Considering the amount of screen time the two Sixes share, the late-Sixties special effects that enable them to appear together in the same shot is shockingly effective. Their hand-to-hand combat in particular is very visceral, in part because of McGoohan’s fists-only fighting style, here doubled, but also because both men appear determined to be the only Six left standing by the end of it.

But could the doubling suggest something deeper? Whatever else it is, The Prisoner was made in the shadow of McGoohan’s previous super-spy TV hit, Danger Man. (That’s what Danger Mouse was parodying, if you didn’t know.) It’s no secret that McGoohan had grown bored with the role by the show’s fourth season; The Prisoner, developed with help from Danger Man Season 4 script editor Doug Markstein, is essentially McGoohan doing a revisionist version of the character he’d just finished playing. The biting cynicism, the distinct lack of heroic catharsis, the overall absence of globe-trotting derring-do, with mind-bending psychological torture in its place: It’s kind of like if Chris “Captain America” Evans created and starred as Homelander in The Boys. Is there a better visual metaphor for this than Patrick McGoohan, secret agent at large, duking it out with Patrick McGoohan, secret agent in chains?

(Also, are you familiar with a little show called Twin Peaks? Because I’ve got a feeling many of the trials and tribulations of the oft-doubled FBI Special Agent Dale Cooper can be tracked back to this episode.)

Still, the thing that really got to me had nothing to do with Six at all, but with Twelve, the traditional movie/TV secret-agent type sent to imprison him. Whoever he is, he had a wife who loved him, and who he subsequently lost, and — wait, did we just figure out why this person would agree to become another man in the first place? The surgery, the training, all of it: Is it the equivalent of Jim Carrey getting his memories erased in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, or Adam Scott taking on a very strange day job so he can forget about his late wife in Severance?

Even if you’re not buying this backstory (which I just made up as I wrote that paragraph), there’s no two ways about it: Number 12, Curtis, loved a woman named Susan, who loved him back, and now she’s gone. By the time we learn any of this we’ve already seen him be destroyed by Rover (now identified by this codename by both Six and Two, so there you go, official Orb name designated) in what looks to be excruciating fashion. It’s hard to empathize with the kind of person who’d work for the Village organization, or who’d try to break Six in this way. It’s hard for me, personally, to imagine that people with minds like that — fascists, I mean — can truly love the way real people can. But that’s the life he built for himself, and that’s the life that’s over now, and even Number Six is made to wrestle with that.

I reviewed the sixth episode of The Prisoner for Pop Heist. Gift link!

“I want him with whole heart, body, and soul,” Number Two says early on, while rejecting the usual offers to use more extreme methods to break Number Six. That is the way of fascism. It’s not enough to submit: You must embrace your own submission. That this itself is a destruction of heart and soul does not concern the regime. Your heart and soul are your masters’, and they will remake you in their grey and grinning image.

I reviewed the fifth episode of The Prisoner for Pop Heist. (Gift link!)

Number Six is his own worst enemy. But you don’t have to take my word for it: just ask the administrators of the Village. For two episodes in a row now, they’ve used his own determination to smash the security of his prison and break free to drag him down deeper into their morass of mind games. 

I think this is why Patrick McGoohan works so well in the role. Sure, he created the show, stars in it, wrote and directed several episodes, uses his own professional headshot for Six’s dossier photograph, uses his birthdate for Six’s right down to the second, et cetera. (This is partly why co-creatorship claims by McGoohan’s collaborator, the writer and script editor George Markstein, strike me as exaggerated.) 

But beyond that, he’s developed a very physical style of acting that meshes well with the man of action he portrays. I’ve joked before that Six has three settings: lurk, lurch, and loom. His movements are sudden, almost erratic. Quick-cut editing makes them seem even choppier and more unpredictable. Even his style of hand-to-hand combat, which he’s deployed in two episodes running now, is all stiff punches. This guy’s gonna hit you till you fall down, full stop. He’s gonna get where he’s going at top speed. He’s gonna get answers from the people he wants answers from even if he has to chase them down and pop out of the woodwork to grab them. 

He’s unstoppable, and that’s his problem.

I reviewed the fourth episode of The Prisoner for Pop Heist. Gift link!

But the most unnerving thing about the episode is the way it depicts Number Six’s fellow Villagers as mysterious, fundamentally unknowable people. Some of them are brainwashed automatons. Some of them are active agents of the enemy. Some seem reluctant to fulfill their duties, others positively gleeful. They spend their days in endless parades and celebrations, blasting John Philip Sousa marches and screaming at the top of their lungs — except for the times when they’re eerily silent and still. 

How can you possibly live in a society constructed of people this unreliable, this unstable, this incapable of conceiving of genuine common good and working towards it together? How can you live with people who’ve collectively abandoned reality?

My latest review of The Prisoner is up at Pop Heist. (Gift link, but please subscribe, it’s worth it!)

“I am not a number! I am a free man!”

To this last declaration of Number Six, the final line of the dialogue that from here on out is a standard fixture of the opening sequence of The Prisoner, the new Number Two only laughs. Everything else Number Six says to her, she dignifies with some sort of response. The idea of freedom garners only mocking dismissal without a word.

I reviewed the second episode of The Prisoner for Pop Heist. (Gift link!) Please note! If you’re following along you’ve already noticed we’re watching the show out of order vs. how it’s listed on streaming sites. That’s because it was not really intended to be watched in the order it was aired! Fun, right? We’re using Zack Handlen’s so-called AV Club order, which you can find here, in a nifty table you can rearrange according to the various suggested viewing orders floating around out there with a couple of clicks.