Episode 3 "How to Recognize Different Types of Trees..."

"A vast bowl of pus!" - Eric Idle as the Restaurant Manager

A key part of the Python canon is-- the film. According to Michael Palin's diaries, the team first "came into being" on film shoots around Ham House, Boveney, Bournemouth and Shell Bay in early-mid July, 1969. The diaries begin with the film shoots-- the writing of the film clips is apparently pre-historic.

Much of Episode 3 is the fruit of those July weeks. Many of these filmed bits would become classics of Python lore. This is where Michael Palin really begins to shine, his acting talent customized to the medium of film. While no slouch in front of an audience, no one in the group worked the close-up like he did. His real genius dwelt in film. It certainly did not dwell in the completeness of his diary.

We begin, once more, with the "It's" Man, this time emerging from a hostile and forbidding forest. Palin gives this approach his all-- his staggering seems more painful somehow as he clutches one arm to his chest. When the credit animations begin, we hear laughter for the first time, mixed with the coughs, which continues intermittently throughout the goofball cartoons. Are the audiences beginning to warm up to MPFC, or was this particular group all liquored up? (Although, this was London in the late 60's. Every group would have been liquored up- at least.)

Then comes a relatively formal framing device. Instead of pigs and flying sheep, we have a hideously awful slideshow, voiced by what sounds like a earnest and well-trained city college instructor, teaching us about trees. The slideshow is completely uninformative, and the quality is so hideous as to be convincingly realistic. There's a thumb print, inconsistent font, and the stammered rhythm of an inept picture-pusher. "The larch," says John Cleese, and then, just to make sure we get it, he adds "The... Larch." It's funny because it's familiar. This is what passed for instruction in England, too?  One imagines if heart surgery were taught this way. "The left ventricle. The left... ventricle."

This brings us to a courtroom, and the prosecution of a Mr. Harold Larch, played by Eric Idle. The judge, in all of his stentorian majesty, is Terry Jones-- the straight man in a sketch full of loonies. He asks Larch sternly if he'd like to make a statement before the sentence is passed-- and Idle gives one of his great performances, going from humble inarticulate working man to Richard Harris on 78 rpm as he orates on the importance of "Freedom!... Freedom... freedom." I wonder as I watch-- did Mel Gibson see this sketch before he made "Braveheart"? What's the point of  brilliant comedians pointing out how old and tired these moments are, if filmmakers are going to just go ahead and create them anyway-- twenty years later, at that?

But the real significance of all of this is that Larch's name isn't Arthur! It's Harold! We're beginning to see some growth here on the part of the group and its ability to name its characters. Not only have they moved beyond Arthur, but they're on a whole different letter of the alphabet. They've gone all the way to "H"!

Cleese storms in, keeping Idle's energy going, (keeping the sketch's engine "Idle-ing... aheh-heh... anyone?) and calls Fiona Lewis to the stand. Graham Chapman steps in as a Pepperpot, promising to "tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so anyway..." Another brilliant monological performance, as Chapman blathers a high speed series of non-sequinanities. "Well, they do, don't they, I mean you can't, can you?" All the while, Cleese will occasionally glare meaningfully at the camera, pointing a finger as if to say "You heard that, right? That bit was important." She's finally dragged off, but we've been given our first real glimpse of the insanity that is Graham Chapman.

Then Cleese calls a coffin to the stand. Inside the coffin is the late Arthur Aldritch. It's hard to see someone you love relapse, but at least this Arthur is in a coffin-- perhaps symbolic of their intention to put this whole "Arthur" thing to rest. This bit, the third self-contained bit in the sketch, is clean, cold absurdity. The highlight for me is when the coffin stops knocking (don't bother rocking) and Cleese opens the lid to check the body. The specificity is awesome! Cleese seems to check three points of the body, including the midsection, before closing up the coffin and announcing "No further questions, m'lud."

The sketch slows down a bit as the judge objects to how badly things are going. Reassuring him, Cleese calls Cardinal Richelieu to the stand, and things just start getting silly!

Separated at Birth?

Oui!

