"What do you keep your hard boiled eggs in?" - Michael Palin as Pither the Cyclist
In last week's "Salad Days" episode, I heaped derision against the erosion of cohesion in the show's creation. The sketches seemed to increasingly be the work of a single team or person, and little or no effort seemed to be made to unify the whole, as had happened beautifully in previous episodes. Well, as if the lads had heard me, this week's episode is chock full of cohesion, unified by a single vision. Am I happy?
Well...
It's the single vision that bothers me. This episode was written almost entirely by Jones/Palin, for another project outside Python. Then, on what Idle refers to as a "script dare", the others took a whack at it, changing the ending, specifically, and in general sketching things up a bit. But the sketchifying was not enough to bring this show "into the fold", so to speak, and it plays as a stand-alone episode belonging to a different show entirely-- pretty much how it was conceived. This was not the cohesion I spoke of. It was about the team blending their styles and talents together, not one voice dominating the others.
The Evil Geniuses Greatest Hit
It also plays like Paul McCartney's first solo album-- a warning shot across the bow that Palin and Jones were breaking out, no longer content to do sketches, seeking more long form entertainment opportunities-- perhaps a Jonesian swipe at Cleese for his diffidence about doing a third season. It is telling that they hadn't tried such a long form bit since the Blancmange sketch in Season 1, and in the short Season 4 (the Cleese-less season) they did two long form bits (out of six shows.) One also can't help but notice how well "Cycling Tour" would fit in Palin's "Ripping Yarns" series (without all those bullshit sketches.) It would appear that Palin and Jones were eager to do something more "cinematic".
According to Jones, they paid the price in the studio. Audiences were flummoxed, if not hostile, during the taping sessions. Jones, in the finest of cinematic tradition, had to "save it in post" with Ian McNaughton.
But all of this is mere back story. The episode only seems strange if it's taken in the context of the other shows. Since when is being odd a bad thing for these guys? Being odd is what they do for a living. The overall story is still funny, with some very funny bits thrown in once things get moving. Palin is great, as we shall see, the picture of clueless, pleasant persistence. And this show is far from their worst. It would rank as a triumph if Saturday Night Live had managed it.
A pastoral English countryside is made complete by the appearance of a cyclist, a pleasant, blissfully smiling young man named Pither, played by Palin (Palin and Jones' muse.) He wears glasses, sideburns, a red knit cap with a white flounce up top, brown vest and pale blue short sleeved shirt. He lugs a backpack, jangling with cups and sundry items. He is the ancient hippie before hippies were old enough to be so, but not militant about being a hippie, or anything else. He just lives for the breeze on his face, the warmth of a summer breeze, and the embrace of the road to his face. He falls off his bike a lot.
This is the first of many running (cycling) gags. After long shot sequences of Pither riding his bike, accompanied by a lush orchestra playing a waltz, he will disappear behind a tree, a bush or a rock wall, and we'll hear a loud, painful crash. The music will abruptly end. Pither's voice over will explain, in diary format, what just happened. "August 18th. Fell off near Bovey Tracey. The pump caught in my trouser leg."
The accident is usually a prelude to an attempted exchange (read "sketch") with some local. In Bovey Tracey (a town in Devon county, southwest England, for you Britophiles out there.) It has been noted by better reviewers than myself that these initial exchanges are odd bits for the lads, in that Pither, a milque-toast-y man with the curse of meaningless gab, but more ordinary than anything else, is the strange one in all the exchanges. His blithe cluelessness to the ugliness going on around him, or the hostile indifference showered upon him, is the only weird or funny thing about all these exchanges. But don't despair-- they're just lulling us into a state of apathy. Things get weirder.
I should also mention that the Monty Python opening titles get a break this week. Early in our ramblings, we get the title "The Cycling Tour" thrown up on screen, and that's all. If we wait for the titles, holding our breath, like we did for the Black Eagle episode-- well, we'll die. They never turn up. This episode bears the dubious distinction of having no titles. Folks watching the show in London might have thought they had the wrong channel, but for Palin's recognizability, and the audience laughing at all the crashes.
