Ep. 22 - How to Recognize Different Parts of the Body

"...We don't like stuck up sticky beaks here." - Graham Chapman as Bruce

We got a fun one for you this week, Python-ettes! After a couple of weeks worth of relatively conceptual stuff, this week the Python's bring the silly, in a throwback to the manic spirit of season 1.  Let's get right to it. As always, BUY THE BOX SET! ("Number 27-- the box.")

Over lush 60's strings and horns, we see a line of bikini-clad British women. They pose on green grass, a river flowing behind them, and beyond the river, an ultra-exotic British suburb! I'm going to go on record here and state-- ain't none of these women worth a tenth of Carol Cleveland. The legs are spindly and pale, the breasts small-- hey, they're already objectified, ladies, that's sort of the joke of this bit, I'm just following through--  and the waists generally curveless. I guess this was the best the BBC could afford-- the mundane locale, the slightly above average sex objects, (okay, #3 and #5 are pretty hot) shot on-- holy crap, is that a tombstone?! Yes! In the foreground, in between sex object 4 and 5, a stone cross juts up like an inappropriate erection. They're shooting this in a cemetery. That's sort of funny, in a meta way. But girl #6--
is John Cleese! in a bikini identical to #5's, looking not that much worse than the ladies, laying coquettishly across his desk, perched on an elbow, the mic and phone nearby. The bowtie lays across his otherwise nekkid neck, as he delivers his line with a fetching chin tuck. He's back! We missed him last week, but here he is, splayed and ready for us. The "It's" Man follows, standing awkwardly in a bikini with (hilariously) flowers on the tits. For all the talk about Monty Python revolutionizing comedy, let's face it-- the cross-dressing gags always kill.

The credits follow, and once again, the lads change it up a little. This season, more than any other, they play around with the credits. We've seen the Chicken Man origin story, and the foot ravaged by time and turned into a wooly mammoth. This time, the alterations wait 'til the end. As Chicken Man flies across, he kindly hovers so that we can that his banner is different. Cleese reads it out for us, in his snooty, overly precise intellectual voice. "How to Recognize Different Parts of the Body". The foot comes crashing down on Chicken Man, and an arrow points out that this is "#1 - The Foot."

Yes, it's a return to the glory of "The Larch"! The linking device for this show is a series of usually still photos showing us strange examples of body parts. Topless (and armless) Venus is offered as an example of the shoulder, for example. Every picture gets a laugh, if only a small one. And then they start running the "naughty bits" series, a soon to be iconic Python phrase. A man in long polka-dot boxers gets an arrow aimed at his presumed junk, and this is offered as an example of "The naughty bits". They'll have a lot of fun with this as the show continues, most naughty bits accompanied by polka-dot boxers. But finally, we get a close-up of a very hairy knee, and we are linked.

The knee belongs to Idle. What follows is a very silly sketch indeed that essentially slams Australia, but in a good way. A trio of incredibly Australian men, all named Bruce, in bush hat and khaki shorts and shirts, speaking coarsely yet poetically, like you do. Talk about "monkey's bum"s gives way to Cleese ushering in Jones, the outsider, wearing a suit and tie. Cleese reveals that this is the philosophy department of the University of Woolamaloo, and Jones is the new guy. (He's not even named Bruce.) This is the origin of one of the most popular Python Live bits, the Bruces' Philosophers' Song, embedded below. (Song is not included in the sketch.) The sketch, though it never really goes anywhere, is funny, playful and loud, one of the few collaborations between Idle and, well, anyone, but in this case, Cleese. Oddly enough, the group thespian Palin seems out of touch with this piece-- his timing is off, taking his lines into audience laughter, then having to repeat them. Gilliam (I think) gives us the climax as an "abbo", an aborigine, in black face, crazy wig, and a ring in his nose. This sketch is an odd yet successful paring of Cleese's general hostility, mixed with Idle's snarky mean. And of course, there's philosophy, because they're both very smart.
The sketch closes with a strange shot of Cleese chewing some meat, which is used as an example of "#9, the Ear." More body parts follow, with an emphasis on naughty bits ("#15, the naughty bits of Reginald Maudling."), but resolve into "The Hand". This turns out to be a fake hand covering a pirate's hook, worn by TV show host Palin, who interviews professional contrarian Jones. How do you interview a contrarian? You just can't. (Yes, you can!) Cleese, the pig-cuddling announcer, interrupts and takes us back to the body parts, which include "The Feather." (Rare.) "The Nose" links

This isn't your nose, it's a false one

us to the next sketch, as Chapman seeks the surgical affections of plastic surgeon Cleese. This is a slight and silly bit, but incredibly fun to see Chapman and Cleese work together in their shorthand way. This is also the first Python bit with fake noses, returned to in "The Holy Grail". This is also the triumphant return of Mr. Luxury Yacht, who, fans will recall, never got to do his interview with Palin because he was too silly. Fortunately, plastic surgery has a lower silliness bar than televsion, and Luxury Yacht finds happiness at last on a camping holiday. And that's not even the happy ending.

