Television Review: Arrival (The Prisoner, S1X01, 1967)

Arrival (S01E01)

Airdate: September 27th 1967

Written by: George Markstein & David Tomblin
Directed by: Don Chaffey

Running Time: 50 minutes

For much of the twentieth century, British television was widely regarded as the pinnacle of the medium globally, a reputation owed largely to the BBC’s foundational commitment to public service broadcasting, now enshrined as the world’s greatest public television institution. The arrival of commercial competition in the form of ITV during the 1950s, far from diminishing this standard, acted as a potent catalyst, injecting dynamism and ambition that elevated the entire landscape. This fertile environment nurtured a wave of innovative programming throughout the 1960s, yielding shows that achieved not only domestic adoration but significant international penetration. Among these, The Prisoner emerged as a singular phenomenon, transcending its era to attain enduring cult status and cementing its position as one of the most profoundly influential works of live-action television drama ever conceived, its DNA woven into the fabric of countless subsequent dystopian and psychological thrillers.

The genesis of The Prisoner lies squarely with its creator and star, the renowned Irish-American actor Patrick McGoohan. Having captivated audiences earlier in the decade as the suave, morally upright British secret agent John Drake in the globally successful Danger Man (known as Secret Agent in the US), McGoohan leveraged his clout to forge something far more personal and provocative. The Prisoner, in which he starred and served as executive producer, functions in many critical analyses as a direct, albeit oblique, sequel to Danger Man. The unnamed protagonist – designated only as Number Six – is widely interpreted as John Drake, pushed beyond endurance by the soul-crushing machinery of espionage, though McGoohan himself persistently and pointedly denied this explicit continuity, preferring the character to exist as a universal symbol of individual resistance. This deliberate ambiguity, born from McGoohan’s fierce artistic control, became a cornerstone of the series’ mystique.

Technologically, The Prisoner was strikingly ahead of its British context. Produced in vibrant colour, it predated the UK’s official colour television service (launched by the BBC in 1967 and ITV in 1969) by several years. This bold choice was a calculated gambit by McGoohan and the formidable Lew Grade, head of ITC Entertainment (the production arm of ATV for international sales), specifically targeting the lucrative American market where colour broadcasting was already established. This foresight proved crucial; the show’s visual distinctiveness, particularly the surreal clash of the Village’s pastel hues against its oppressive reality, ensured its longevity through decades of colour television re-runs, a fate denied to many monochrome contemporaries that faded into obscurity.

The Prisoner was undeniably a child of its Cold War anxieties, tapping into the immense popularity of the spy genre. Yet, it decisively transcended the conventional "spy-fi" – the then-fashionable fusion of espionage tropes with science fiction elements – that populated the era. Where contemporaries like The Avengers or The Man from U.N.C.L.E. offered thrilling escapism, The Prisoner plunged into unsettling psychological and philosophical depths. Arrival, the inaugural episode, immediately establishes this darker, more dystopian, and profoundly surreal tone. It dispenses with globe-trotting adventure for the claustrophobic horror of enforced idyll, replacing high-tech gadgets with the insidious machinery of mind control and social conformity. The Village isn't a foreign power's base; it’s a chillingly plausible microcosm of any society sacrificing liberty for perceived security and comfort.

McGoohan’s original vision was for a tightly focused, self-contained miniseries. However, the commercial imperatives of Lew Grade, accustomed to the 26-episode seasons standard in American network television, demanded a full season. McGoohan, acutely aware that stretching the show’s unique, high-concept premise risked diluting its power and thematic coherence, resisted vehemently. The resulting compromise – a mere 17 episodes – proved fortuitous. Arrival benefits immensely from this concision; every scene, every line of dialogue, carries significant weight, establishing the core conflict with relentless, almost suffocating, efficiency. There is no room for filler, only the stark confrontation between the Individual and the System.