So. Long sequence. Crash. Exchange/Sketch.
The first exchange demonstrates Pither's irrepressible good nature and terrible conversational skills, as he regales a bored shopkeeper (Idle) with how strange it is that he doesn't crave bananas, or cheese, but likes banana and cheese sandwiches. His sandwiches, we learn, were crushed in the crash. This detail plays into the narrative later on. Cleese makes a walk on as a customer buying "woods" (cigarettes), and ignoring Palin almost utterly. I'm always amazed at Cleese's skill as a performer, his specificity. While Idle's straight man plays attitude and snark, Cleese seems to exist in a reality of his own.
They're coming to get you, Laura...
Long Sequence. Crash. Exchange/Sketch. This one is worth noting for two reasons. One, after Palin disappears and the crash sounds and the music stops-- we can still see his shadow on the hedges opposite the road, proceeding without incident. Two, before the exchange, we get our first glimpse of a dinosaur like creature hiding in the brush, drawn by Gilliam. Yet another rare hint that this is a Monty Python show.
Exchange #2 reprises the first. Cleese is a female gardener, hoe-ing about. Palin good-naturedly complains about his eggs, crushed in the crash and the inadequacy of the self-sealing Tupperware container they were in, as compared to the tarmac road.
Cleese completely ignores Palin, walking away from him in mid-sentence, but Palin does his best to keep the conversation going even after Cleese disappears into the garden shed. Mercifully, he says "Well, I can't stand around here chatting all day..." Side note to the Britophiles-- he says he's on a cycling tour of North Cornwall, but most of the towns he mentions, according to Monty Python's Flying Circus Complete and Annotated, All the Bits, are in Devon county. Just another indication of how lost Pither is.
Long Sequence. Crash. No exchange/sketch or food damage. Just a decision to wear shorts, since the crashes are due to "the pump caught in my trouser leg". Although there is no exchange, there is another dinosaur sighting. Another long sequence/crash follows. "Perhaps a shorter pump is the answer." Another dinosaur sighting, although this dinosaur looks different from the one we've seen before. This crash leads to an exchange/sketch.
First, Pither meets Idle at a crossroads, dressed as an old lady. He asks for a shop to replace his pump. "There's only one shop here," she says-- but points out a bicycle pump shop just ten steps away. Nice. Next, Carol Cleveland (Yay!!) ushers Pither into a Doctor's office. Idle, the Doctor, tries to examine Palin after his latest crash, but according to Pither, only the fruitcake was harmed. He's just there to ask directions. After the obligatory outrage, he agrees to give Pither directions-- by writing him a prescription for them. "Take this to a chemists." Suh-weeeeet. Notice how the world is getting sillier around him. The chemist (on film) issues him directions, and off he goes.
Long Sequence. No Crash. Although the music stops, Pither does NOT fall off. Repetition makes us vulnerable to the humor of nothing happening.
Long Sequence. Crash. Exchange.
Pither, in a pub, tries to engage two illicit lovers, played by Cleese and Cleveland. The distractions from Pither predictably destroy the relationship, and Cleveland storms out. Cleese, angry, asks Palin if he'd like to be shown the door. "No thanks, I saw it on my way in," Palin affably replies. This time, a lemon curd tart was damaged in the crash. The nail in the coffin-- Palin meets Cleveland outside. "I just had a chat with your Dad." This joke is less funny than it would have been if Pither hadn't already called her Cleese's daughter in the pub. You'd think, while Jones was doing all that editing...
Long Sequence. Crash. Exchange.
Note the tomato escaping.