This is where I get curious about the process of writing the show. (If only someone had written a diary!) The Python styles are famously delineated along Oxford/Cambridge lines, with Chapman and Cleese (and Idle) in the Cambridge camp, and Jones and Palin (and Gilliam) in the Oxford camp. Cambridge is the silly, verbal "sketch-y" yet inherently rational style, and so far, this sketch has stuck pretty closely to that style. But then Michael Palin steps in as Cardinal Richelieu, by way of a bad American lounge singer, complete with microphone and his assurance that Harold Larch is "a beautiful human being." Calling Cardinal Richelieu as a character witness is Cambridge. Palin's take and performance are sheer Oxford. It's a strange fit, and you can feel the audience trying to come to grips with this new sensibility injected into what has been up to this point a very straightforward and self-assured sketch. We're going off the rails a bit as we try to make sense of what this is, and how it will pay off.

We needn't have worried. Dim has arrived! Dim of the Yard! Graham Chapman returns as a loud-voiced, erect detective who exposes Richelieu as nothing more than a Richelieu impersonator! We're back in Cambridge country, complete with a goofy little song and semi-elaborate choreography (although Eric seems a little off the beat.) Cleese bogarts the song with hysterical physicality, and for his pains,  he is clocked by the chicken-wielding knight.

So ends the first of four in-studio sketches for this show. The rest is all film, baby!

We return to the framing device. The class can't seem to get beyond "The Larch." "And now..." We get one of the Python classics, a self-contained short film called "Bicycle Repairman". I remember seeing this show long before I knew about Monty Python. I was 10, maybe, and Dean Martin had a comedy show on American television. He showed some Monty Python, usually in these self-contained filmed segments. The sketch is simple and easily grasped by a 10-year-old intellect. In a world populated by Supermen, complete with capes and giant "S"s, the manual laborers become the true heroes. A Superman capable of leaping tall buildings in a single bound, can't seem to master the intricacies of the bicycle, and wipes out. "This looks like a job for... Bicycle Repairman." The film reverses the already tired cliches of superhero movies, and gives the hero treatment to the mundane tasks involved in repairing a bicycle. Instead of "Pow!", it's "Bend!" "Screw!" And my favorite-- "Alter Saddle!" Palin sends up the Kent dilemma without commenting on it. It's a tidy, classic, one-joke bit that lands beautifully because of everyone's commitment. "Bicycle Repairman?! But how?!" Dean Martin had the right idea. "Bicycle Repairman" is the perfect introduction to Monty Python's Flying Circus, and a facile corrupter of 10 year old boys.

Cleese gives us the link, as a man enraged by international Communism. Screaming at his clenched fist, his woefully inadequate socks sliding down, Cleese in this bit is the Godfather of Fox News. Called away to dinner, the rage drops with his socks. This takes us into an animation of bunnies hopping like popcorn, introducing us to "Story Time". Sketch #2 is a quickie, with Idle reading children stories that rapidly devolve into pornography. Like Bicycle Repairman, it's a simple idea, brilliantly executed by Idle. The children-friendly portions are so stupid and perfect. "In the dinky-tinky shoppe" is my favorite, and "with a melon" became one of my standard catch phrases growing up. Who needs a melon during an orgy, with all those breasts flopping around?

But enough of that sketch. Back to film, as the bunnies are squashed by an equally hoppy hippo. This is followed by one of Gilliam's most inspired bits, the Priest praying with the penitent. While speaking Latin, the Priest bows repeatedly, knocking the penitent on the head and burying him in the ground. The moment is inspired, my description doesn't do it justice, just buy the friggin' box set already! This takes us to "Donky Rides" and Michael Palin on the beach, introducing the next sketch, entitled "The Restaurant Sketch."

This sketch should not be as funny as it is. It's standard Cambridge, with a lovely evening destroyed by a bit of dirt on a fork. The restaurant staff makes a mountain out of it, and soon bodies are lying on the floor. Chapman and Cleveland are wonderful as the "straight man" couple, and everyone else is great in their respective roles, with stand-out performances by Idle ("A vast bowl of pus!"), and Cleese, who stalks out like a gorilla, with a real cleaver! Cleese THWOCKS it into the table, and then as he attacks the customers with it, he's restrained by Jones, who flips over him, landing right near the cleaver. Holy crap! I bet the BBC insurance auditors were sweating bullets over that sketch.

Interesting to note the first self-aware punchline reference, as the show stops the sketch just to announce that the punch line is coming, the punch line is delivered, groans from the crowd, and back to Palin on the beach saying "What about that punch line?" The Circusians seem to be drawing the line in the sand. "We know how we're supposed to do it. Now shut up and watch." Palin's commentary on the sketch is cut short by Chapman hitting him with the chicken, then handing it to the knight, who turns to follow Chapman, the chicken raised. What goes around, comes around.

