BOOK AND SAMPLE CHAPTERS
SAMPLE CHAPTER - MANY HAPPY RETURNS
‘Many Happy Returns’, was to have been the final of thirteen. He gets out but he has to be recaptured (heroically!!) in case the show continues.” Scriptwriter Anthony Skene.
“I think ‘Many Happy Returns’ is my favourite, ‘cause I like the idea that he got away. It made it more real for me – it took the fantasy out of the series, that he actually got back into the city, so I knew it wasn’t a fantasy dream. I knew it was a real story. It made the series work for me.” Production manager Bernie Williams
‘Many Happy Returns’: “was the way to go, a signpost for the future.” George Markstein.
‘He examines the statues. They don’t examine him.’ Scene 15. Cut.
The Birthday Present. Obliquely, Homer’s Odyssey as 20th Century Voyage ‘Home’.
‘Current episode of ‘The Prisoner’ (ITC) is ‘Many Happy Returns’ directed by Michael Truman from a script by Anthony Skene. Last in current series. New series begins in August.’ The Daily Cinema, Wednesday 12 April 1967.
‘Many Happy Returns’ was the thirteenth episode to be produced and filmed, in what might have been the final episode in a possible first series. However, the creative force was to think otherwise, (and I deduce, upon completion), it was screened seventh. To script editor George Markstein, it was a signpost, the way to go, effectively ‘freeing’ ‘The Prisoner’ into the outside world, (only to find he was exchanging one prison for another. We will return to this.) “I think Pat was deliberately making sure that no one episode was ever really finished. I think he wanted to keep them so that they would all finally be put together at the last minute. Maybe he was afraid that they could criticise what it was and say: ‘Well, this is ridiculous. What a silly story that is!’ when it was out of context. That was my feeling. So it is very difficult to say whether we got behind schedule deliberately.” Len Harris. Camera Operator.
The germination of the plot is rooted in the relationship between producer David Tomblin and McGoohan himself. The idea for there to be no dialogue during the First Act is ascribed to Tomblin; however, in one interview, (that I remember reading but am unable to locate), he is hazy but thought it originated from McGoohan. This, and ‘escaping’ the Village, back to London, he remembered, is the premise scriptwriter Skene was presented with by Markstein.
The summary: P awakes. The community has vanished. He embarks on an odyssey. He returns. As do his fellow inhabitants. In a sense, a microcosm described, just as the series arc from the opening runway, intense, determined, close-up that also completes full circle the macrocosmic cycle in ‘Fall Out’. Symbolised by the two wheels of the penny-farthing.
Whether screened as six-plus-one, or in its originally intended slot, or anywhere else for that matter, some believe it emphasised an idea, a dimension already touched upon, already hinted at in a number of episodes most notably, ‘Dance of the Dead’. Have you spotted it? Yes, that just maybe, the nightmare P was enduring, was just that, a dream in some way. It might be all happening inside his head. However, as above, the production manager drew another conclusion, illustrating that other interpretations are possible.
As with the concluding five episodes, the viewer was not permitted to mentally relax. Having introduced us to the world of the Village in the pilot, the P had been subjected to successive developing attempts to prise his secrets until, ‘The General’, where, in a change of dynamic, he became involved in the speedlearn project, initially as an observer. All these episodes have utilised a similar basic format. Now, ‘Many Happy Returns’ will jolt the viewer from any perception of a formulaic structure. In a way, just as the rather lamentable ‘It’s Your Funeral’ defies categorisation, so too does this enigmatic tale. It is betwixt and between. Neither an attempt to probe the mind, nor a standard narrative of life in the Village. Although always a popular episode, in polls generally ranked well within in the top ten, even as high as third, fresh after the 1976 screening when Six of One members first cast their votes. So why might this be? After all, at first glance, no deep or profound statements, no psychological games, no themes appear addressed, and, till well into Act Two, no dialogue? Yes, it boasts a great deal of location work, minimal studio footage, a distinctly clever and ingenious plot, and first rate acting and direction from McGoohan. Commentators and observers all agree he made a fine job of it. Fairclough, who has written extensively about, ‘The Prisoner’, praises McGoohan’s style, “perfectly suited to capturing the wide screen feel of the open sea, the English countryside and London, creating a visual breath of fresh air after the enforced, claustrophobic jollity of the Village.” I would support that view, adding that, throughout, the direction is accomplished. Whether for the portrayal and exploration of the deserted Village, or for the intense indoor sequences where Number Six attempts to account for himself, or the lightness of touch interacting with Mrs Butterworth, and the tragic heartrending final scenes. McGoohan and Tomblin gave the bare outline ideas, and in turn, Markstein gave the commission to a trusted writer, Anthony Skene, whose two previous contributions had both proved just the sort of material that would ensure longevity.
