I do not have a favourite 1960’s tv show; because all are my first choice. The Baron, Saint, Man in a Suitcase, The Champions (Alexandria Bastedo a dream girl), The Avengers (Linda Thorson’s portrait of Tara King is superb) the list is endless.
My love of spy, crime and pseudo action shows cannot wane. Nostalgia waxes my creative mind. The stories, characters and production combine to produce a viewing encounter unique to the era. The ‘punchy’ bright and vibrant colours seal my fate, I find the programmes more addictive than tobacco.
Over the last few days, I have revisited ‘The Prisoner’ starring Patrick McGoohan. Anyone who has watched the series knows its uniqueness. The seventeen episodes have influenced writers, actors and film directors over the last four decades. If there is a television series which keeps the viewer guessing, this is the one. McGoohan was asked many times about the meaning of the series; he gave unsatisfactory answers. My feeling is, it’s a reflection of being imprisoned by fears.
The programmes hold another lesson. As I watch the episodes, I realise there are millions of people who: – 1) Would not know about the series and 2) would not recognise or know the names of the players. At the time of production and broadcast, millions of people around the world saw the programmes. Forty years later they rest in a desert known as insignificance.
Think how well known and famous the programmes and actors were at the time. And now they have vanished from existence. Today while looking after my partners market stall, I took the opportunity to talk about the programs to the customers. The first sixteen customers looked at me with the classical vacant stare. I gave up the quest to talk to someone about the programmes. Believing me to be talking some form of secret code, they purchased incense sticks and with ‘It’s a busy day today’ ‘Not too much time today’ ‘See you later in the week’ left me to my insanity.
I’m running out of time.
The programmes made me think. If the television series ‘stars’ who were once ‘household names’ are forgotten. What hope has a human of being remembered by anyone outside his close and personal environment? In reality, we are insignificant. Those who work a lifetime chasing recognition and fame waste their life hours. Recognised or not, in the long term all of us are insignificant.
Times up – It is a 10-minute essay
The Heart of the Mind 