But now, the story, such as it is, begins. Palin sits in the rear of a car, holding his bike tire. Jones drives, wearing a huge bow tie. They're actually in studio, working a little green screen magic. As Palin complains about what the crash did to his food, for the first time, someone is interested. Jones asks questions about all of his food and their post-crash status. "How do you know so much about cycling?" Palin asks. (I appreciate that joke.) It turns out that Jones is a mad scientist (the bow tie should have tipped us off,) looking for ways to modify food to withstand impact, or, in the tomatoes case, eject itself before an accident. "Even if it's in your stomach, if it senses an accident it will come up your throat and out of the window." We get a demonstration of this forthwith, as Jones monologues about his experiments. A tomato pops up from the front seat and loops out of the window, with a goofy slide whistle sound effect. "It works! It works!" Jones exults, taking his hands off the steering wheel. The tomato causes the crash it escapes from. We'll leave this riddle about fate vs. free will for another time. CRASH!
Now it's two men on a bike, Palin peddling the bandaged and delusional Jones (aka Gulliver). Jones, with a broken arm and a bandaged head, now believes himself to be Clodagh Rogers. (And who the hell is Clodagh Rogers? In 1971, she was the singer that represented Great Britain in the 1971 Eurovision Song Contest, said contest spoofed by the singing police constables in the previous season. The contest was broadcast from Ireland, her home turf, and she came in fourth. Her song "Jack in the Box" will soon be immortalized in this episode. So much for Python's famed non-topicality.) They go to the hospital to get him checked out-- which is strange because the bandages would indicate they just came from the hospital.
Watch your fingers, Graham!
In one of the strangest and least successful bits of the show, Palin takes Jones (aka Gulliver aka Clodagh Rogers) to the emergency room (aka the casualty ward). Nothing really happens here, but the joke is that horrible accidents keep injuring people in the ward, which seems inundated with booby traps. Quick cuts to collapsing wheel chairs, gurneys, falling cabinets and windows that slam shut on Chapman's hand. By the end, chaos reigns and everyone is screaming in agony as Palin and Jones make their escape. This is Jones working the editing mojo, and I have to say, it might have played better if it had been slowed down a bit. Maybe not, though. The joke is never really established or explained, and it all feels insanely random. Chapman plays the admitting nurse, his first appearance in the show, in a wig that obscures his face and much of his words. But he screams with abandon when the window slams on his hand.
Next, we're on film, at night. Palin writes in his diary by the fire, revealing that we're in Southern France. On a bike? That is crazy! Jones now thinks he's Trotsky and must get to Moscow, (a great Cleese-worthy performance here by Jones, who quivers with manic messianic intensity. "Stalin has allvays hated me," he growls, eyes bulging and fists clenched.) but Palin, slow on the uptake, introduces him as Clodagh Rogers to Cleese and Idle, the complaining French neighbors. Cleese and Idle take great joy in singing "Jack in the Box", pounding fists to palm on the "Bahm! Bahm! Bahm!" The kids, played by
Bahm! Bahm! Bahm!
Chapman and the silent Gilliam, come in for autographs, but Jones signs "Trotsky". A sweet turn here. Though initially disappointed that this isn't Clodagh Rogers, it's only because Trotsky was such a bad singer. Lenin-- now there was a great singer. Cleese, in an outrageous French accent, starts singing Lenin's signature tune "If I Ruled the World". We cut to news clips of Lenin, dubbed with a dulcet version of that song. As if he could see the clip, Jones runs off, screaming for Lenin, leaving Cleese and Idle to reminisce about other great singers, like Alexander Kerensky. (I didn't know, either. I had to look him up.)
Originally, there was a Gilliam bit inserted here, one of those "K-Tel Original Hits, Original Stars!" spots, with "Lenin's Chartbusters, Vol. 3," including songs like "Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep" "These and many, many more!" Out on the Bolshevik label. But in his editing frenzy, Jones cut it. Incomprehensible hospital scene stays in, funny Gilliam bit edited out. It's who you know, man...
