There was an awards show in London called "Weekend TV" awards. How's that for specialization? In April, 1970, Monty Python's Flying Circus was presented with such awards. In the Green room, celebrity hounds tried to puzzle out who attendees Michael Palin and Terry Gilliam were. Someone asked Palin if he was famous. "No," Palin replied, "but he is," pointing to Gilliam. The person thrust an autograph book into Gilliam's hands. Gilliam signed it Michael Mills, the BBC executive who promised the troupe "thirteen shows, and that's all!" Palin, when asked for a "just in case" autograph, signed the same name, and the two kept signing Mills' name all night.
Though they weren't yet household names, Monty Python's Flying Circus had become a cult sensation. From the first season, reviewers were championing the show, at home and abroad, claiming that the lads were revolutionizing television comedy. Ratings were solid, especially for their Sunday 11:10 P.M. time slot, creating a new trend for Sunday late night on the BBC. Victor Lownes III, the head of Playboy in London, was talking about producing a movie with them, to better introduce them to the American audience. (This was well before BBC America, and even PBS had difficulty broadcasting British shows because of format issues.) There was an ultra-cheap album in the works of the favorite sketches, performed live in front of a tiny studio audience. They formed an
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In keeping with this immense success, the BBC schedulers shifted Monty Python to the prized 10:00 pm Tuesday night slot, and... wait, what?! Nobody watches shit at 10 pm! Apparently, having built a new viewing habit all over the commonwealth, the BBC in its wisdom decided to move Monty Python out of it. The best part of the deal? This slot was what was known as an "opt out" slot, so most of Great Britain wouldn't see Monty Python, but some regional programming such as "How to make Haggis" or "Fun with Coal"-- the equivalent of public access here today. Oh, yes, one more detail... four shows into the second season, they were to be pre-empted by "Horse of the Year Show". A firm yet polite letter yielded a meeting with the BBC, but although promises were made to improve the situation with better reruns, etc. nothing changed. Season 2 would be poorly scheduled, not very available, and play second fiddle to a bunch of ponies.
In other news, there was a conservative political backlash in England, as the country bounced the progressive labor party out of office. This was mostly due to popular reaction against the unwieldy protests of 1968 in Paris, Mexico City, and Chicago, among other places. The now famous Apollo 13 mission had been interrupted by an explosion, and nearly cost all on board their lives. The Vietnam war was raging, with no end in sight. The times they were a'changing, and not for the sillier. We were sliding into the tawdry 70s.
Still, the lads had been bitten by the Python bug. TV celebrity in Great Britain was different than here, and TV stars still had to take other work in order to make ends meet. Cleese and Chapman wrote for the Frost Report and the Two Ronnies, while Jones and Palin rewrote a screenplay about a penis transplant and some corporate film about writing checks. Yet all longed for the creative freedom of Monty Python, and in March of 1970, work began.
According to David Morgan's Monty Python Speaks!, an excellent collection of oral reminiscences from all the major players, the work went like so; A story meeting, usually at Jones' house, would be called, and everyone would throw out ideas and thoughts on what would make a funny show. Gilliam was there, though he had little to contribute-- he could never adequately explain his ideas in words. "And she eats his brains. Get it?" After reaching some consensus, they would go off on their own for two weeks and write. At the end of the two week period, another meeting to hear and assess the material. The sketches would be read, not performed. Cleese and Palin would do most of the reading, and Idle would read his work. The sketches would go in piles; the "Oh, Hell Yes!" pile, the "Might Could Do" pile, and the "How Did You Manage to Land this Gig?" pile. The troupe members got very canny about when to read their work. Early was never good, after lunch was a disaster. If it came down to votes, Idle was usually at a disadvantage, because he didn't work with anyone else, but with thirteen episodes to fill, there was ample opportunity to sneak stuff in. Finally, they would start assembling the sketches into shows and work together on the linking material, keeping an eye on making sure everyone was adequately represented on screen, and that the strong material was spread out evenly in all shows. This process was thankfully ignored by the development executives at the BBC. It was a wholly creative and invigorating process for the team, and forged deep bonds between them. This was always the golden time for the Circusians.
Having synthesized styles over the course of the previous year, certain patterns continued. Palin and Jones worked together almost exclusively. Cleese and Chapman likewise, although Cleese would have preferred to switch things up. But Chapman was drinking, and gay, and not very hardworking, and the others were content to let him be "John's problem." Jones pushed for greater freedom outside the studio, and his bits became increasingly cinematic and obscure.But the lads were more familiar with their differences, and more confident in their ability to make it all work. Hell, they'd just won the Weekend TV Award! A seminal moment in television was about to begin, as Monty Python's Flying Circus went about paying off the promise of its first season, in spades. (Which you couldn't say in 1970 without getting beaten up.)
Next week; Episode 14 - "Dinsdale!"
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