Gillian takes over your television set with another commercial spoof. Like most of his commercial spoofs, it's not very good, but there is an inspired bit in the middle with a lady on a horse that is absolutely indecent! It just shows how dirty you can get without nudity. It also gives me serious equine envy anytime I see it. The commercial spoof ends, and is crumpled up and we go to the next Monty Python export, the "Milkman Sketch."

This was another Dean Martin choice, a brilliantly executed short film, but it's different from "Bicycle Repairman." The former short has a clear joke right off the bat, and we enjoy watching the boys play with it, like a confused cat plays with string. This sketch makes us wait for the joke-- but like the imagined delights of the seductress, the wait is worth it! Fantasy turns to nightmare turns to hilarity. Once again, Palin is the star of the short, and his refusal to comment makes it work. We can see the prurience on his face as imagines his prurience on his seductress' face. Then, when his sexual fantasy slams into reality, the look on his face is almost heart breaking. (Equally heart-breaking-- the cadaverous expression of John Cleese, as hope dies in his eyes.) 

We return briefly to the studio as Cleese sets up the next filmed bit, as a BBC announcer, unflappable as he is kidnapped, thrown into a truck (complete with his desk and mic,) driven to the coast and rolled off a pier into the sea. This is another long bit with a sudden, brilliant pay-off that elicits laughter and applause from the studio audience. Its success is conceptual and execution-dependent. I can think of no reason why it should be as funny, and yet, it's brilliant! The final, cathartic moment somehow works. I could understand it better if I'd seen it happen in an improv session at Groundlings or whatever, but they wrote this thing, in advance, filmed it, made up a dummy to look like John Cleese, wrote his copy-- how could they know it would work?! What process led them to this exquisite, beautiful sketch? Let's consult Palin's diary... Nope. Moving on.

We return to the framing device, with yet another lesson on "The Larch". Finally, we get beyond the larch to "The Horse Chestnut"! Wild applause takes us to another filmed link. John Cleese doubles over to softly, ever so softly, interview three intimidated boys in school uniform about the larch. Cleese is great as the patronizing interviewer, but the boys, as played by Palin, Idle and Jones, are brilliant. They're not the same boys! Each boy is a brilliant creation, recognizable yet distinct from one another. Eric is flummoxed, but game. Michael is terrified ("I want to go home.") And Terry, in his best performance yet, plays the scarcely intelligible class cut up, who elicits giggles by saying "Bottom" on TV. With a mouth half full of chocolate, he volunteers the information that Eric's written a sketch.

This brings us to the final sketch of the night, the famous and imitable "Nudge, Nudge" sketch. I heard this sketch well before I saw it, on an 8-track of a Monty Python live performance at New York City Center. It's been a consistent part of their live shows. It's serviceable as a sketch, the progenitor of about 50% of all sketches ever performed on Saturday Night Live. A wacky character behaves in a wacky manner, and we delight in his wackiness. Unfortunately, in the states, we put the same characters in sketch after sketch, then give them their own series and a movie. Monty Python's Flying Circus deserves credit for their oh-so-British restraint in NOT doing "Nudge,Nudge" over and over again in increasingly outlandish situations. "Nudge, Nudge" in Space, anyone? Whup, there goes Sandra Bullock flying off. The Nudge Nudge movie? I urge American comedy producers to take note. If a sketch is funny, it doesn't have to be strip-mined until it isn't. Walk away. We'll come up with other stuff.

One of the funniest moments in the sketch, fueled entirely by Idle's performance, is the deliberate "putting down of the beer" by Terry Jones. Finally, as the sketch ends, we have a jerky close up of Jones' mute appeal to the audience, the filmed referee tells us time is up, and the "It's" Man is sent back into the lion-and-larch-infested jungle.

Things are picking up steam for the Pythons, as their in-studio performances seem more assured and their film work, in easy to digest bite sized chunks, create a low bar for entry into their world and sensibility. They're making the case for what they do, and the studio audience seems to be on board. In fact, to quote Palin's diary entry for Episode 3, "       "!

I've had a lot of fun with Mr. Palin and his diary, but as sparse as his entries were for the first season, they still dwarf the Cleese diary, and the Jones diary is too opaque to be comprehended. Chapman's diary is on a cocktail napkin in some tart's bra, and Idle was too busy scoring the rock opera version of his diary to actually write one. So, thank you, Mr. Palin, for your meager entries in 1969. It was better that you neglect the diary than your children-- or Monty Python's Flying Circus!

Next week; Episode 4 - "Owl Stretching Time"