Palin cycles through the French forest, taking some serious spills, chasing Jones. There's one nice gag, when Jones runs across the headlights of an amorous French couple making out in their car. They immediately recognize her as Clodagh Rogers, and start singing "Jack in the Box". (The original version takes over to finish the scene.)
The next day, Palin tows Jones (aka Gulliver, aka Clodagh Rogers, aka Trotsky) to Smolensk, ostensibly at Jones' request. An insert courtesy of Army captain Idle shows us exactly where that is on the map. Palin thanks the insert before continuing with the story. Now we get a lot of post-modern stuff tossed in, as Palin interrupts his own voice over and yells at the constantly interrupting Idle inserts. But they finally get to the local YMACA (The Young Man's Ant-Christian Association) and the story resumes.
Lots of cute sight gags in the lobby, with framed pictures of past notables in Russian politics "X"-ed out with masking tape. Gilliam plays the clerk, asking them if they want a bugged or un-bugged room. But Gilliam recognizes Trotsky's name in the register. "Trotsky? My lack of God! It's Trotsky!" (C'mon, that's funny. Admit it.)
Pither, meanwhile, goes to the British embassy, which is completely staffed with Chinese diplomats. In the second least successful, strangest and most offensive bit,
No tickee, no Bingo!
Chapman plays the Chinese British consul, with taped eyes, fake buck teeth, silk robe, and an inability to pronounce "l" or "r", which makes saying "Cornwall" very difficult. It's the worst Chinese charicature since Mickey Rooney in "Breakfast at Tiffany's". I guess the logic behind the sketch is that the Maoist revolutionaries have taken over everything. But Chapman seems to go to great trouble convincing Palin that he's from England, so maybe it's about how horrible Chinese spies would be? I don't know. But the bit soon devolves into incredible silliness as Chapman and the rest of the staff reveal a love-- obsession, really-- for Bingo! You can hear that they dubbed in some extra bingos, with Jones doing the dubbing. Cleese, as servant Livingstone, is particularly enraptured, unable to stop calling it out, even when told not to. Soon, everyone is waving the little red book around and crying out "Bingo" as Palin wanders off, confused. Well, get in line, Palin. You wrote the damn thing!
Note the terrified double salute from Cleese.
Back at the YMACA, Palin finds that Jones has gone to Moscow. In a nice sketch reminiscent of Billy Wilder bits from "Ninotchka" and "One, Two, Three" Palin is picked up by the secret police, or not, and taken to Moscow, or a clam bake, via film clips and graphics, such as "Lesliegrad" and "Etceteragrad". On a small stage, Russian general Cleese introduces Pither as the man who brought Trotsky back. (The sign behind him reads "International Clambake". Nice call back.) Finally, they bring Jones out, in full Trotsky mode, uniform, goatee and moustache. But in the middle of his rousing speech, he lapses back into Clodagh
Jones stripping on stage. Back to his old tricks
Rogers mode, mincing about and singing "I'm Just an Old-Fashioned Girl," even pulling a white boa from behind a stack of books. So now he's Eartha Kitt. Cleese has Pither taken to jail for foisting an imposter on the Russian people-- but lets Jones keep singing. "He's going down well."
Writing in his diary, Palin says"Thrown into Russian cell. Severely damaged my Mars bar." He is taken out and placed before a firing squad, but he's too clueless to notice. They have a lot of fun with the firing squad. First, as the men take aim at Palin, who's trying to figure out what their target is, Chapman races through the prison with a not clenched in his hand, screaming
"What are they shooting at?"
"Nyet!" He hands the official telegram to Commander Cleese. A pardon? No. It reads "Carry on with the execution." Then, the firing squad fires-- and nothing happens. Cleese steps over. "How could you miss?" he asks, exasperated. "He moved," Idle replies, embarrassed. Palin is thrown back in his cell while the firing squad practices. On the next try, they actually wound themselves.