"I'll scratch your eyes out, two, three."

Palin returns as the hook-handed TV host, who introduces one of the funniest bits Python has ever done-- The Derbyshire Light Infantry do close order drills of "Bad Temper" and even better, "Swanning About". Military uniformity juxtaposed over a gay cat fight had never been done before, or since. It is nothing short of sublime. Python brings in ringers for the front row, particularly agile and skeletal gay-ish men who nail the performance with a commitment only Cleese could ever match.

This links us to an animated bit of three twin admirals in full regalia from the waist up, in tutus and tights down below, dancing to the Nutcracker. A man (the "I confess" man from earlier) threatens to kill himself if they don't stop. (Spoiler alert-- they don't stop.)

The bullet from his gun displaces the right iris. The iris plummets through a children's story onto a roadside and becomes a bus stop sign. An old lady tries to flag down a series of buses. (Spoiler alert- they don't stop.) Her only recourse is to stick her Mr. Fantastic leg out and trip the bus. A nice visual bit that segueways into "The Killer Cars", a Gilliam B-Movie homage to "Them" and the like. It's a very cool bit, with stalking cars and giant mutant cats that eat whole buildings, and disembodied hands that squish grateful pedestrians.

As people leave town, two of them, Chapman and Carol Cleveland (not in a bikini) take the cut-rate transcontinental experience. Decades before fare wars and airlines like Jet Blue, there was "Verri-fast Plaine Co." a rubber-band airline that served injections instead of meals. Idle plays the haggling captain. ("The flight is five hours. Ten for the pair of you.") and Palin silently reprises his Luigi Vercotti character. The pilot is (and is named) Kamikaze, and Jones, as the departure lounge hostess, advises them to stay away from battleships. And now things get a little strange...

Monty Python is usually pretty smooth with their transitions. In fact, they're celebrated for the ease and cleverness with which they tie together disparate sketches. But this time, they seem to be a little confounded. The body parts won't serve them, and they don't have any other ideas, so they rely on technical transitions like dissolves and throwaway voice-overs, all to get them to the beach. It's one of the few times you can see them really working hard to connect weird bits. It's as close to forced as they ever get.

Off the reference to battleships, we see film clips of battleships, and a terrible, awkward Cleese voiceover that ends in self-apology and never fails to crack me up. We cross fade to John Cleese on a gravelly beach, (with sunbathers behind him!) announcing the winners of an Edward Heath wet wood statue competition. (One of those topical gags that have no resonance to Americans today.) It's apparently a gay joke-- the prize is ten guineas and a trip to the sailor's quarters. But it's only 15 seconds of irrelevance before we cross fade again to--

The Batley Townswoman's Guild! Fighting in the muck of the English countryside. Some of you might say "Hey, that sounds familiar." You're right! It's a expurgated repeat of last seasons triumph. Cleese reminds us who these women are as the tide rolls in around him, and Idle returns as Rita Fairbanks to announce their new production, "The First Heart Transplant". And the women rush each other again, only this time, (wait for it...) the scrum is in the surf. The camera is further back, so we can't see the action as well, and there's no mud or pigs. Overall, it's a tepid sequel, and we never see the ladies of Batley again. If only we'd been that lucky with the Matrix.

An entrance with a splash!

But, back to Cleese, the tide swamping his knees now, as he announces other underwater events-- Shakespeare, musicals, car racing! Gilliam saves us with an animated bit before we have to watch Cleese drown. A racecar speeds out of the water, past a nude lady. A sign signals "Pit Stop". You see where this is going, right? So does the audience. And, of course, the arm pit brings us back to body parts. We stop with "The Nipple", which is actually a radio dial, and we're into the next sketch. The lads have regained their transitional feet. (#1 and #3, collectively.)

