Television Review: Living in Harmony (The Prisoner, S1X14, 1967)

Living in Harmony (S01E14)

Airdate: December 29th 1967

Written by: David Tomblin & Ian A. Rakoff
Directed by: David Tomblin

Running Time: 50 minutes

The 1960s represented the zenith of the Western genre's global popularity, a dominance reflected not only on the silver screen but also, pervasively, on television. It became almost obligatory for even the most ostensibly unrelated series to stage a 'bottle episode' within this framework, a trend exemplified by Star Trek’s Spectre of the Gun. Patrick McGoohan’s avant-garde psychological thriller, The Prisoner, proved no exception to this cultural pressure. The fifteenth produced episode, "Living in Harmony", broadcast in the UK in December 1967, was born from a confluence of McGoohan's personal desire to feature in a Western and a purported shortage of scripts as the series stretched beyond its initial conception. The result is an episode that has long divided critics and fans, often cited as the moment the series "jumped the shark", yet one which provides a fascinating, if flawed, deconstruction of genre and a pointed allegory for its time.

The episode immediately disorients by dispensing with the series' iconic opening sequence, plunging the audience in medias res into an alternate reality. Here, Number Six is not a resigned spy but a nameless Sheriff in the American Old West, turning in his badge and gun in a direct paraphrase of his canonical resignation. His attempt to ride out of town is thwarted by an ambush, after which he awakes in the ironically named settlement of Harmony. This town, a 19th-century analogue for the Village, is ruled by a corrupt Judge (David Bauer) who demands the protagonist become the new sheriff. Resisting this coerced role, Number Six is imprisoned in a "protective custody" that mirrors the Village's control, guarded by the mute, menacing Kid (Alexis Kanner). The stakes are raised when he witnesses the Judge, to satiate a lynch mob, hang brother of Kathy (Valerie French), a saloon girl. She becomes his ally, using her charms to distract the Kid and engineer an escape, which ultimately fails.

The central philosophical conflict of The Prisoner—the individual's refusal to be coerced—is here reframed through the iconography of the Western. Number Six’s pacifism is his rebellion; he agrees to become sheriff only to save Kathy from execution, but pointedly refuses to carry a gun. This principled stand leads to a series of brawls, a physical manifestation of his non-violent resistance. The plot culminates in tragedy: during a second escape attempt, the Kid, driven mad by jealousy over Kathy, strangles her. This act of violence finally breaks Number Six’s resolve; he takes up a gun, kills the Kid, and engages in a final shootout with the Judge's men before being wounded. At this moment, the illusion shatters. He wakes in the Village, realising the entire narrative was an elaborate, drug-induced psychological experiment. Visiting the Green Dome, he discovers the Judge is Number Two, the Kid is Number Eight, and Kathy is Number Twenty-Two. The experiment's failure has catastrophic real-world consequences back in the Village: a deranged Number Eight, unable to distinguish fantasy from reality, strangles Number Twenty-Two on the ersatz Western set before leaping to his own death.

For Patrick McGoohan, who reportedly enjoyed working on this episode more than any other, it was a chance to fulfil a personal ambition and engage in the physical action and iconic gunfight the genre demands. The production, however, was fraught. McGoohan was absent filming Ice Station Zebra, leaving television veteran David Tomblin to take credit as writer, producer, and director, although the original story is attributed to South African associate editor Ian L. Rakoff. Rakoff, a leftist, drew inspiration for the oppressive town of Harmony from the apartheid regime in his native country, layering a political subtext onto the Western archetype. This context is crucial, as many contemporary critics and fans did not share McGoohan’s enthusiasm. The episode is frequently criticised as a cheap gimmick, conceived when the writers were running out of ideas—a charge McGoohan later all but confirmed. The allegorical Western premise works intriguingly at the start, presenting a 19th-century refraction of the series' core themes, but the novelty wears thin. The final act, revealing the Village framework, feels rushed and tacked-on, while the melodramatic, tragic finale seems a contrived attempt to lend gravitas to an increasingly absurd narrative.

What ultimately redeems Living in Harmony from mere pastiche is Alexis Kanner’s electrifying performance as the mute Kid. His physically menacing and psychologically intense portrayal is so compelling that McGoohan insisted on recasting him in a new role for the series' final episode.

Furthermore, the episode's notoriety is cemented by its controversial reception in the United States. CBS infamously omitted it from the initial 1968 broadcast run. The network's official, and rather unconvincing, explanation pointed to references to hallucinogenic drugs, a justification disputed by many since such themes appeared in other, unaired episodes. The more plausible reasons are deeply rooted in the volatile American politics of the late 1960s. With the Vietnam War at its height and the Tet Offensive unfolding in 1968, Number Six’s explicit refusal to carry a gun was interpreted as a potent anti-war, pacifist statement. The portrayal of a corrupt, authoritarian Judge in a story leveraging the quintessentially American Western genre was seen by network executives as a subversive critique of the US government and its military actions. Consequently, the episode was deemed too provocative for American audiences at the time.

Living in Harmony is a deeply paradoxical instalment of The Prisoner. It functions as both a personal indulgence for its star and a bold, politically charged allegory that proved too hot for American television. While its execution is uneven—betraying signs of a production running on fumes and culminating in a haphazard denouement—its ambitions cannot be dismissed. Through the lens of the Revisionist or "Acid Western", it dissects violence, authority, and pacifist resistance. It may be the episode where the series conceptually stumbled, but its enduring fascination lies in this very audacity: a British television show co-opting America's foundational myth to question that nation's contemporary actions, resulting in an act of censorship that speaks more loudly than the episode itself ever could.

RATING: 5/10 (++)

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