Palin, finally catching on to his own plight, falls into a troubled sleep. He wakes up back at home, Idle as his mother shaking him. "It was all a dream!" Palin cries, relieved. "No, dear, this is the dream, you're still in the cell," Idle
"No, dear... THIS is the dream."
replies. A very nice bit. We can see how the devotion to long form narrative structure has enabled them to play with the cliches that attach to said structure. The last minute reprieve, the dream, none of these would work in shorter sketches. (Geeks like me may notice a continuity lapse-- when Palin is thrown into the cell, there is no poster on the wall-- but as he starts to doze, the poster is there.)
As Palin awakens and is dragged out once again (having advised the squad how to better use their guns,) there is a poster in his cell for a show starring Eartha Kitt. We pan into the poster and fade to-- a terrible Russian variety show, MCd hilariously by Idle's fast-paced
This droog walks into a bar...
fake Russian. It's amazing how well bad jokes translate across language divides, and Idle is brilliant in this bit. Finally, in a change of mood, he brings out Eartha Kitt--aka Gulliver, aka Trotsky, aka Clodagh, aka Jones. But when Jones comes out, dressed in Bob Mackie glitter and boas, he speaks in the voice of Edward Heath and delivers a dry speech to the Trade Union Leaders. Apparently this sort of free-market capitalist nonsense does not play in Moscow, and the audience begs for "Old-Fashioned Girl". Finally, they resort to throwing fruit, which
they presumably had to stand in line for. When a tomato hits Jones in the head, in slow motion, his original mad-scientist personality is restored. "That turnip's certainly not safe." Then he realizes where he is, (although apparently not what he is wearing,) and calls out for "Mr. Pither!"
A foot race through the streets of "Moscow" (although it could be any industrial center) follows, Jones in a sparkly dress, black wig, high heels, white boa and ungodly dark tan, and a small army of goons chasing him with guns.
Check out the wicked tan!
Sometimes the Goons are on foot, sometimes in a car, but they never seem to gain on the spry Jones. Once again, it's all about the editing, lots of close ups and cutaways, with Jones' "Mr. Pither!" dubbed in. Finally, Jones stops beside a stone wall, calls out-- and Palin answers from the other side. Giving us another look at his climbing chops, Jones scales the stone wall (in high heels still!) and lands safely on the other side, reunited with Palin at last. "What a stroke of luck!" Jones exclaims-- just before the firing squad charges, bayonets fixed. And then...
I guess that's where Tarantino and Rodriguez got it.
"What an amazing escape!"
How Pither and Gulliver get out of that jam is lost to the ages. But seconds later they are at the crossroads outside of Tavistock, Jones back in his suit and bowtie, wishing each other a fond farewell. As they go their separate ways, the waltz music returns, and the crowd seems to go wild, with some very vocal supporters giving a rousing cheer as the closing credits roll.
But what about the dinosaurs, Uncle Craig? I'm glad you asked! After the credits are finished and Palin has disappeared into the background, we cut to a hedge.
The dinosaurs pop out. "I think he's finally gone," they sigh with relief. "Hit it, Maestro!" And they sing "Jack in the Box", dancing with wild abandon.
Like I said-- not a bad show. Some great bits, and you have to admire the dedication to the longform narrative. But... but...
Sadly, this is a taste of things to come. With the departure of Cleese in the next season, there will be no one to stand up to the hard working Jones/Palin juggernaut, and the others will increasingly become bit players working in service to Jones and his cinematic ambition, where sketches are saved by editing them, not by writing them well in the first place. Gilliam will go along, himself a cinematic visionary, Idle will keep his own Pop and Pop operation going, and Chapman will be too drunk to notice. Cinema's gain is sketch comedy's loss.
Still, there are moments of brilliance in this piece. The doctor writing a prescription for directions, the firing squad shenanigans, the self-ejecting tomato, and Idle's Russian emcee, all in the service to the central idea, show just how deep a bench the team has when partially benched. Even if the creative ambitions of the individuals are pulling the group in different directions, there's still plenty of firepower left in the Circus. As we shall see...
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