AMC-TV’s The Prisoner miniseries touches on some serious philosophical ideas–but ultimately it all falls apart because of 1960s-throwback ambiguity, S. T. Karnick writes.
As noted yesterday, AMC-TV’s six-hour miniseries adaptation of the 1960s scifi/suspense series The Prisoner did a good job of bringing up philosophical questions in the context of an action drama. Over the course of the narrative, the emphasis has increasingly moved toward interpersonal drama and dialogue and less on nonverbal action, and the philosophical interest has clearly been the main driver behind the story.
In yesterday’s final two-hour episode, the discussions were quite interesting, and there was much effort at creating intense drama by forcing the characters to make difficult choices, but the story ultimately doesn’t make much sense as the producers chose to emulate the ambiguity and lack of resolution in the 1960s original.
That’s a defensible choice, to be sure, but it works against the producers’ desire for dramatic intensity. It does so because in order to know that the characters’ choices are difficult and identify with their situation, we have to have a pretty good idea of what is at stake and what they think about it. Unfortunately, the choice to leave ambiguous the nature of The Village and identify the "real" reality in which the characters really dwell makes that kind of identification exceedingly difficult if not impossible.
The philosophical discussions are certainly interesting even as the plot continues to unravel in a welter of confusion. A discussion in a church between the villain Two and an evil doppelganger of the hero, Six, called Two-by-Six, is a good case in point. Two says, "We know, you and I, how it is to be human. We must submit to the beast in man."
That’s good stuff, alluding smartly to the concept of original sin. It goes further in that vein by using the name Two-by-Six. Considering the math term ‘by’ as meaning ‘times’ gives us a formula–2X6=12–which gives us a number suggesting a jury and thus symbolizing the law, the judgment against Two for his transgressions. Two-by-Six is intent on killing Two.
The number twelve also alludes to the Twelve Apostles, of course, directing our attention toward the Redeemer whose Good News–literally, Gospel–is the answer to the Law.
This thought is bolstered by the name given to Two’s son: 11-12. There were, of course, only eleven Apostles for a while after Judas betrayed Jesus–11 of 12. And the character 11-12 in The Prisoner does allude directly to Judas in his actions, as 11-12 kills the person who created The Village, his mother. He then hangs himself, thus furthering the resemblance to Christ’s betrayer.
Unfortunately, as I noted earlier, things descend into a muddle as the drama goes to its ambiguous, irresolute resolution. For example, after 11-12 kills his mother, we see her in real life, or what might be real life, or what we would ordinarily recognizes as real life–you get the idea–and we find out that 11-12 never existed. This ambiguity is presumably meant to be provocative and puzzling in a salutary way, but instead it just tends to make nonsense of what we’ve been watching for the past 5 3/4 hours, turning it all into one big shaggy dog story.
Clearly this is all meant to inspire the audience to think about the nature of reality, just as the first four hours evoked interesting ideas about free will and determinism. Unfortunately, the lack of clarity regarding what is happening in The Prisoner seems to be an instance of the literary mistake of forcing the reader or audience to undergo the same experience as the characters–confusing the viewer, in this case–instead of allowing them simply to identify with the characters and sympathize with their condition.
Honestly, I don’t know how the producers could have worked things out to be both logical and ambiguous, if that is indeed what they were going for. But I do know that their choice to emulate the kind of ambiguity so popular in the 1960s and early ’70s works against their evident desire to explore serious ideas in a dramatic context.
That’s too bad, because it seems that they have some pretty good ideas. I just can’t tell for sure.
–S. T. Karnick
Finished watching he miniseries last night. I have not seen a single moment of the original series, so I entered The Prisoner 100 percent cold. My wife watched the first two hours, then gave up. I slogged through the rest. Some initial observations.
I was quite smitten by the actress who played Lucy/415, Hayley Atwell. Will keep an eye out for her. The doctor/313 wasn’t too bad on the eyes, either. Good casting in the chick department — not to mention Caviezel and McKellan. Now to everything else about The Prisoner, which was bad.
