Back in September, I had the pleasure of seeing Monty Python and the Holy Grail at the Majestic Theatre in downtown Dallas for its 50th anniversary. The folks in attendance were some of the biggest fans you could imagine, and we had a guest host: none other than John Cleese himself.
This was part of Cleese’s “I’m Not Dead Yet” tour. He came out on stage before the movie played and talked about what led up to it. One tidbit that he shared is that the Python crew wrote the original screenplay, then tossed around 90% of it into the bin. The remaining 10%? The scene at the very beginning of the movie about the coconuts, which was written by Michael Palin. Considering the movie that they delivered, I can only imagine what was in the original version.
After the movie, Cleese came out again and answered questions in bunny slippers. While he was talking, he mentioned that Dallas is particularly special to him because this was where Python first found a toehold in the United States. That got me to thinking about how Python has influenced my life (and certainly my sense of humor) over the years, let’s take a look, shall we?
The KERA Connection
I was very lucky to have PBS in my life growing up. Sesame Street, Electric Company, and 3-2-1 Contact (especially the Bloodhound Gang) were staples of my early years. The Dallas PBS affiliate, KERA, was the one who first aired episodes of Monty Python’s Flying Circus in the ‘70s, due in large part to KERA’s Program Director, Ron Devillier.
This led to more British television making the jump across the Atlantic, including: Fawlty Towers, Are You Being Served?, Keeping Up Appearances, Black Adder, Yes, Minister, Absolutely Fabulous, Dad’s Army, and the list goes on.
I watched all of those growing up, not to mention Doctor Who. These shows had seemingly always been there. I didn’t realize how close it came to not happening at all. But happen it did, and Monty Python was the king of the hill in my estimation. When my dad introduced me to Holy Grail at age seven, I was an immediate fan. While I was too young to get many of the jokes, the farcical nature, like King Arthur riding around on an imaginary horse to the sound of coconuts banging together, was not lost on me.
I didn’t like the ending back then, and that hasn’t changed over the years. One of the first pieces of fan fiction I ever created was about Arthur, Bedivere, and Lancelot breaking out of police custody, giving the bobbies the slip, and circling back to Castle Aaaaaaargggh to defeat the French and finally retrieve the Holy Grail at last. I even had God open his animated cloud window again to give Arthur an attaboy for pulling it off…in an appropriately snarky tone, of course.
When I showed Holy Grail to my youngest son, I was delighted to see that he found it hilarious, but he also hated the ending. Like father like son, though we did try to warn him.
Theatre of the Absurd
One of my favorite sketches in Flying Circus is the courtroom scene in episode #3. It starts with Eric Idle giving an impassioned speech about freedom over a minor parking violation. After a rambling diatribe by Graham Chapman in drag, John Cleese as a barrister calls a (virtually) dead man in a coffin as a witness. That goes about as well as you might expect.
Not to be outdone, he then calls Cardinal Richelieu, played by Michael Palin, as a character witness. After a few questions, Graham Chapman bursts back onto the scene as a Scotland Yard Inspector named Dim. The inspector correctly deduces that the witness is not the real Cardinal Richelieu, who died in 1642. He is, in fact, Ron Higgins, a professional Cardinal Richelieu impersonator.
At that point, Inspector Dim starts to sing a song that says that if he were not with the CID, he would have been a window cleaner. The entire courtroom erupts into song, including Terry Jones as the judge who wears the long, traditional wig. The final cherry on top is what happens next.
Once Dim’s song concludes, John Cleese’s barrister begins his own song about being a train engine driver. It doesn’t last very long as suddenly everyone in the courtroom looks at him as though the previous song had never happened, like he had burst into song in the middle of actual court proceedings. Embarrassed, the barristers sits down, and a knight in full plate armor sits next to him, who then clonks Cleese on the head with a chicken.
Genius.
The sketch takes the relative normality of a courtroom and turns it on its head in at least seven different ways. This sketch is a microcosm for what I love and appreciate about Python: their ability to play something absolutely straight while the actual substance of the situation is utterly absurd.
