Episode 15 - "The Spanish Inquisition"

"I don't think there's a punch line scheduled, is there?" - John Cleese as an arty BBC Man.

Despite the scheduling caprices of the BBC, Monty Python's Flying Circus has returned from its break stronger and more cohesive than ever, creating a second season premiere that manically delivers on both entertainment and revolution. Let's see what they're up to this week. (As if the blog title doesn't give it away...) As always, if you haven't already, just buy the damn box set. If there's a Dad you love, buy it for him. He'll never expect it.

That's one big chicken

It's a beautiful day in the English country side. Way off in the distance, a lone figure races across the horizon. There is a faint rhythmic sound as he runs. We cut to a close up-- and it's Jones, with some weird bicycle contraption on his chest that he peddles with his hands. His mouth is screwed down to the lower right of his chin, reminiscent of Woody Allen from Sleeper. There are wings on his back that scarcely move. He wears flight cap and goggles-- and a tweed coat. He's trying to fly. This can't end well.

But the next thing we know, holy crap! He's flying! Just a few feet off the ground, in a straight line. The rhythmic beating has been replaced by the keening of air being sliced. Then, the triumph turns to ashes as he slams head first into a cliff. His legs dangle and wave comically. But wait-- there's more. The camera twists, showing that the cliff wasn't a cliff so much as the ground. Jones was more falling than flying. Next to him are other failed attempts at proper, tweedy aviation, including other bobbing legs and a red balloon. The camera pans across this no man's land, to find a man-- Cleese's Announcer, promising us "something completely different." Palin's "It's" Man follows, with a close-up, and he petulantly, almost childishly, gives his word, and we're off to the Titles, with Cleese giving his wacky French intro. "Mohnnnn-tee Python's Flyeeeeng Serrrrr-CUS!"

A great bit, easily missed-- We see a picture of a bleak industrial hellscape, with the caption "Jarrow - New Year's Eve 1911." We hear the sound of ringing bells. The caption changes to "Jarrow - 1912". A minor joke, but I appreciate it.

In a sitting room, Carol Cleveland sits in a high neck dress, her hair pulled back, circa 1911/12. She's having a very downbeat New Year's Eve. I am thrilled beyond belief to see Carol Cleveland back amongst the lunacy-- but what's with the high neck dress? Madame Cleveland, if you got it, flaunt it! Chapman steps in, looking more working class in a shabby coat, and announces there's trouble at the mill in a difficult Welsh accent. As Cleveland grills him on what trouble, he whines, exasparated, "I don't know. Mr. Wentworth (presumably a BBC exec) just told me to come in here and say there was trouble at the mill, that's all. I didn't expect a kind of Spanish Inquisition."

"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!"

BUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHN! Palin rushes in, with Jones and Gilliam in tow, and announces, dramatically, "Nnnnnobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!" And so begins one of the classic Python bits that people quote, and will continue to quote, until the end of civilization and time. Last week was "Silly Walk", this week is "The Spanish Inquisition", and it's beginning to look like these men crap classics at the rate of one a week.

Let's just take a moment and enjoy all the anachronisms. Count them, if you dare. First, the Inquisitors themselves, appearing in Jarrow 1912. Jones, who plays Cardinal Biggles, wears the same flight cap and goggles that he wore in the opening film clip. This is a reference to WWII era childbook hero-- we've seen him before in the previous season, and we'll see him again. The dramatic entrance music and tag line are reminiscent of bad 60s television-- "Batman" comes to mind. And of course, there's Chapman's "Mr. Wentworth" remark. Palin, who wrote the sketch, remarks on the surreal nature of his process. At 6 in the morning, scribbling a couple of lines while the coffee brews, being invaded by 15th century zealots just makes sense. It's another sweet moment of random inspiration, like his "Lumberjack" sketch-- and how awesome it is that his current TV show just happens to accommodate such random lunacy.

"It makes it all seem so stupid."

What follows is really nothing more than a sketch about amateur theatrics, complete with captions for "Diabolical Laughter" and "Diabolical Acting". Palin stumbles over his lines, the unprepared understudy Jones can't fill in, and Gilliam does an "outrageous French accent" and a Cockney song and dance (another anachronism!) They decide to tie Cleveland to the rack (she's already got one. snicker snicker) but Jones has only brought along a dish rack. While Palin winces, they try to continue the sketch, even though, as Palin complains, "It makes it all seem so stupid."

Throughout all of this, Chapman is the bored professional bystander. He's given his cue-- a few times, as the Cardinals botched the entrance-- and now he has nothing to do. Fortunately, a knock on the door saves him. Cleese, as a BBC man in a funky, boho beard, asks if he'd like to open a door in a another sketch, and they leave.

A film clip follows, with Cleese actually saying "We're on film at the moment." Together, they climb in an ugly BBC truck which drives through London, passing a road sign that says "To the Sketch". Some scarcely audible dialogue between Chapman and Cleese can best be summed up as "TV is stupid." Finally, they arrive at a house, and Chapman walks up the garden walk past Idle, who waits patiently with a tray full of novelty items. At the front door, with the ugly truck still rumbling in the background, Idle rings the bell and ever-obedient and game Chapman answers it. Idle delivers a long monologue listing the various items he has in the tray, including a naughty Humphrey;

 "press the button-- it vomits." It's a funny bit, but all monological. Idle works alone. The bit gets inspired, though, when Idle asks for the punchline. Nobody told Chapman about a punchline, and he abandons the sketch to ask Cleese. Cleese consults the script, and sure enough, there was a punchline. We don't hear it, but Cleese, upon reading it, laughs uproariously. "Very good!... Pity we missed that." I love that-- taking the whole self-aware stuff to the next level. Promising to make a series out of the punchline, he then imposes upon Chapman for his head to use in an animated bit. Chapman is held down, a saw brought to his neck--

Note the hand stealing the eyeball

And we're linked to the Gilliamination. Confederate soldiers steal one of his iris/pupil units to attack a Union position. In response, the Union soldiers kill themselves and Queen Victoria before placing plumbing on the naughty bits of a lady. Guess you had to be there. Pictures of other nudes with sundries parade past, and it all links us to the next sketch as Idle puts his book of dirty plumbing away to participate in a meeting.

