I have very little compunction about taking your artistic vision and twisting it into something readable- Number Nine, Number Nine, Number Nine, Number Nine
Veteran actor Patrick McGoohan died today at the age of 80. I will always remember him for that one brilliant season of his life, that “Citizen Kane” moment when he created, from sheer talent, drive, and force of will, the most disturbing and thoughtful TV series ever: “The Prisoner.”
The first time the series was broadcast here in the US, I sat riveted for every episode. In the closing minutes of the last episode, I had to tear myself away and run to the bathroom, and so did not get to see the final, shattering revelation in which we discover the answer to the question that haunts the opening credits of every episode: “Who is Number 1?” (my mother saw it, but she refused to tell me — she just smirked and winked). Many years later, when the series re-ran, I caught it and this time made sure not to miss the end of the last episode. Once I realized what I had just seen, I thought to myself: “Of course. Who else could Number 1 have been?”
In honor of McGoohan?s masterwork, I resurrected an essay I wrote back in early 2003; it’s the first sustained piece I wrote after coming back to writing after a (30-year) “hiatus” from writing.