THE UNMUTUAL PRISONER ARTICLE ARCHIVE
An Asexual Valentine to Patrick McGoohan
Finding myself in the village--or what The Prisoner means to me If there was one thing I did not have on my bingo card for 2024, it certainly was the realization of being asexual. In hindsight, I’m actually not sure why it took me so long to realize what must have been apparent for decades, but here we are! James’ initial reaction was extremely supportive and encouraging. Yet, despite all the marital support, the vast amount of self-help books I consumed in my lifetime, the seven years of spiritual exploration “in the desert” I imposed upon myself during my twenties, I knew I finally needed some outside perspective to fully appreciate this new personal feature I had just unlocked. Within a few short weeks of my initial “coming out” I found a trusted therapist, and within a few more weeks said therapist decided to quit her job! Once again, I felt left to my own psychological devices during a time of need for high-intensity self-exploration. As I readied myself to revert back to self-help offerings and Jungian psychology, it was James who introduced me to the second high-impact event I could not have foreseen. I had half-heartedly joined him in watching Danger Man, a British TV series almost as quaintly appealing as its title, when he casually posed the question-- Was I by any chance interested in some dubious 60’s TV show he remembered watching as a kid? Something about a guy who kept trying to escape from a strange, Kafkaesque place he was imprisoned in? Forcefully muting my inside voice, I politely nodded in an attempt to reward his support and understanding by humoring his suggestion. Sitting down next to him, I braced for the worst. It took me exactly 40 seconds to get hooked.
Clouded sky and thunder, a clangy intro tune, then the first glimpse of the harbinger of coming attractions- a shot of Patrick McGoohan’s handsomely arrogant smirk that immediately reminds me of Kierkegaard, our tuxedo cat, the only cat I’ve ever seen smirking her way through life. A Lotus Seven racing through the streets of London, cutting corners on its way to a parking garage. Then, at the 37 second mark, we reach the moment that wins me over for good. McGoohan stops the car at the ticket machine, waits for his parking ticket to be dispensed. Then, ticket in hand, and without missing a beat, he drives right under the vehicle barrier that has just started to move ever so slightly. A man of determined but carefully chosen principles. Thoroughly fascinated, I witness a very dramatic resignation scene, then the protagonist back in his car, presumably on his way home where he starts packing for his vacation. Certainly not forgetting the travel brochures, he slams his suitcase shut- ready for the escape. Out of nowhere, an undertaker arrives at the scene, we see gas being pumped into the flat through a keyhole- one last confused but angrily glaring squint through his window at the high-rises in his London neighborhood, and the vacationer-to-be collapses on his sofa.
What the hell?
Which is probably exactly the question on our hero’s mind as he wakes up in his familiar surroundings, opens the blinds and casually looks out of his window. The bustling London cityscape has transformed into a bucolic piazza in a strangely pleasant, Italianate setting. One simple word overlays the screen: “Arrival”. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve watched this intro, this episode, the whole series. What on earth makes all of this so captivating? How is it that nobody interpreted this show from a Jungian perspective? All I can say is that I’m working on it, but for the time being a more general approach will do just fine.
What exactly is the appeal of this bizarre show about this quaint village, and how does its main character relate to my newfound self-understanding? For a queer start, at least one of the many articles I read in the early days of my Prisoner fandom clumsily interpreted the show as a metaphor for closeted homosexuality. If all it takes to make a TV program gay is a well-dressed main character, a highly intelligent plot, and an overall aesthetically pleasing environment, then I guess whoever came up with this theory might actually have a point. But this interpretation might not be as far off as I originally thought. Could the premise of the show be the key to my own queer experience? After all, once I started shifting my own self-understanding from “personally/sexually defective” to “fully asexually functioning,” I immediately felt a surge of forceful energy which indeed is reminiscent of the dramatic initial resignation scene. However, an “out and proud” declaration of one’s newfound identity is nothing more than a first step into a new journey to self-discovery. Waking up in seemingly familiar surroundings, yet finding oneself transposed to a strange environment felt so very relatable to me.
Indeed, “Arrival” centers around the all-important question “Where am I?” Like a caged animal, the protagonist first paces through his flat, then roams the entire village, searching for pointers to help him understand this new environment he finds himself transposed into. Everything is just so eerily familiar, yet absurdly off. An array of good-natured residents, dressed in piped blazers, boaters, colorful striped bretons, stroll leisurely about town. Together with our hero, we quickly learn that the cordless public phone, just like the instantly appearing Mini Moke taxi, provides “local service only”. Maps of the village - even in the more expensive, larger, color version, are useless. What appears to be a scenic seaside resort is, in reality, an inescapable prison.
What follows the Prisoner's “Arrival” is a constant struggle between himself and the authorities that run the village, represented by an ever changing “Number Two” and their attempts to extract “information” about his decision to resign. “You won’t get it!” retorts the Prisoner at the beginning of almost every episode before exclaiming his mantra “I’m not a number, I’m a free man”. Throughout the series he clashes with all aspects of the overbearing village administration and is frequently forced to undergo sinister psychological treatments. Despite its ironically sinister setup, the show is charmingly surreal, tragically absurd, and so very
funny- not at least because of the unique dynamic between Number Six and the female population of the village. It does not take us long to realize that not only will he “not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed or numbered,” but he will most certainly not be touched, kissed, embraced, pursued or seduced by any of the beautiful female villagers that keep swarming around him either as part of village ploys, or their own amorous volition. From the viewpoint of asexual representation “The Prisoner” (like most of McGoohan's screen work) delivers all - and more- than I could ever have asked for! Representation at last. Free for All.
Let’s talk about representation for a moment. Erotic attraction is one of the unquestionable main ingredients of storytelling in the media. While ultimately it is not relevant whether the protagonists have sex, who they have it with or if they regret not having it at all, the lowest common denominator is the understanding of sex peaking the viewer’s interest, and thus selling the program or the product. Except for the millions with a different orientation. Or as my favorite T-shirt trumpets to the world: It’s not that you’re not hot, it’s just that I don’t care.
Due to the lack of representation of aces in the media and public life in general, it is less likely for asexual individuals to identify relatable role models that could have served as validation points for their own journeys. As a consequence, many aces describe their (a)sexual quest as a more or less tragic trajectory that at some point made them consider other queer orientations (am I just a closeted gay?), medical conditions (hormonal disbalance), or psychological root causes (trauma) before they accidentally stumbled across asexuality as an option. In the best possible scenario, they realize that their asexuality, just like other queer identities, has an inherent right to exist for its own merit- at which point the thought of finding a cure or fixing the underlying issue will no longer be a main point of concern. They successfully elevate their experience to the next level, of having a clear understanding of their orientation or gender, However, unfortunately, part of society openly dismisses, ridicules, or downplays the validity of the ace individual’s self-knowledge and experience based on assumptions which we find constantly reiterated in the public discourse. Which is why representation is so important. Which in turn was one of the main reasons I was delighted to discover The Prisoner. In my book, he is ace--on every possible level.