Wherever this intriguing episode was placed, it only added to the mystery. Up until it was screened, there had been a logical progression, a series of steps for which there were explanations that remained true to the concept. A format familiarity has been established, allowing viewers to become acclimatised and consequently believe that they have grasped the format, comfortable in the knowledge, (like so many television series), of a certain consistency, that everything will fit neatly into a recognised and predictable framework which always concludes satisfactorily, complete with a bow. The late critic, Clive James, expressed this as, “classic inevitability of its repetitions,” when discussing ‘Star Trek’ in 1973. Now, here, with its ‘Marie Celeste’ influences, defying logic, and the sudden unexplained return of the residents, the average viewer must have realised they were no longer watching what might be termed a regular ‘action/adventure’ show. Truly, it marked a departure. But then, given the story outline presented to him, the writer exercised his considerable imagination. As I relate more fully in the following, ‘Dance of the Dead’ chapter, it was the transmission of two plays that Skene penned, (which were transmitted as part of a portmanteau 1966 television series under the umbrella title of ‘The Seven Deadly Sins’), that caused Markstein to knock on Skene’s door. These led directly to the commissioning of ‘Dance of the Dead’, as I will discuss in that chapter. All three of Skene’s scripts were classy, imaginative, and rich in ideas and dialogue.
There are a number of factors that unite each of Skene’s three episodes. He draws inspiration from Greek mythology, (in this case, ‘The Odyssey’), also employing dreams in one sense or another. He has both a partiality and a flair for surrealism, particularly when writing dialogue laden with ambiguity, the power of the night, darkness, the symbolism of corridors, doors, mirrors, and trials of one sort or another, also a great gift for springing surprises. In addition, he was also much influenced by the films of French poet, dramatist, writer, and filmmaker, Jean Cocteau. All these factors combine to produce scripts that have more than a hint of ‘otherworldliness’, as I suggested in ‘A. B. and C’. In that episode, the P was subjected to mind manipulation while dreaming, in this surreal tale its ambiguous nature leaves it open to interpretation, and in the wandering, ethereal, ‘Dance of the Dead’, (which features a considerable amount of nocturnal activity), talk is of different worlds, of dreams, of death, epitomised and exemplified by the dialogue exchanged on the beach between the P and ‘Peter Pan’. Oh, and black cats featured in two of Skene’s scripts...
As this was the last of Skene’s three scripts to be submitted, I shall confine myself to not exploring or elaborating in depth material which I have discussed elsewhere, initially in ‘A. B. and C.’, then quite extensively in Skene’s first script, ‘Dance of the Dead’. Nevertheless, to appreciate ‘Many Happy Returns’, naturally some exploration and examination is essential.
In correspondence dating from 1984, Skene wrote to me, remarking that George, “Was in disfavour by ‘A, B, & C’, which would be in February 1967, though still daily working in his office. ‘Many Happy Returns’, (by which time George was at Thames and ringing), was to have been the final of the thirteen. He gets out but has to be recaptured (heroically!!) in case the show continues.” This would seem to indicate that either Skene’s memory has failed him, or George’s insecurities were being communicated to the writer. We do know that this was the last story Markstein did complete, with his script editor credit, and a second brief cameo as the nameless bureaucrat. Writer of ‘The General’, Lewis Griefer, of the direction McGoohan was taking the series in, said: “… and the allegorical elements George hated, never did like them.” Putting that to one side, in an early edition of ‘Alert’, Markstein had recalled that he liked the episode and felt it: “was the way to go, a signpost for the future.” Both: “‘The Chimes of Big Ben’ and ‘Many Happy Returns’ explored the involvement of the outside, hinted at the world beyond the Village, and yet brought us back each time to the fundamental core of the situation.” Yet the former deludes the P into thinking he really has left the confines of the Village, whereas in the latter, it would appear his ‘escape’ is predetermined. The Village must either know their man or are very confident. Either way, they have elevated the stakes in their efforts to break the P.