After resigning, a secret agent is abducted and taken to what looks like an idyllic village, but is really a bizarre prison. His warders demand information. He gives them nothing, but only tries to escape.
A New Yorker awakens to find himself in a place called The Village run by a man known as Two. As everyone in The Village is referred to only by a number, everyone in The Village refers to him as Six - despite he himself knowing that he has another name - and seems to know who he is. He is told he lives in The Village and that The Village is the only reality there is. Six's mission becomes to find out where The Village is, who Two is and why he is seemingly keeping him prisoner in The Village (despite Two stating that Six is a free man), and how he can escape to his life back in New York. Six has to learn who among the Villagers he can trust - who include a doctor named 313, a cab driver named 147, and Two's own son named 11-12 - in his quest to escape from The Village. Six also has recurring memories of his life in New York, including an encounter with a woman named Lucy, which may be part of the key to discovering why he's in The Village. Written by
Vaguely Interesting but mostly off-the-mark reboot.
Too much dialog written in the most obvious fashion. Too little mystery. Too little tension. The essential drama and motivation of the story missing as much as No. 6's mind.
The issues with this series have less to do with its similarity or non-similarity to its source material than it has with the tenor of contemporary film-making and writing. Classicism and all its artistic forms have all but disappeared from education, so it is not surprising that what passes off as entertainment today is hardly groundbreaking or even interesting. There are exceptions to the rule, of course, but by and large episodic television is at a low point.
It isn't even so much that Prisoner 2.0 differs from the original (in itself not necessarily a bad thing if handled properly) but the fact there is little personality to the proceedings is its major weakness.
Film-making, collaborative or auteur, rely on the singular voice of its many artists ringing out in concert, guided by the deliberate hand of a producer or director who sees the forest for the trees. Film-making is about style as much as about content and the two have to cohere meaningfully. When it doesn't, as in this new reboot, the results are muddled.
The presence of Ian McKellen isn't enough to elevate it and Caviezel simply miscast.
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