What a waste of my time. I stuck with it all the way only because I wanted to read this piece of commentary and fully understand. They could have just made this a 2 to 3 hour movie and left it at that. It’s beyond redundant to call this a confusing mess, but a few questions, nonetheless.
What was the point of 6’s “fake” brother in The Village? The guy drowns in the fake ocean outside the Village, and is never thought of or mentioned again. Not once. Not even by 6, who apparently lost a real brother to a similar incident? Not sure about that, though, since they didn’t explain anything.
Lucy died when Michael’s (6) apartment blew up. Who blew it up? Was it an accident? Was it (as strongly implied) the corporation, which was trying to kill Michael but got Lucy by mistake? Speaking of that, how the hell could the corporation make a mistake and accidentally kill Lucy? If the place is under surveillance, they know it’s only Lucy in there, right? If the corporation was really trying to kill Michael, how does that make any sense when 2/Curtis wanted 6/Michael to take over The Village all along? Why wasn’t Michael so mad that the corporation killed his one-night-stand/girlfriend that taking over the corporation was completely out of the question? For that matter, how did 415 know she was really Lucy? And if 2/Curtis sent 415/Lucy to The Village to break 6’s heart, she ostensibly went voluntarily, right? Why did she volunteer? And would she volunteer — and even commit suicide in The Village — if she knew the way to break 6’s heart was to die? And why would that break 6’s heart when he really knew he loved 313/Sarah all along?
Are we, as viewers, supposed to be so enamored by the twists in the last hour to not care about the answers to these questions? Not even “it’s all a dream” explains them.
What the hell was with the twin towers? For one, you don’t use that imagery — obviously evocative of the 9/11 attacks — without some kind of larger purpose. But there didn’t seem to be one. The towers might as well have been a giant stick of cotton candy. Oh, except for that part where Michael is looking at his “Village” life through the window of the corporation, and sees his “6” alter ego … and he’s in the towers!
I have more to say — more questions and rants about what irritated me — but will close for now talking about the whole construct. After hours and hours of watching, expecting some kind of pay off, we’re left with a quickie explanation that Mrs. 6 is such a genius (notice the MIT degree!) that she can create a new world of the subconcious — and 2 has figured out a way to involuntarily loop people into that world. Hey, writers, producers and director. We’ve invested hours into your piece of “art.” Do us a favor, if you’re going to ask us to believe that, you need more than what amounts to an “arty” version of pulling open the shower curtain and seeing Bobby Ewing rinsing his hair.
I have to agree with either Sam or Steve who said the whole “surveillance society” angle was, in the end, completely unnecessary. The justification, as far as I can manage, is that constant surveillance in the “real world” was necessary to find targets for Mrs. 2’s mind-control experiment. But why is that so? Why couldn’t they just steal some medical records and find “broken” people who need to be fixed to populate The Village? Indeed, what was the justification for even creating the Village? Is it sinister? Wrong-headed benevolence? I’m sorry, but after 6 hours of viewing, we need more than a few lines explaining the over-arching justification for the whole ruse.
Arrrghhh!
I tire of questions and frustrations, for now…
Steve, I’m very grateful indeed for your comments here, which add much to the discussion of this miniseries. I strongly agree with your suggestion that the fashionable ambiguity of years past is indeed passe, and as I said in my original article and my response to your excellent prior comment, it did indeed result in a mess in the case of this Prisoner. In my view, the worst aspect of this is the missed opportunity to draw out the still-relevant political implications of the 1960s original.
Sam,
Sam,
There’s an entirely separate thread in the question as to whether the 50-60s era existentialism of Camus, Pinter and Sartre even plays well anymore. It’s interesting that the producers of the new Prisoner failed as much here as they did in capturing the original Prisoner. All the trappings are there, none of the substance.
Thank you posting my comments and for providing the forum.
Steve, this is an impressive and persuasive argument. I am nowhere near as familiar with the 1960s version as you are, but what you say here about it accords with my recollection: that No 6 is a strong character who continually challenges the powers that be. That, as you say, is a big difference between the original and this version. I also appreciate your clearing up some of the claimed ambiguities of the 1960s series. That’s some useful cultural history that needs to be done.