Written by George Markstein and David Tomblin, and directed with crisp, unsettling precision by Don Chaffey, Arrival wastes no time. We meet McGoohan’s unnamed protagonist – a high-ranking British intelligence officer – in the act of defiant resignation. Before he can vanish into an anonymous new life, he is overwhelmed by sleeping gas in his own London flat. He awakens not in a dungeon, but in the grotesquely picturesque Village, a place of Mediterranean architecture, leisurely pursuits, and apparent comfort, filmed in the deliberately artificial setting of Portmeirion in North Wales. The horror lies in the immediate realisation: names are forbidden (replaced by numbers), communication is monitored, and escape is impossible. Summonsed by the suavely menacing Number Two (Guy Doleman), Number Six learns his crime: knowing too much and daring to quit. His refusal to explain his resignation becomes his defining act of rebellion. His subsequent escape attempts are systematically thwarted by the series’ most iconic creation: Rover, a massive, silent, white inflatable balloon that incapacitates with terrifying efficiency. Capturing the Village’s perverse logic, Number Six later encounters the seemingly sympathetic acquintance Cobb (Paul Eddington), only to attend Cobb’s funeral after his apparent suicide. A mysterious woman (Virginia Maskell) urges him to follow Cobb’s "path," leading to another failed escape. The devastating revelation – Cobb faked his death, working for a new Number Two (George Baker) – underscores the Village’s ultimate weapon: the absolute corruption of trust and the impossibility of genuine human connection within its walls.

Arrival masterfully establishes the series’ enduring fascinations. The rotating cast of Number Twos, each with distinct personalities but unified by their function as the Village’s administrator, introduces a pervasive sense of institutional permanence beyond any individual. McGoohan’s performance is phenomenal; he conveys immense intelligence, simmering rage, and profound vulnerability through minimal dialogue, his physical presence and piercing eyes communicating the torment of a fiercely independent mind trapped in a gilded cage. The genius of Portmeirion cannot be overstated. Its sun-drenched, whimsical beauty – all pastel piazzas and ornate towers – provides the perfect visual metaphor for the Village’s core deception: a dystopia masquerading as paradise, its horrors hidden in plain sight, making the underlying oppression all the more unnerving.

Even Rover, conceived as a purely pragmatic solution to 1960s budget and technical limitations (mechanical robots were prohibitively expensive and complex), transcends its origins. Its silent, implacable, almost organic movement and bizarre appearance lend Arrival an undeniable, deeply unsettling surrealism. Far from looking merely cheap, Rover embodies the psychedelic unease of the Swinging Sixties, a visual manifestation of the irrational forces crushing individuality – a floating, inescapable manifestation of the System’s absurd, overwhelming power.

As an opening gambit, Arrival is near-perfect. It dispenses with exposition in favour of visceral experience, plunging the viewer – alongside Number Six – into profound disorientation and existential dread. It establishes the core conflict, the central iconography, the unique tone, and the indelible performance that would define the series. It doesn’t just set the stage for a cult television phenomenon; it is the phenomenon in microcosm – a stark, intelligent, visually arresting, and deeply unsettling exploration of freedom, identity, and resistance against an omnipresent, inscrutable authority. More than six decades on, its power to disturb, provoke, and resonate remains undimmed, a testament to McGoohan’s uncompromising vision and the timeless relevance of its chilling premise. Arrival isn’t merely the beginning of The Prisoner; it is a landmark moment in television history, announcing the arrival of a truly unique and enduring work of art.

RATING: 8/10 (+++)

Blog in Croatian https://draxblog.com
Blog in English https://draxreview.wordpress.com/
InLeo blog https://inleo.io/@drax.leo

InLeo: https://inleo.io/signup?referral=drax.leo
Leodex: https://leodex.io/?ref=drax
Hiveonboard: https://hiveonboard.com?ref=drax
Rising Star game: https://www.risingstargame.com?referrer=drax
1Inch: https://1inch.exchange/#/r/0x83823d8CCB74F828148258BB4457642124b1328e

BTC donations: 1EWxiMiP6iiG9rger3NuUSd6HByaxQWafG
ETH donations: 0xB305F144323b99e6f8b1d66f5D7DE78B498C32A7
BCH donations: qpvxw0jax79lhmvlgcldkzpqanf03r9cjv8y6gtmk9