The 7 Ages of the Prisoner (pt. 8)

Episode 7--School Days Are Over--Many Happy Returns

"Oh Lord, my God, is there no help for the widow's son?"

In his volume on initiation, Rene Guenon goes considerably out of his way to differentiate between initiation and mysticism. I'd be a fool not to defer to M. Guenon's expertise in such matters, however it can be said that both mysticism and initiation are similar in that they both can often instill a powerful, and paradoxical, sense of isolation and strangeness into the seer or initiate. It's as though the world of cause and condition has been pulled out from under the initiate's feet and he or she seems to stumble through an empty world of sleepwalkers and robots. It's similar to the existential crises' that many young people go through. An awareness of both the meaningless decrepitude of material posession, counterbalanced by an idealistic vision of what could be, with the passionate hope for its future accomplishment.

This is the world to which our pilgrim Prisoner awakes to at the start of Many Happy Returns. School is out, and our initiate stands alone. No longer a boy, but not yet a man.

Please note the red and white banners on two of the portico's columns. These colors will be repeated throughout the episode, notably on a lighthouse and, appropriately enough, a milk truck.

The Masonic organization for young men, the Order of DeMolay, gives mention to these two colors in a lecture known as the flower talk:

The Order of DeMolay teaches many beautiful lessons, but none is more important than honour and true respect for womanhood, and more especially for motherhood. It is fitting, therefore, that you have been called upon to stand again before this altar in a few moments of special emphasis upon the virtue which has been given first place among the jewels adorning the Crown of Youth: Filial Love.

For my purpose now, this altar is dedicated to our mothers, whose love never fails. You may rise to positions of great influence in commercial, political, or professional life, but you can never reach the heights of your mother's secret hopes for you. You may sink into the lowest depths of infamy and degradation, but never below the reach of her love. The memory of it will always stir your heart. There is no man so entirely base, so completely vile, so utterly low, that he does not hold in his heart a shrine sacred and apart for the memory of his mother's love....
It was your mother who loved you before you were born--who carried you for long months close to her heart and in the fullness of time took God's hand in hers and passed through the valley of shadows to give you life. It was she who cared for you during the helpless years of infancy and the scarcely less dependent years of childhood. As you have grown less dependent, she has done the countless, thoughtful, trouble-healing, helpful and encouraging things which somehow only mothers seem to know how to do. You may have accepted these attentions more or less as matters of course, and perhaps without conscious gratitude or any expression of your appreciation. You are rapidly approaching the time in life when you will be entirely independent of your mother. The ties with which dependency has bound you to her may be severed as you grow older, but the tie of mother-love can never be broken....
These flowers which you see on our altar are symbols of that mother love. The white, the love of the mother who is gone. And the red, the mother who still lives to bless your life....[*]

Directed by Patrick McGoohan under the pseudonym Joseph Serf, Many Happy Returns, is a distinctive and first-rate example of the Prisoner's art. If there'd been any doubt as to the allegorical nature of the Prisoner's story, this show should help to dispel it. No words are spoken throughout the first 20 minutes or so. As a sign in the village shop proclaims, "Music says it all."

The Prisoner awakens to an empty village. After wandering for a while, he becomes convinced that it's not a trick, that he really is on his own. He begans gathering materials both for his escape and as proof of the Village's existence.

Building another boat, the Prisoner sets sail. As in any good coming of age yarn, he encounters deprivations and bandits, Bohemians and small acts of kindness that sustain him. Eventually he finds his way back to the front door of his former residence. Bearded, haggard, and decrepit, he eventually is able to convince the apartment's current occupant, the stylish widow, Mrs. Butterworth, that he is indeed the former owner.

As an aside, Mrs. Butterworth's is an American brand of maple syrup, whose Willendorf Venus-esque shaped bottle is something of an advertising icon. Who else but could be the surrogate mother of 'flapjack Charlie?'

This Mrs. Butterworth is more Twiggy than Butterfly McQueen, however. Svelte and dressed in Carnaby street threads, she feeds her prodigal visitor, taking evident maternal delight both in his stuffing his face and just the fact that he is there, safe and sound. She feeds and clothes him, and he is on his way.

Returning to his former post he is unable to convince his superiors of his ineffable experience or the reality of the Village. So it is for the traveler recently returned from Magonia attempting to prove the reality of his experience to the hardheaded scientific materialist or hidebound arch-bishops of the status quo. Whereas he considers his photographs, logbook, and copy of the last edition of the Tally-Ho as substantial proof, his superiors view it as only gossamer evidence.

But eventually they humor him and plot out the probable location of the Village. As part of my general no-spoilers policy I'll end the discussion here, noting only that the Prisoner is tricked into returning to the Village, appropriately enough on his birthday, March 19th.

He is risen, like new, and Spring blossoms upon the world.

To be continued--be seeing you!