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One of the most revered science fiction series of the ‘60s, Patrick McGoohan and George Markstein’s The Prisoner was the clear precursor to the modern slate of intelligent, engaged fantasy series like Lost and Twin Peaks. The 17-episode cult series (which chronicled the philosophical mind-games between McGoohan’s former-spy Number Six and the scheming Number Two on the island-prison of The Village) transplanted the science fiction genre away from the boy’s own space games of Star Trek and Lost in Space into a more relatable well of paranoia against authority. Engaged with ‘60s concerns like the dangers of a conformist state and the importance of individuality in the midst of traditionalism, The Prisoner was very much a product of its time. Therefore, given the series’ influence and its still-resonant themes, it is unsurprising to see a remake of the original (filmmakers Mel Gibson and Christopher Nolan have tried, but failed to bring the story to the screen). This six-part miniseries is produced by the American Movie Channel (AMC), the broadcaster behind Emmy-lauded hits Mad Men and Breaking Bad.

Unfortunately, although the new series tries hard- too hard- to convey an intense and modern sensibility for a post-9/11 era of surveillance and fear, this American remake is a bland, colourless affair. To their credit, the filmmakers do not attempt to either replicate the Lewis Carol-esque, absurd imagery of the original series or reproduce any of the storylines verbatim. Instead, they have taken the conceit of the original, and focus on relevant, modern concerns like surveillance and the uneasy transference of power and loftier, Jungian ideas about the mind. Too bad the series’ execution is so uninspired and faintly monotonous. Replacing the Welsh-set, emerald landscape of the McGoohan series for a mountainous African desert, writer Bill Gallagher’s remake is an impressively ambitious, but unsatisfying attempt to retool the original’s sense of anarchy and British absurdity for a more po-faced American seriousness and sense of “realism”.

AMC obviously felt they were onto a winner with Gallagher’s screenplay, as the series boasts expensive actors (Jim Caviezel is Number Six and Sir Ian McKellen is Number Two) and beautiful production values. In particular, Florian Hoffmeister’s cinematography is highly accomplished and visually stimulating, and lends a sharpness and precision to director Nick Hurran’s intelligent handling of the opaque material. Unfortunately, Gallagher’s screenplay- which shows every intention of being an intelligent reimagining of the original text- offers some interesting ideas about the mind and subconscious, but also displays little concern for entertainment values, as well. Gallagher has done a good deal of reading of psychoanalytic theory- for instance, he cites philosopher John Gray’s Straw Dogs as an influence on his depiction of The Village- but he shows little interest in bringing these ideas to the screen with verve. In fact, the series is more of a chore than anything else.

It is probably a measure of the integrity of McGoohan’s conceit- the thoughtful individual versus faceless authority- that the program’s mysteries still resonate, even if they are given little personality by the filmmakers. Firstly, the characters are boring, hollow ciphers, almost entirely devoid of interest, but their mind games and attempts to assert control over one another are tiresome as well, lending an aura of boredom and predictability to proceedings.

McKellen- a fine actor who lends class and integrity to productions large (X-Men¸ The Lord of the Rings) and small (Richard III)- is rather unimaginatively cast as the ominous Number Two. McKellen’s Number Two is a one-note and uninspired characterisation, delivering his ominous pleasantries with an obvious, forced delivery. Caviezel, too, has excelled as the everyman attempting to maintain their spiritual dignity in a cruel, violent world. Along with Ben Chaplin, he was the centre of Terence Mallick’s anti-War masterpiece The Thin Red Line and he was a more tormented and human Christ in Gibson’s Passion of the Christ, but he is a stolid and uninvolving Number Six. (In 2005, Christopher Eccleston left the rebooted Doctor Who franchise for the chance to play Number Six in an aborted British production, and the always-interesting actor would have made for a fascinating choice.) Neither a sharp, strikingly intellectual opposition to Number Two’s treachery nor an effective emotional centre for this fantastical environment, Caviezel is bland and boring as the series’ anti-hero, and embodies much of this series’ hazy, unconvincing vagueness.

Inert, lifeless and dull, the new series of The Prisoner is an ambitious, but insensitive and dull remake of McGoohan’s original.

ABC will broadcast The Prisoner later this year.