This sketch is one of my favorites.As you will recall from the last episode, Chapman and Idle did a Pepperpot sketch, one of the first examples in the series to date. The Pepperpots are the big, tall, female characters with high, screeching falsettos. We've seen them before in the vox populi segments, as well as an early Chapman/Cleese museum sketch from season 1. But last week was the first time we saw them in their natural habitat-- sitting around, opining absurdly about life. In that sketch, they talked about how lucky the upper class were to have people to do their relaxing for them. Yet, Idle seemed awkward and out of place, never meeting Chapman's gaze, eyes always up or down. There's a reason for this, and we discover it this week-- those characters were meant to be played by Chapman and Cleese. We find the truth of the Pepperpots in their brilliant delivery.

We start with the radio dial, and pull out to reveal Chapman and Cleese sitting on the sofa, both in dresses, Cleese in a sweater, Chapman in an apron-- I guess it's her house. The radio announces a new BBC serial, "The Death of Mary, Queen of Scots", which is hilarious in its own rite. The title is literally what the show is about, with sounds of a massive fight scene interspersed with screams from poor Mary (Jones). This goes on for a minute before fading out. Episode 2 is promised (on a different station), and it picks up where the first left off, more screams and fight sounds, until all goes quiet. "I think she's dead," says an executioner. "No, I'm not," replies Mary, and the death rattles start again. A precursor to the "Bring out your Dead" scene in "The Holy Grail", it's a very funny little bit tossed in their. Finally, the announcer proimises an explosion, and the radio blows up.

Hold it together, Chapman!

But just as funny are Cleese and Chapman's Pepperpots, nestling into their seats and listening silently to the show. Chapman looks like a bird, his mouth and head twisting with sudden jerks. If Jones was influenced by Buster Keaton, it seems Chapman's idol was Stan Laurel. It's a delight to watch the two of them just be.

When the radio explodes, they decide it's time to watch telly. Turning the couch around, they both get comfortable. And we're blessed with one of the classic Python exchanges;
Chapman: What's on the telly, then?
Cleese: Looks like a penguin.
There is indeed a penguin on the television, and a great absurdist exchange follows as they wait for the TV to warm up. Male or female? Which zoo? When is it effective to stamp a penguin? Burma? The conversation, and the characters, so lived in and authentic, make this little piece a huge vat of fun and silliness. Finally, TV announcer Jones says "It's time for the penguin on top of your television set to explode." The penguin complies, and we move on.

It's worth noting that I'm not the only person who finds this sketch hysterical. Cleese and Chapman, who wrote it, had immense difficulty performing it, requiring around fourteen takes-- unusual for Python. The cuplrit? "Our very naughty laughing at each other," confesses Chapman in Kim "Howard" Johnson's book "The first 200 Years of Monty Python". You can even catch them nearly losing it on the take they finally used. If anyone knows of footage from the unused takes, please let me know. I would love to see it.

We're back to the body parts. They take a swipe at circa 70s Margaret Thatcher (so much for non-topicality!) and finally link to a country house sitting room. It's another Agatha Christie sketch-- they've done them before. Chapman wears a little boy's outfit with tiny shorts, but beyond that he plays it straight for Inspector Palin, who is demented and proletarian, working two cases at once (burglary and murder) and confused about which on this is. The jokes pop up in little eddies, then disappear. But all of this is set up for Sgt. Duckie's (Jones') entrance, who comes in with a battalion of back-up singers to sing a pop song about feeling sad. Palin feeds him his intro line, and off he goes. Jones has a nice-ish voice, but he's a terrible singer, failing to keep the beat, and dancing awkwardly. But it's funny, so it's all good. Cleese and Cleveland, neither in a bikini, sit awkwardly on the couch as he sings. The song ends abruptly with an "etc. etc." in unison. Suddenly, we're in the middle of a contest, with the crazed multi-lingual hostess announcing the scores. Palin stands behind him with a lampshade on his head-- okay, they're just getting goofy. The contest is apparently "Best Cop

Singer"-- a precursor to Bochco's Cop Rock? The champion is Chapman's Chief Inspector from Monaco, who, in a cheesy variety show setting with wafting tinsel, sings his winning song "Bing Tiddle Tiddle Bong". As he sings, he hops around like a tin soldier, screaming the words. It's a great, silly performance, although it's too out there to be funny. Finally, he takes a panting bow, and we get a shot of the last body part-- "The End."

While this particular episode isn't ambitious. it seems to contain some brilliant and oft-remembered Python classics. Every time I watch it, its greatness sneaks up on me. If you have a friend who has never watched a Python episode, this is the one to show. It has everything-- great animations, classic filmed bits, odd conceptual stuff like the singing cops, and of course, the Pepperpots and the Penguin.  It doesn't have any of the big set pieces or live performance sketches-- but we don't like stuck up sticky beaks here!

Next Week; Episode 23 - Scott of the Antarctic. Bring your own Lion.