Another example is the Crocodile sketch. Eric Idle delivers the news while reporting on the Olympic sport, the Men’s Being Eaten By a Crocodile. The sport involves a sixty-yard sprint to a pit of crocodiles to then be the first one eaten. To me, one of the best lines is about the coach: “Duke’s trained every British team since 1928. It’s his blend of gymnastic know-how, reptilian expertise, and culinary skill that’s turn many an unappetizing novice into a crocodillic banquet.”
*Chef’s Kiss*
Essays in Escalation
Of course, Python is renowned for their ability to continually escalate a normal-seeming situation into the stratosphere. The one people are probably the most familiar with is the Parrot sketch. While that is a classic to be sure, here are three of my favorite examples of this escalation at work:
The Cheese Shop: John Cleese walks into a cheese shop run by Michael Palin. Cleese begins asking for various types of cheese, running through an impressive catalog of cheese names. Each time, Palin says that they are either out of that kind, they don’t carry it, or that the cat’s eaten it. Palin eventually admits that he doesn’t have any cheese in his cheese shop and that he was deliberately wasting Cleese’s time. Then Cleese shoots him.
The Argument: Cleese and Palin are at it again as Palin goes into an office to buy an argument. This sketch goes back and forth, exploring what an argument is supposed to be as they literally argue about whether they are having an argument or not. Cleese eventually concedes that he could be “arguing in his spare time.” Brilliant.
The Bookshop: Perhaps my favorite, this time Cleese is on the receiving end as a long-suffering bookstore owner. As the annoying customer (who has been played by various actors over the years) continually asks for increasingly obscure book titles, Cleese begins to unravel. The bookshop owner begins tearing pages out of books to satisfy the customer, even offering to by it for them when it turns out the customer has no money, checks, or even a bank account. In a final escalation, the customer can’t actually read. So, Cleese sits them down and starts reading to them.
All of these scenarios are master classes in comedic escalation, and definitely form the backbone of how I approach humor in my own writing.
Romans Go Home
There’s a scene in Life of Brian where Graham Chapman’s titular character paints “Romans Go Home” on a building in Latin. He’s caught in the act by a centurion played by John Cleese. Cleese immediately corrects his grammar, and forces Brian to write “Romans Go Home” many times until he finally gets the verb forms and agreements correct. While I’ve always found this part funny, it’s a lot funnier since I studied Latin in college. It underscores the fact that Monty Python’s brand of humor comes from an understanding of history, classics, economics, art, philosophy, and social awkwardness.
Those are all hallmarks of British comedy in general, but Python really brought that to the forefront in almost every sketch, scene, and movie. The scene with Dennis in Holy Grail is another sterling example of this. Arthur just wants to know who lives in a castle in the distance, but instead is given a socio-political lecture by a peasant who calls out the obvious flaw in the Excalibur/Lady of the Lake story. It gives us the immortal line: “Listen, strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government!”
I’ve always found British comedy way more cerebral and thoughtful than its American counterpart. Don’t worry, I’m not going full Anglophile here, I’m just saying that British humor relies on more than just a surface level understanding of the circumstances and situation, and that appeals to me. To illustrate this contrast in approaches between the two, here’s a commercial that John Cleese starred in for Schweppes Ginger Ale in the ‘90s. You’ll see what I mean.
Final Thoughts
I’m thankful for having been exposed to Monty Python at such a young age, and I appreciate both KERA for hosting it and my dad for being such a fan already. Of course, no recitation of gratitude would be complete without a Texas-sized thank you to the members of Monty Python itself. So, to John Cleese, Michael Palin, Eric Idle, Terry Gilliam, and both the late greats Terry Jones and Graham Chapman.
Now that my son has seen it, it has become a triple generational thing. If he starts a family of his own, I hope it’s something he’ll pass on yet again. And that’s the thing about British Humor and Python in particular: It gets funnier every time I see it. I appreciate them for their wordplay, biting political commentary, classical and historical references, and audacity to challenge social norms in ways that no one expects.
See? No one ever expects it.
We have one more blog post coming up for December, so stay tuned for that. And, if you like what we do here, consider joining the Sector M Patreon. In any case, please stay safe on your travels for Thanksgiving, pace yourself, and take plenty of naps. Thanks for reading!
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