Starring: Barbara Bain, Martin Landau Price:£13 Released: December 8 2014
Today is a day of firsts. Not only is it December 1st, the first day of Advent, it’s also the first time since I started this blog up way back in 2005 (gosh, nearly 10 years ago!) that I’ve published a guest post. Isn’t that amazing?
This first guest post is by noted author and critic Mr James Cooray Smith, who has bitten the bullet and done something I could never do: watch Space: 1999 again. In this case, he’s watched the forthcoming limited edition Blu-ray release of the show’s only ever two-part episode, The Bringers of Wonder, as well as the cinema version of said two-parter, Destination Moonbase Alpha– get it while it’s hot, because only 1,999 copies of this are being produced.
After the jump, Jim will let you know what he thinks and reveals that the show is officially considered a form of torture in the US. Before then, here’s a trailer, and if you’re feeling brave, I’ve also provided the two episodes in question, so you can see what you’re going to get (NB: watching the episodes may be considered illegal under Geneva conventions of all kinds):
It’s time for our regular look at the TV that the BFI is showing, this time in the month of August 2013. This month, the Doctor Who celebrations leap to the ninth Doctor – the eighth Doctor will see his own celebrations in September – with a showing of his last two episodes Bad Wolf and Parting of the Ways:
But there’s also a Patrick McGoohan season – when I’m on holiday, of course – as well as a preview of Cillian Murphy’s first major TV role, BBC2’s Peaky Blinders, and an ITV ‘Missing Believed Wiped’.
So, I went off to Snowdonia (that’s in North Wales, non-UK readers. You know where Wales is, right?) for the weekend – hence my absence on Friday. Bit of a trek, what with the traffic and all, so seven hours drive each way. Argh.
Anyway, we’re just coming up to our hotel when to my surprise, I see a sign to Portmeirion. Honestly, I had no idea it was there – I thought it was further north. It’s not.
But the TV gods had clearly spoken to Dealcloud, which is how we ended up at this particular hotel (which also turned out to have been visited by Jackie O and Ted Kennedy at some point) only 15 minutes away from where The Prisoner was filmed. Remember The Prisoner – the original Patrick McGoohan version, not the remake? Here, at least, is the iconic title sequence, which also explains the plot (secret agent resigns so is kidnapped and imprisoned in a seemingly loving prison called The Village):
Anyway, having made it out that far, how could we not go and have a wander round? Okay, it’s £10 per adult, but we’ll live. So, after the jump, lots of pictures of Portmeirion: how much will you recognise, discerning Prisoner fans?
In Australia: Mondays, 9.30pm, SBS1. Available on the SBS web site (Australians only)
So imagine a world where the Second World War is happening in the 1960s, Hitler is still alive and five secret agents from around the world have ganged up to try to stop the Nazis.
What do you mean, “Why?” Because I tell you to, that’s why.
Actually, that’s a very good question that maybe we should ask the creators of Australian show Danger 5, who seem to have taken some peyote while watching Thunderbirds, The Prisoner, The Champions, Inglourious Basterds, the Godzilla movies and huge amounts of those bizarre 1960s eurospy movies that Tanner writes about. They’ve come up with a very precise pastiche/homage that tries to walk the line between affectionate and mental, except the peyote is so strong the line actually looks like a blancmange being ridden by Anne of Cleves.
So we have Hitler sending out zeppelins to steal the Eiffel Tower in scenes that remind you of Derek Meddings’ efforts on a bad day; someone with an eagle’s head dressed like Patrick MacGoohan in The Prisoner; deliberately bad dubbing; seductive, smoking, talking robot dogs; bad accents; Champions-like telepathy; exploitation cinema bondage scenes; and more – but for no apparent reason other than it looks cool and people who love the 60s will go “Oh yes, that’s from X”. There’s no plot coherence and no real jokes.
It looks fantastic. A lot of work has obviously gone into it. But it’ll leaving you wondering what the whole thing is supposed to accomplish and why you should be watching it. Even more than Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace, in fact.
Number 6: Where am I?
Number 2: In the Village.
Number 6: What do you want?
Number 2: Information.
Number 6: Whose side are you on?
Number 2: That would be telling. We want information… information… information
Number 6 : You won’t get it!
