that first aired in 1967, created by, starring, and partly written and directed by Patrick McGoohan.
In 1967, McGoohan was the star of a popular spy show called Danger Man (retitled Secret Agent when it aired in America). He was the highest-paid actor in the U.K., handsome and well-regarded with a voice and delivery that begs imitation, along with a classic 1960s male-lead running style that rivals William Shatner’s for best of that era. (The 1940s may have been the golden age for unconvincing portrayals of driving, with actors’ hands and steering wheels in constant motion regardless of terrain, but the 1960s is tops in my book for exaggerated, unintentionally comedic running.)
Having had his fill of Danger Man, McGoohan “resigned” from the show. Asked to star in something else, he presented the idea for The Prisoner.
The opening sequence of The Prisoner lays out the basic concept: a secret agent resigns, but before he can enjoy his freedom, he’s drugged and kidnapped, waking up in a strange, isolated village (called the Village, conveniently enough). Here, people are referred to by number, not by name. The Village is run by a rotating cast of Number Twos, and McGoohan’s character is dubbed Number Six, though he refuses to accept the designation.
Many episodes revolve around Number Six’s attempts to escape from the Village, but two questions loom over the proceedings. The various Number Twos demand of Number Six, “Why did you resign?” while Number Six seeks the identity of the true master of the Village: “Who is Number One?”
Television spy shows were a dime a dozen during those prime days of the Cold War: The Saint, The Avengers, The Man from U.N.C.L.E., even comedies like I Spy and Get Smart. But aside from combining surreal sci-fi, westerns, bedtime stories, and other influences into its plots, The Prisoner was clearly trying to be much more than just a spy show. Its central conflict, more universal than any political intrigue, shows a man fighting to preserve his individuality and freedom in the face of societal oppressors.
The Prisoner is often described as a cult show, meaning it has a relatively small but passionate following. (With the single-mindedness of most inhabitants of the Village, one could make the argument that it’s a show about a cult.) It has everything you’d want from a cult show—cue Bill Hader’s “Stefon” character from Saturday Night Live—great music, accents, plot twists, lava lamps, deadly weather balloons, disagreements about viewing order, competing interpretations of symbolism, distinctive exteriors (the resort village of Portmeirion, in Wales), trippy interiors, “soundtrack dissonance,” a made-up sport, cool fonts, and an actor having a nervous breakdown on set. The show is also rife with memorable quotes, chief among them the innocuous-until-it’s-sinister favorite farewell of Villagers: “Be seeing you!”
Number Six displays clever wit, along with a steady, mild irritation that can relax to amused tolerance for Villagers he likes, or ramp up to outright rage for those he doesn’t. One episode doesn’t feature McGoohan at all, but everything evens out when he pulls double duty in another, playing Number Six and his identical impostor. The show’s final episode, and the reaction to it, is legendary—McGoohan had to leave London because of the uproar from viewers who got answers other than the ones they expected.
The parallels between McGoohan’s life and the events of the series are striking, and give the show an even greater resonance. Aside from his “resignation” from a successful and lucrative TV series, McGoohan also resisted familiar show business pressures. Happily married, he refused to kiss any of his female costars onscreen: an example of admirable marital loyalty, or perhaps just an indication that in the McGoohan household, the answer to the question, “Who is Number One?” had better be “Mrs. McGoohan”—or else.
He also avoided the use of guns onscreen, saying that heroic characters shouldn’t use excessive violence. His objections to violence and promiscuity led him to turn down the role of Simon Templar on The Saint, and James Bond—twice. Still, there’s no shortage of fisticuffs or pugilistic prowess in The Prisoner, and guns play a major role in the show’s bizarre and wonderful final episode. Neither the man, nor the show, is easy to figure out.
McGoohan had a long career after The Prisoner, and was even offered the role of Dumbledore in the Harry Potter films, though he turned it down for health reasons. It’s safe to say his unwillingness to compromise came at a cost, if only a financial one. But that’s what The Prisoner is all about—standing one’s ground in the face of threats, temptations, and inflatable assassins named Rover.
I first heard of The Prisoner through a 1994 TV special showcasing the history of science fiction on television. At one point, host Leonard Nimoy introduced “two of the most innovative programs ever created.” The first was The Twilight Zone (my other favorite show), and the second was The Prisoner. Apparently, spoiler warnings didn’t exist in 1994, so I wouldn’t recommend seeking out this particular clip on YouTube. But that five-minute summary was enough to set my twenty-one year old self on a quest to track down The Prisoner. Before DVDs, that meant an elaborate progression of trades of audio and video rock concert bootlegs, but eventually I snagged VHS copies of the series and watched them, alone.
If you’re a member of a cult, it’s beholden upon you to suck others into—I mean, expand the membership of—that cult. When I’d finished the series, I recommended it to a couple of friends and saw it again with them. Later, when I moved to an apartment as a graduate student, the three of us introduced my roommate to the show. One night, as we watched The Prisoner, a student from the apartment next door came by to borrow some milk. Having seen the series twice already, I left my friends staring at the screen and spent some time talking to that neighbor—who later became my wife.
I told my kids that story recently, as I prepared them to watch The Prisoner for the first time—not that you can ever really prepare someone. “If not for this show,” I said, “you might not exist at all.” How’s that for a strong lead-in? A couple of weeks later, over a perfect birthday weekend, we viewed the final episodes while eating takeout Indian food.
For over twenty years, I’ve had a Prisoner magnet on my refrigerator and a framed map of the Village on my office wall. My wife and I even attended a Halloween party as Number Two and Number Six, respectively. But for the last month or so, in the wake of a rekindled passion, I’ve upped my fanboy game, watching Prisoner documentaries on YouTube, browsing the Portmeirion Village online gift shop, and driving around with a surprisingly large and diverse assortment of Prisoner-inspired songs booming through the speakers.
Give The Prisoner a binge and visit the Village for a while. Maybe you’ll fall in love, like I did—with the show… or with your neighbor from next door.
Be seeing you!
Peter Dabbene’s website is peterdabbene.com, and his previous Hamilton Post columns can be read at communitynews.org. His latest work, “Ken Sollop, Agent of C.H.A.N.G.E.!” can be viewed at twinenterprises.com/the_fear_of_monkeys.
His book Complex Simplicity collects the first 101 editions of this column, along with essays and material published elsewhere. It is now available at Amazon.com or Lulu.com for $25 (print) or $4.99 (ebook).
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