Here’s my plan – when I retire, someday, I’m buying this car in kit form, and I’m going to assemble it so that every morning I can relive my fantasy of being No. 6 in The Prisoner. Of course, what will be the point? I will have retired, and so escaped The Village already. The Village, the world of work, cubicle in the International Work Machine. It’s not so bad, really. Not for me and my kind, that is. Think of all those who would love to be hooked into it.
But the Prisoner, an eruption of anarchy, angst, and surreal foreboding, has it hands down for pop imagery skewering the New World Order. …and why DID you resign? …and which war was that you fought in? …and are you talkin’ to me? (No. 6 would never have said that!) Not to mention the fact that the opening sequence of the show has never been bested by any other for sheer drama and weirdness.