Fall Out (S01E17)
Airdate: February 1st 1968
Written by: Patrick McGoohan
Directed by: Patrick McGoohan
Running Time: 50 minutes
The Prisoner is widely regarded as one of the most seminal and influential television productions of the 1960s, a series whose innovative blending of spy thriller, science fiction, and psychological drama left an indelible mark on the dystopian narratives that followed. Yet, even among its most devoted admirers, a consensus holds that the show's overall quality began to wane approximately halfway through its original seventeen-episode run. This perception fuels the common view that its ambitious beginning was far stronger, or at least more conceptually promising, than its conclusion. The final episode, Fall Out, stands as a paradoxical testament to this decline. It is both famous and infamous for its steadfast refusal to provide clear resolutions, confounding audiences upon its original broadcast. However, it is precisely this deliberate ambiguity and the decades of fervent debate it has spawned among viewers, fans, and critics that have cemented Fall Out as a cornerstone of the series' enduring cult status.
Fall Out functions as a direct sequel to the preceding episode, Once Upon a Time, recapping the climactic events of that psychodrama. In that installment, a determined Number Two (portrayed by Leo McKern) subjected Number Six to the brutal "Degree Absolute" process in a final, desperate attempt to break his spirit, a confrontation that concluded with Two's apparent death and Six's victory. The episode is notable for departing from the series' standard format; it abandons the customary opening titles. Instead, the producers simply offer a title card expressing gratitude to the Village's distinctive location, Portmeirion, and its creator, the architect Sir Clough Williams-Ellis. This unusual choice subtly breaks the fourth wall, acknowledging the artificiality of the setting from the outset and setting a self-referential tone for the surreal proceedings to come.
The plot resumes with Number Six, having ostensibly won his freedom through this ordeal, being offered his ultimate reward: a meeting with the Number One, the mysterious authority behind the Village. Prior to this encounter, he is compelled to attend a bizarre ceremony within a cavernous Assembly Hall. Here, a figure known as the President (Kenneth Griffin) declares that Six has "passed the ultimate test" and earned the "right to be an individual." However, before any transfer of power can occur, the assembly must address two other rebels. The first is Number Forty-Eight (Alexis Kanner), a young man who embodies the language, mannerisms, and anti-establishment ethos of the 1960s counterculture. The second is the resurrected Number Two, who confesses that he, like Six, was once an abducted prisoner who ultimately cooperated with his captors. Both men are sentenced to be sealed within glass cylinders. Six is then presented with a choice: he may leave the Village, or he may accept the presidency and become its new leader.
When Number Six attempts to address the assembly, his speech is drowned out by the cacophonous crowd. Assisted by the silent but ever-present Butler (Angelo Muscat), he escapes to a control centre, where he finally confronts Number One. The revelation that One shares his own face—depicted as a grotesque, cackling mask—is one of the series' most iconic and puzzling images. In the ensuing chaos, Six discovers the controls for a missile and launches it. Seizing the opportunity, he liberates Forty-Eight and Two, and the quartet overpowers security guards to commandeer a large truck for their escape. As the missile launches and the Village is evacuated, they flee to London. The denouement sees them part ways: Forty-Eight hitchhikes away, Two enters a government building, the Butler assumes residence in Six's former home, and Six himself drives off in the Lotus Seven sports car familiar from the series' iconic opening sequence.
While The Prisoner was consistently surreal, Fall Out elevates this strangeness to another level entirely. This is immediately evident in its eccentric musical selections. Number Six's descent into the cavern is scored to The Beatles' "All You Need Is Love" (a band whose member George Harrison was a noted fan of the show), Number Forty-Eight's rebellion is expressed through a rendition of "Dem Bones," and the Village's evacuation is accompanied by Carmen Miranda's "I, Yi, Yi, Yi, Yi (I Like You Very Much)." The visual eccentricity matches the auditory, with the assembly and Village staff adorned in white capes and grotesque masks. The dialogue, much of which was reportedly improvised by Kenneth Griffin, often veers into the nonsensical. Furthermore, the baffling encounter with his own doppelgänger is deliberately constructed to resist definitive interpretation, leaving core questions about identity and control tantalisingly unanswered.