Watching this version, I continually had the sense that the showmakers were reaching for some meaning that they could not quite grasp, and it seems to me that their intent was to replace the show’s original main area of interest, its political implications, perhaps because they believe them to be obsolete, given that communism has ended. As you note here, they could not be more wrong, as the phenomena that the original The Prisoner series dealt with were happening in the UK and United States then and are even more so now. A current-day version of The Prisoner with the same political vision as the original show would be quite relevant, just as you say. And that vision would be classical liberalism, as you note.
So it seems to me that what the producers tried to go for was a more spiritual and ontological angle, and at times they did some good things, but mostly it became increasingly muddled until it devolved into severe incoherence in the end, as you note and as I stated above. And I agree that one of the things that muddles it most severely is the woefully underdeveloped character of No. 6.
Ultimately, it appears that what the producers were really trying to film was Camus’s The Stranger while using the setting and some of the plotline of The Prisoner. Given the very different intentions of the two works, I can certainly see why admirers of the 1960s version of The Prisoner would be appalled by this one.
In sum, I don’t think the makers of this new version intended a travesty or inversion of the original show, but instead hoped to take a fresh new approach. In the end, it appears, they set themselves a task they could not hope to accomplish. I believe the producers did indeed overthink the concept and go wildly off the tracks. But as I noted in the article above, it’s awfully hard to discern–or even imagine–just what they were thinking.
Sam,
While I know you are not praising AMC’s The Prisoner, you still are being way, way too kind. I am having a hard time recalling any series remake or reboot that was so badly done and so thoroughly missed the theme or the spirit of the original. Let me begin by saying that the original Prisoner probably is my all-time favorite TV series, so I will cop to being one of those fans who takes what some would call a “proprietary interest” in the show. That said, I am not dogmatic about it. What many fans consider philosophical depth was often a matter of meeting a production deadline. The final episode of the original series was written in a rush and suffers from it. Even the iconic Rover balloon was a last-minute improvisation because of on-the-set problems. Any additional symbolism (society smothering the individual?) comes from the viewer.
The original series, however, intentionally mined some topical ideas about the role of the state. Central was whether the progressive idea of the state as an agency that provides cradle-to-grave security and care for its citizens, extending to use of science and medicine to “improve” human potential the eradicate perceived “frailties,” is at odds with the classical liberal idea of the state as protector of basic human freedom. Given that this debate is once again at the political and cultural forefront, the series was ripe for updating. That, plus the failure of several past efforts at revival, is why fans such as myself eagerly awaited AMC’s reimaging.
Six hours later, my question was “what were these guys thinking?”
There’s a story told about producer Jon Peters, who at one time, had the rights to do a Superman movie. This was just after the Tim Burton’s Batman (1989) came out and was a big hit. Peters reportedly told a studio honcho that he wanted to do Superman in the same vein—filled with darkness and angst. To which the studio honcho, who apparently knew much more about Superman than Peters, answered, “Jon, Batman is about angst, Superman is about hope.”
The Prisoner is about head-on individual resistance to seemingly beneficent societal conformity. That conflict underlined the dramatic tension of every episode. Successive No. 2s attempted to break No. 6, but not in a brutal, repressive, 1984ish way. They wanted No. 6 to accept the situation of his imprisonment and simply fit in. The social pressure in the Village was to surrender one’s mind and one’s self; to abandon objectivity and critical thinking and trust No. 2. Indeed, in several episodes various minor characters are flummoxed as to why 6 persists in resisting. In the Village, cheerful submission to the collective was the supposed path to peace, fulfillment and social “mutuality.” “Questions are a burden for others. Answers a prison for oneself,” goes one Village epigram. And, as the various No. 2’s would often ask or imply, why fight for freedom when one is not free anyway? Or, as another character put it, “We’re all pawns.”
