Television Review: A. B. and C. (The Prisoner, S1X03, 1967)

A. B. and C. (S01E03)

Airdate: October 13th 1967

Written by: Anthony Skene
Directed by: Pat Jackson

Running Time: 50 minutes

One of the most persistently fascinating, yet equally exasperating, hallmarks of The Prisoner lies in its creators' resolute refusal to furnish audiences with definitive answers. For the opening episodes, this ambiguity extended beyond the central mystery of why Number Six resigned, casting a pervasive uncertainty over the very genre of the series; was it a grounded spy thriller, a psychological study, or something altogether more fantastical? A. B. and C. decisively resolves at least this latter uncertainty, propelling the fictional world of The Village out of the constrained realism of the 1960s and firmly into the realm of science fiction, bordering on pure fantasy, through the deployment of hyper-advanced technology that feels startlingly incongruous with its era.

The episode resumes the Village authorities' relentless, yet perpetually thwarted, campaign to extract Number Six's resignation rationale. Under severe censure from the unseen Number One for his lack of progress, the newly appointed Number Two (Colin Gordon, embodying a particularly cold and calculating iteration of the role) elects to pursue an extraordinarily complex and perilous strategy: subjecting Number Six to artificially induced, monitorable dreams. This audacious gambit is the brainchild of the enigmatic female scientist, Number Fourteen (Sheila Allen), whose laboratory conceals a process designed to manipulate Six's subconscious. Under the influence of potent drugs administered by Fourteen, Six is immersed in meticulously constructed dream scenarios intended to provoke reactions revealing the identity of the person to whom he entrusted his secret before his capture – codenamed "A," "B," and "C."

The induced dreams transport Six back to a high-society Parisian soirée he attended during his intelligence service days. In the first sequence, "A" (a chillingly persuasive Peter Bowles) is revealed as a former colleague who has defected, now actively attempting to recruit Six and, when persuasion fails, resorting to abduction – an effort Six resolutely thwarts. The second scenario features "B" (the captivating Annette Karrell, whose tragic suicide shortly after the episode's broadcast lends a poignant, unintended layer to her performance), a seductive female agent who employs classic honey-trap tactics, later attempting to manipulate Six into a staged rescue from hostile forces, only to be met once more with his unwavering defiance. Just as the third scenario, concerning the elusive "C," is about to commence, Six's acute awareness of his unnatural state leads him to follow Number Fourteen. Discovering her laboratory, he comprehends the full extent of the manipulation and takes decisive, subversive action: he alters his own drug dosage and tampers with the crucial "C" dream tape.

The climax of the manipulated dream unfolds with "C" revealed as the sophisticated party hostess, Madame Egantine (Katherine Kath). However, she cryptically informs Six that she merely acts as an intermediary for a shadowy "handler." Seizing this fabricated narrative, Six arranges a rendezvous with this handler, ostensibly to hand over the coveted top-secret documents. The sting, when it comes, is perfectly executed: the handler is unmasked as Number Two himself, and the precious "secrets" prove to be nothing more than mundane travel brochures. This symbolic, yet profoundly significant, victory leaves Number Two utterly terrified, anticipating the wrath of Number One for his humiliating failure, while Number Six, for a fleeting moment, has demonstrably outmanoeuvred his captors from within their own technological trap.

From a strictly technical standpoint, A. B. and C. functions effectively as an episode. Directed with competence and a welcome visual flair by Pat Jackson – a collaborator of Patrick McGoohan who would helm three further Prisoner instalments and contribute to numerous other esteemed British television productions – the episode makes admirable use of Anthony Skene's inventive script. The opportunity to escape the claustrophobic confines of The Village, even within the artificial construct of manipulated dreams, provides a genuinely refreshing change of scenery that invigorates the narrative. The guest cast, including the aforementioned Bowles and the tragically short-lived Karrell, deliver strong, nuanced performances that elevate the material. Colin Gordon excels as one of the series' more overtly ruthless and authoritarian Number Twos, a role he would compellingly revisit in The General, establishing himself as a particularly effective antagonist within the Village's hierarchy.

Nevertheless, the episode's central conceit – the dream-monitoring technology – presents a significant conceptual hurdle. The notion of externally induced, fully immersive, and visually monitorable dreams, complete with the capacity for real-time interaction and narrative manipulation by an operator, represents a level of technological sophistication that remains firmly within the realm of speculative fiction even by contemporary 21st-century standards. For a 1967 audience, accustomed to the nascent stages of computing and rudimentary television, this premise would have stretched credulity considerably, perhaps even appearing ludicrously advanced. It risks undermining the episode's tension by introducing a fantastical element that feels jarringly disconnected from the otherwise psychologically grounded (if surreal) atmosphere of The Village, making the audience work harder to suspend their disbelief within the show's established, albeit ambiguous, 1960s context.

This inherent implausibility, however, is substantially mitigated by the episode's masterstroke: Number Six's counter-manipulation. The true power of A. B. and C. lies not in the Village's technological hubris, but in Six's indomitable spirit and resourcefulness. His ability to perceive the trap, infiltrate the apparatus, and ultimately turn the captors' own weapon against them – transforming a potential extraction into a humiliating farce – delivers a potent emotional payoff. This symbolic victory, where the top-secret documents are exposed as trivial brochures, provides more than just a clever twist; it offers a vital, tangible glimmer of hope. It demonstrates concretely that Six's struggle, however seemingly futile against the omnipotent Village, is not without consequence or the potential for meaningful resistance. While the physical confines of The Village remain unbroken, A. B. and C. succeeds in providing that crucial psychological respite – a reaffirmation that Number Six's intellect and will remain his most potent weapons, capable of securing even a small, symbolic triumph over his oppressors. It is this injection of hope, however precarious, that ultimately elevates the episode beyond its technologically dubious premise, cementing its place as a memorable, if flawed, chapter in The Prisoner's enduring enigma. The Village may control the environment, but as this episode poignantly illustrates, it cannot so easily conquer the human mind.

RATING: 7/10 (+++)

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