Perhaps it will grow on me, but at the moment I’m underimpressed with the new Prisoner.
That link is to the Wikipedia entry for the original and what you don’t get from it, or it’s pale, tepid remake, is the urgency and energy of the paranoia.
This is a Prisoner on Quaaludes and Thorazine, vaguely aware of all the rampant wrongness around him, but unsure of what it is.
The real Prisoner is black and white, Patrick knows precisely where he is- an exact replica of his London flat, but not the same place at all.
Where am I?
In the village.
What do you want?
Whose side are you on?
That would be telling.
We want information…Information…INFORMATION!
You won’t get it!
By hook or by crook, we will.
Who are you?
The new Number Two.
Who is Number One?
You are Number Six.
I am not a number.
I am a free man!
The Prisoner is born in rebellion- “Why did you resign?” This Prisoner is born in confusion- “Why are you torturing me?”
The Prisoner has hope and confidence, panache. He looks at the world and knows what it is.
He has no principles, just confusion and unease.
Perhaps that is a truer statement of the human condition, but I can’t relate to it. I’ve never had any doubt. I may die, but I’ll never surrender.