No. 6 never accepts this. And at the end of most episodes (a few were fought to a draw), No. 6 affirmed his individuality and exposed weaknesses in the Village’s collectivist system. The final episode is not as enigmatic or ambiguous as some recall. While No. 6 escapes the Village, the ending suggests the Village was a microcosm of the world. Number 6 remains a “Prisoner,” as the end titles show. Yet in the final shots, the series ends as it began: his car roaring down the highway, followed by a close-up of his face bearing an expression of resolute determination. 6’s redemption is in his refusal to quit his battle.
All of this was done in the context of the popular TV spy genre. The format allowed for thrills, adventure, wit, even satire. No. 6 was a rugged, yet sophisticated action hero, akin to John Drake in Secret Agent, but an identifiable archetype all the same. His character, as a former spy, was given the traits needed to sustain extended resistance: physical endurance, a high threshold of pain, training to counter psychological interrogation, and, in an attribute Patrick McGoohan brought to the role, a strong moral center. No. 2, as 6’s weekly antagonist, had the full power of the Village’s social, technical and psychological mechanisms at hand, but, as we saw each week, he was vulnerable because he did not have full authority. That belonged to the unseen No. 1.
AMC blew it from the start. We don’t know who James Caviezel’s No. 6 is, and for the bulk of the series we never find out. As in the original series, he is psychologically and pharmaceutically manipulated, but he does not have the sense, strength or integrity to turn the tables on his inquisitors like the original 6 could and did. We have no clue to the new 6’s motivations, which is why the whole story just drifts. In the end, it’s arguable that the story isn’t even about 6, but about No. 2 and his own plan to “escape” the Village. No. 2 wins, No. 6 loses, as does every character who trusted 6 or looked to him for help.
And for all that, No. 2 is just as much a cipher. The Village itself isn’t real, but the sub-conscious construct of his wife. The “it’s-all-a-dream” resolution, the bane of every creative writing teacher, is used in the worst way, letting the writers wave away all storytelling logic. After that, any thematic coherence goes out the window. If this is all a dream, why does 2 care about what No. 6 or any of the other so-called “dreamers” think or believe? Why is there a clinic? If all Villagers simply are subconscious constructs, why do they need to be under surveillance? Why do they need Rovers to keep people from escaping, especially if Mrs. No. 2 can, in her mind, change the physical geography and infrastructure (oceans appear and disappear; buildings are repaired overnight; houses spring up when they are needed, etc.).
I would agree that the scene in the church you discuss (and give the writers too much credit for), was one of the few moments when the new series’ ideas approached that of the original, but to me it was more of the case of the blind squirrel who finds an occasional nut. Surrounding it we had rusted anchors in the desert, a brother-who-was-not-a-brother, and a shimmering specter of World Trade Center-like twin towers, all to go with a whole lot of disjointed scenes and dialogue that made no sense and ultimately had no point.
Most offensive of all was the unbelievably passive No. 6. He stands by as two sympathetic characters, one a toddler, tumble down holes to their death. When a confused, troubled teen-ager sets out to murder his gay, thirtysomething lover, 6 does not intervene. This same teen, 11-12, No. 2’s son, goes on to kill his mother and hang himself. But I guess we’re supposed to give 6 a flyer because (ha ha!) 11-12 never really existed (and I will leave untouched the subject as to whether adult-teen sex, gay or straight, has a place in The Prisoner).
While I can sometimes forgive bad writing and poor choice of stories (Superman III, Wolverine), I am angered when filmmakers seek to cash in on a much-loved, well-respected entertainment legacy and go out of their way to trash it. The intelligent and vocal Prisoner fandom that has grown over the past 40 years guaranteed producers a built-in audience, a fact that no doubt helped secure the financial backing for the production. They owed fans better. But, as Ayn Rand once wrote, some people want to ride the bandwagon and spit at it, too.
I’m still confused as to whether the producers of the new Prisoner overthought the concept and went wildly off the tracks, or, as you have often noted about other contemporary movies and TV shows, deliberately chose to invert the original’s premise to bow to conventional elitism that sees life as meaningless and principled individualism as pointless at best and dangerous at worst.
In the end, the result was a cynical, nihilistic, hate-filled mess.