McGoohan had actually been offered the role of James Bond, but turned it down because of his moral objections to the sex and violence entailed by the role. To watch McGoohan talk and think his way through each episode (with occasional fisticuffs — but no gunplay) is to see an alternate version of late twentieth-century man play out, and you could argue that we are the worse off that his wasn't the model to prevail. McGoohan blazes on the screen: whether radiating arrogance, cool wit, or frank lunacy, his face invites empathy, while his voice commands.

The wit of the screenplays are matched by an extraordinarily lively and variable soundtrack, ranging from typical spy-movie string arrangements to be-bop jazz and cutting electric guitars. The look of the show is similarly sharp: the other inhabitants of The Village are dressed in vibrant primary colors that match the perpetually sunny weather ("Rise and shine, it's another lovely day" proclaim the loudspeakers each morning), but what secrets do they hide beneath their bright exteriors? (One nice touch, in the episode "Free For All": a loud, excited-sounding crowd scene, when shown in close-ups, reveals the Villagers' faces to be somber and silent: the crowd's noise is piped-in.)

I haven't even talked about the malevolent white balloons that enforce lethal order, lest the mask of levity slip — there's no way I can convey in words how scary a villain the show makes out of a growling weather balloon. Nor have I mentioned the DVDs' numerous special features — interviews, behind-the-scenes footage, trivia games, etc. — mainly because I've barely delved into them myself. My wife and I have made it through five episodes so far, with twelve more to go, and she's been pulled in as deeply as I ever was. Pick up an episode at your local video store, and when you feel yourself succumbing to "The Prisoner"'s charms, pick up the whole boxed set. One of us, one of us...

Be seeing you — perhaps at next year's Portmeiricon.