Have I mentioned already how I’ve been dreaming so much that I wake up like I’ve walked out of the Dark Knight? Well, a version of Dark Knight where the perspective switches between Batman’s and mine, all sorts of details are wrong and the story unravels in a direction somewhat if not completely unlike that of the original. This weekend I came up with no less than three episodes of House and an alternate ending to the Prisoner, apparently filmed later in the Seventies—must be my mind blurring those two decades again, from memories of reunion shows like this one—where No. Six is shot dead by the shopkeeper!
So Sunday afternoon I multi-tasked in the six-episode universally-panned miniseries from last year, and yes, I hated it. Bad enough they’d even hint that the “93” character was Patrick McGoohan’s (I get it, 9-3=6), but there were so many of them, who could keep track, much less care? Life in the twenty-first century is so far one long jail sentence imposed to keep us free from terrorism, and another Matrix is the best they could come up with? I’ve mellowed, though, and might actually agree to the suggestion that the series be remade every now and then, if only to shake things up, to remind us the world hasn’t changed, much, and if we’re to measure progress with a penny-farthing, it’s gotten worse.
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