Of greater significance to my own, personal, karass was the death of Patrick McGoohan, who played the titular character in the groundbreaking series The Prisoner, amongst other things. I first discovered The Prisoner a few years ago through friends John and Sarah Parker, and became an instant devotee, immersing myself in the twists and turns of the show to the extent that Lyn and I were able to deliver a presentation at a recent convention asserting that the show itself represents a psychological journey on the part of Number Six, and that the various Number Twos represent the varieties of ‘adult’ personality he must choose between before he makes his return to the world of responsibility.
Like all other fans of the show I’ve talked with, I’ve been waiting for McGoohan to reveal the true narrative of the show, and validate all my wild theories and second guesses. Enigmatic to the end, he revealed nothing, and we are left only with his assertion that the clues are all there, to be pieced together as we may. Forty years after screening it is, to me, still the most complex, intriguing, and bedeviling piece of television ever made. It is slightly saddening that McGoohan never again reached such heights—two Emmys (for Columbo, of all things) and a brilliant star turn as Edward I in Braveheart seem scant reward for such an iconic personality. But I am a fan, fascinated as much by the man himself as his works, and I shall miss the hope that, even at 80, there may have been some great project still to come.