(October 27, 1967; writer: Terence Feely; director: Pat Jackson)
In 2019, the line between television and le cinema is blurred to the max. Major directors do important work for television now. Auteur shit. Shit that’s a part of the same conversations that people have about theatrical movies. There are people who will argue that there’s still a division between the two forms of media, but, from where I sit, it looks like the walls are a’ tumblin’ down, Charlie.
The rise of high-definition television and cable networks (and streaming services) who can be more ambitious than their more dorky broadcast TV counterparts, still tethered to those FCC regulations and Doritos commercials, are the obvious steps forward.
But there were earlier advances toward this. The original run of Twin Peaks is a stepping stone, for sure. In my opinion, Miami Vice was one, too. (I intend to write about that show here in time, if you care.)
And way back in the 1960s, The Prisoner was similarly ambitious. Over fifty years later, these episodes look and behave like “a movie” to me. Its shots are beautifully composed and packed with information. Its background characters are sometimes a Fellini-like collection of memorable faces and bodies. Nothing about it seems cheap. When they went for a special effect, they put in the work to pull it off.
“Schizoid Man”, in which star Patrick McGoohan plays two roles, is a perfect example of what I’m babbling about.
(I’m also going to spoil the fuck out of it in this piece, so beware.)