Patrick McGoohan, who served as the episode's writer and director, appears to engage in a pointed spoof of contemporary James Bond films during the final act. The sequence—featuring a secret underground lair, a countdown to a missile launch, and faceless guards effortlessly dispatched with machine guns—feels like a reprise of elements from the earlier, more overtly parodic episode The Girl Who Was Death. This repetition has led some critics to view it as a recycling of ideas rather than a novel culmination. The pastiche can be interpreted as McGoohan's final commentary on the spy genre he helped to define and from which he sought to distance his creation.
The episode has divided fans, critics, and scholars for over five decades. Some champion it as a genuinely original and shocking conclusion, perfectly in tune with the anti-establishment, rule-breaking ethos of the late 1960s. They argue that providing neat answers would have betrayed the series' fundamental themes of unyielding individuality and the elusiveness of truth. Others, however, see it as a profound cop-out; a convenient way to end the series when McGoohan, by some accounts, had run out of creative steam and could not conceive of a finale that would satisfy either himself or a mainstream audience. Key questions are left deliberately ambiguous: Is Number Six's departure a true escape, or merely another layer of illusion? If, as McGoohan later suggested in interviews, the Village exists within each individual and the villainous Number One is a part of Six himself, does this profound idea salvage the narrative, or does it serve as a metaphysical deus ex machina that excuses a lack of concrete plotting?
The broadcast context further complicated its reception. As ITV was not a unified national network at the time, Fall Out aired on different days across various British regions, depriving it of the simultaneous cultural impact that landmark American finales like The Fugitive or later MASH would enjoy. Nevertheless, it became one of the most talked-about and controversial television events in Britain of its era. Anecdotes suggest McGoohan even went into hiding briefly to avoid the wrath of disappointed and angry viewers. In this sense, its divisiveness prefigured the polarising reception of other ambiguous finales, such as The Sopranos' Made in America, nearly fifty years later.
This very ambiguity, however, ensured that Fall Out could never function as a definitive ending. The unresolved mysteries guaranteed the story's life would continue in other media. This expansion began almost immediately with the 1969 novelisation by renowned science fiction author Thomas M. Disch.^6^ Disch's book, The Prisoner (later republished as I Am Not a Number!), served as a direct sequel, exploring the protagonist's recapture and his struggle to reclaim stolen memories. The novel intriguingly posits that the Village might be a dream, a state of consciousness, a set of false memories, or a virtual reality simulation, thereby canonising and expanding upon the television finale's inherent ambiguity. Critical reception to Disch's work was mixed; some found it a worthy successor that captured the series' spirit, while others felt it lacked the original's surreal spark. This was followed by further literary sequels, comic books like Shattered Visage (which retroactively explained Fall Out as an extended drug-induced psychodrama), video games, and perennial discussions of a feature film adaptation. The 2009 television remake ultimately shelved McGoohan's own long-gestating cinematic plans.
At the end, Fall Out is an utterly singular piece of television. It is a work of profound artistic ambition that is equally vulnerable to accusations of self-indulgence and narrative failure. Its rushed production—McGoohan was reportedly given only a week to write it after learning of the series' cancellation—is often palpable in its chaotic, improvisational feel. Yet, its unwavering commitment to its own cryptic logic, its daring visual and auditory experimentation, and its rejection of conventional closure have transformed it from a perceived failure into the engine of the series' longevity. It refused to give the audience what they wanted, and in doing so, it gave them something far more valuable: an endless labyrinth of questions.
RATING: 6/10 (++)
Blog in Croatian https://draxblog.com
Blog in English https://draxreview.wordpress.com/
InLeo blog https://inleo.io/@drax.leo
InLeo: https://inleo.io/signup?referral=drax.leo
Leodex: https://leodex.io/?ref=drax
Hiveonboard: https://hiveonboard.com?ref=drax
Rising Star game: https://www.risingstargame.com?referrer=drax
1Inch: https://1inch.exchange/#/r/0x83823d8CCB74F828148258BB4457642124b1328e
BTC donations: 1EWxiMiP6iiG9rger3NuUSd6HByaxQWafG
ETH donations: 0xB305F144323b99e6f8b1d66f5D7DE78B498C32A7
BCH donations: qpvxw0jax79lhmvlgcldkzpqanf03r9cjv8y6gtmk9