After a bunch of nonsense initials are tossed about, Cleese facilitates a discussion on taxing sex. Chapman has a great moment, so relieved that they're not taxing "pooh-poohs" that he runs off to relieve himself. Idle delivers the punch line, and it is "very good." A slight offering, but still fun. We cut to some Vox Pops of people discussing what to tax. Cleese, as a Gumby standing in water, suggests taxing people who stand in water. (The books that I have to hand suggest that this is Gumby's first appearance. Readers of the blog know that this is not rue. Still it's a good one.) Finally, Palin suggests taxing "holiday snaps." Snap! (Palin's delivery on this awesome.) And we're on to the next bit.

Old lady Marjorie Wilde shows Palin's polaroid, and more boring photos, to Cleveland, who impatiently tears them up as soon she is handed them. We've all been there. If Carol seems mean, remember, the old lady is near death and must have her place cleaned out. Suddenly, Wilde says "Here's the Spanish Inquisition hiding behind the coal shed." Cleveland gives the entrance line, and BUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHN! Palin and crew rush in with their tag line.

This time, they get a graphic and voice over, promising "violence, terror and torture that m,akes a smashing film!" The graphic is Breugel, apparently, although I can't source it right now, and is suitably dramatic. Now we're getting real.... or are we?

Just look at that lower jaw!

They take the old lady to a musty dungeon, the best the BBC could build, and chain the poor old bird to a stone wall. Majorie tries hard to look alarmed, but it gives her expression a fish like structure. The amateur theatrics gag is put to the side, for the most part, (Palin still gets his numbers a bit confused,) and the new joke is-- they're going to torture her with soft things. Gilliam has a nice moment when he's told to fetch the comfy chair. He grimaces in shock, his lower jaw outstretched with massive effort. Jones, too, gets major laughs as he jabs the old lady with the cushions. (There's a woman in the studio audience who positively cackles with delight.) But overall, this bit isn't as funny as the first bit. We're no longer in a bad TV show with a frustrated actor-- this is the real Spanish Inquisition. And it's not as funny.  Such are the limits of randomness. At some point, we begin to ask "Where's this going?"

"I Confess" head on Dr.s body

It turns out it's going to an animation. Palin's exhortations to "Confess!" are answered by a constable, who is rewarded by having his seat pulled from under him repeatedly. Another confessee gets his body inflated until his head pops off and bounces around the room. A great visual bit follows, with a woman pulling a doctor's head out from under his jacket, asking him to speak up. The doctor's head is replaced by the confessing man's head, still screaming "I confess!" As the scene fills with jibber-jabber, an anonymous, long arm pulls one of the books off the Dr.'s shelf and we cut away to--

A promo for the "Semaphore Version of Wuthering Heights" Jones, great as Heathcliffe, speaks with Catherine across the moor, with flags. Cleveland plays Catherine, and works those flags like a sunnuvabitch! There are great gags in this bit-- a baby crying, with flags; a man snoring, with flags; Idle screaming, with really big flags; Cleveland goes off on Idle, declaring her love for Heathcliff. Her flag waving is interpreted by captions for the flag impaired, and the scene cuts off as she says "And what's more..." What's more what? I have to know! But the lads have exhausted themselves exploring this particular concept, and it's time for other odd bedfellows-- Julius Caesar on an Aldis Lamp, a western in Morse code-- once again, they take this strange concept and explore every possible facet. (Funny bit in the Caesar bit-- Palin's "It's Man appears as the "Ides" Man.)

We cut abruptly to a courtroom scene-- standard court stuff. As always with these court bits of theirs, the gags come like a train. The first car is a game of charades, as the Jury announces their
verdict through pantomime. Judge Chapman calls the next defendant with charades and a giant prop ant. On to the next bit-- the defendant (Jones) is himself a judge, and there's some confusion as to who is running this case. A pretty girl is brought in as an exhibit-- while Carol Cleveland plays a barrister, in a robe, wig and glasses. What's going on here?! Bit three, Chapman does a whole monologue about how great South Africa is, because you can give the death sentence. Bit four, we'll get to in a second. But one interesting bit, not seen before or since in Python, is Cleese breaking the fourth wall to make a funny face at the camera. I'll GIF it if I figure out how to GIF, but see if you can spot it. Bit 4, Chapman delivers the death sentence on Jones' judge, and Jones says "I didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition." All eyes turn to the door expectantly-- and nothing happens.

On film, Palin and crew run out of a house and catch a bus to the old Bailey. They anxiously watch the credits roll, knowing that the show will soon be over. "There's the lighting credit! Only five left!" Finally, back in the studio, they storm in-- "Nnnobody expects the Spanish--" and "The End" pops up on the screen. "Aw, bugger."

In his diary, Palin recounts the rehearsal for this show, and how concerned he was over how he dominated it, and how nobody else had much to do. It's true. While the show is heavy with this inspired bit, it lacks in much else. It doesn't matter, though. This show stands as a classic example of great television and great sketch comedy, and created a zeitgeist call that everyone knows. This random 6 in the morning bit was a gift from the Gods, and watching its exuberance is an unmitigated joy.

Note the red briefs.

Oh, and by the way, Jones wears red underwear.

Next week; Episode 16 "Deja Vu"