Number 2: By hook or by crook we will.
Number 6: Who are you?
Number 2: The new Number 2.
Number 6: Who is Number 1?
Number 2: You are Number 6.
Number 6: I AM NOT A NUMBER, I AM A FREE MAN!
Number 2: (LAUGHS)
A title sequence can serve many functions. Generally, it’s there to give the viewer a flavour of the show: is it action-packed, a comedy, a romance, a drama? It might also be there to introduce the cast.
In olden days – far less than nowadays – it also used tell the story of the show so that viewers could know the format of the show and the backstory, so they could drop in at any point, even if they had missed the first episode.
The Prisoner, one of the most famous and influential TV shows of the 60s and possibly ever, actually used its equally iconic title sequence in place of a first episode. Which you have to admit is weird.
In The Prisoner, a secret agent with no name but who looks and acts suspiciously like John Drake of the earlier international blockbuster TV show Danger Man (Secret Agent in the US) resigns his job. We don’t know why – although we do see him do it in the title sequence – and he heads off home. While he’s packing his bag for what looks like a holiday, he’s gassed through his front door’s keyhole by a mysterious man in a hearse.
He falls unconscious and when he wakes up, he’s in The Village, an Italianate paradise filled with people who only have numbers. They’re all spies and government employees who quit their jobs but whose knowledge was too important to have running around free on the outside, so were brought to The Village to keep their secrets secret.
Number 6 – as our hero is called in The Village – wants to escape. The people who run The Village – presumably Number 1 but also his deputy, Number 2, who’s played each episode by a different, usually very awesome actor such as Peter Wyngarde, Mary Morris or Leo McKern – want to know why Number 6 resigned and they’re going to stop him leaving, sometimes using a giant white ball called Rover that emerges from the sea, until he tells them.
For 17 episodes it’s a never-ending chess match between the two sides, with 6 using his brains and brawn to fight for his freedom, while the state tries to stop him.
See what happened there? I made the sub-text text. The Prisoner, you see, as well as being marvellous entertainment, is one of the most profound looks at the relationship between the individual and society that British TV has ever produced. Should we be happy to be just numbers and subvert our individuality for the common good, or should the state allow the individual to do as he or she wishes – even if it’s to the detriment of others?
It’s all good, but The Prisoner has many standout episodes:
Free For All: in which Number 6 decides to stand for election as Number 2 and is subverted by the process in a metaphor for politics and the media
Schizoid Man: in which a double of Number 6 turns up, claiming to be the real thing. Trouble is everyone thinks the real Number 6 is Number 12 and that he’s been hired to make Number 6 doubt himself – which since “Number 6” is a better version of himself than he is, gives 6 a few identity problems of his own
The General: a new technology is invented that can imprint knowledge into people’s minds through television – a whole degree in just a few minutes. But does it turn out educated people or just drones who can regurgitate facts?
Checkmate: Number 6 concocts his most impressive escape plan yet, using the natural arrogance of the guards against them. But an ironic twist spoils everything.
Hammer Into Anvil: When another prisoner kills herself thanks to the cruelty of Number 2, Number 6 organises a campaign to make him think he’s being undermined by his own staff
A Change of Mind: Number 6 is ostracised by the Village
The Girl Who Was Death: A left over Danger Man script
Fall Out: Number 6 escapes, but finds that society is the real prison, and the Village is everywhere.
That final episode proved to be so complex – and mental – that writer/producer/director/star Patrick McGoohan actually faced death threats and had to leave the country (beat that Lost). But the show has remained engrained on the collective TV mind ever since, with remakes threatened every five minutes (AMC and ITV made one last year and it was pants) and homages in everything from The Simpsons to The Tube. It’s certainly left a legacy of catchphrases, some of them oppressive in their Orwellian simplicity:
“Be seeing you”
“Questions are a burden for others, answers are a prisoner for oneself”
“A still tongue makes for a happy life”
“I will not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed, or numbered! My life is my own.”
And, of course: “I am not a number. I am a free man” – which was always greeted with laughter and only ever appeared in that weird old title sequence:
After the jump, a couple of clips from the remastered Blu-Ray version of the series, including a great scene from my favourite episode, the metaphor-rich, extremely clever, Checkmate. But they all look gorgeous, I have to say.