Episode 35 - The Nude Man (aka "The Nude Organist")

"And now, for ten seconds of sex... all right, you can stop now." - Eric Idle as Announcer

In the later years of one's life, it is common to look back on the old days with a fond smile and remember when you used to look good nude, and when others agreed. Those days are long gone for me, but they will always be here for Terry Jones, the second nude-est Python troupe member. (First place goes to Graham Chapman, for his revealing role in "The Life of Brian".)


Although this seems a strange way to start a blog post about a comedy group, remember that this blog is trying to map out the creative life of the team as seen through the context of the television show. And whether they knew it or not (I think a couple of them did,) this episode marks the beginning of the era of decrepitude for Monty Python. The show was nearing the end of its third and last complete season. Even as their fame was growing, their records beginning to sell overseas, live performance requests increasing and American interest rousing, at the same time, the BBC reins were tightening, and some of the team were beginning to think that they'd done about all that they could do on a TV show. And so, here, accidentally or subconsciously, the lads take a quick look back. Old forgotten themes return, old characters take the stage, and a lighthearted lack of ambition informs most of the bits. Gone is the ambitious cohesion from last week, or any efforts at a complex, multi-layered sketch. This episode represents their second childhood.

Let's check it out. And speaking of checking it out, have you seen the full nude fold out of Carol Cleveland that they put in the Monty Python Box Set? The one you have to see to believe, and buy the box set to see? (There is no nude fold-out of Carol Cleveland. I'm just trying to get you to do the right thing.)

Cleese and Palin are co-pilots of East Scottish Airways. "Our destinations is Glasglow" Palin brogues, "There is no need to panic." Cleveland makes an early appearance as the stewardess, adoringly slung over Palin. But it turns out that Palin's reassurance about the panic was premature. Idle, ramrod straight in sweater, shirt and tie, mushroom cap and tweed pants, enters from the passenger area. In a thick-ish brogue, Idle claims there's a bomb on board. He'll tell them where for a thousand pounds. ("A thoosand poonds.") This is a reworking of an older sketch, wherein Palin played a polite hijacker who wanted to take a plane to Loudon, instead of its scheduled destination, Cuba. (It was a 60s thing-- lots of planes hijacked to Cuba.)  Idle is equally inept at this hijacking stuff, unable to declare his terms without stammering and starting over. Finally, he manages "Unless you give me the [money], the bomb will explode (exploode) killing everybody."    

"Including you," Cleese points out.

"I'll tell you where it is for a pound," Idle renegotiates. Apparently, he hadn't thought of that.

In a very nice twist, Idle forgets the location, and must recite a rubric out loud to remember. Then, when he tries to sell the location for a pound, Cleese "guesses" the location-- and Idle pays him a pound. (Hey, a deal is a deal.) All of this punctuated with silliness from Idle, stiffly calling the stewardess "pretty lady" and rubbing the money to avoid fingerprints. Finally, Chapman enters as a stage manager with headphones on and a script in hand. "This character giving you any trouble?" "He's ruined this sketch," Cleese complains, whereupon Idle promises not to ruin the sketch "for a poond." And we have the first running gag of the show. Idle and his Scottish beggar will return. In the meantime, the players abandon the sketch, and we cut to film.

Terry Jones nude organist is, again, not nude. He sits in a field, at his organ, a plush robe on, surrounded by a documentary film crew. (Back then, kids, you needed cameras, mics, lights and crew to make a movie, even a modest documentary about a nude organist. Phones were for calling.) Terry Jones blathers pretentiously about the meaning of his role, as representing "two separate strands of existence" and like that. Hey, he can't talk that way about his role. Blathering pretentiously is my job! But Jones becomes aware that he's missed his cue, shoos everyone off, they take his robe, and smiling with all four cheeks, he plays his chord.

Cleese's announcer is next, doing a one on one interview with a lady reporter at his desk in a field of yellow . His sounds a little less blathery, but no less pretentious. "I adhere to the Bergsonian idea of laughter as a social sanction against inflexible behavior," he says, before he clears his throat and gives his non-flexible two word line. Should it alarm me that I almost understood that? Henri Bergson was sent up in an earlier game show sketch this season. He believed that sensory experience and intuition trumped rational behavior every time. Interesting stance for a philosopher. I can certainly see how Monty Python admired him. Speaking of irrationality, we break the groupie pattern with Palin's "It's" Man, standing alone in front of a bunch of crates. No one cares about his deeper meaning. So I'll just step in and say that "It's" Man represents the lengths one will go to for attention.

The Promised Pin-Up

Titles roll, and a caption promises us "10 seconds of sex." Perhaps a fold-out of Carol Cleveland? No, a black screen and a clock ticking for ten seconds, before the caption, VO'd by Idle, says "Okay, you can stop now." Chapman, on film, sipping tea, promises us that the show will start right nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnow. A little padding never hurt anyone. Although it couldn't help Carol Cleveland. What a nice girl!

The first sketch is a filmed bit, about buildings being constructed by characters from 19th century literature. This harkens back to the first season of the show, when silly juxtapositions were posited, and then tirelessly explored, such as Picasso on a bicycle. It's been a while since the lads have done something so straightforward, but they still got it, baby!

Angels, Devils, Adam and Eve

Palin plays a news documentarian, reporting on this new trend without distraction or asides. The names, and books from whence they came, come at us in a high speed blizzard, as costumed characters work cement mixers and dig. My favorite bit is a brief focus on Idle, playing Arthur Huntington from Anne Bronte's "Tenant of Wildfell Hall", as obscure a reference as you are likely to find. Not even the more famous Charlotte or Emily, but Anne. Huntington has built a self-generating energy source for this particular building, to win his fictional heroine back. The bit goes deeper as Palin explores a block of flats being built by the characters from Milton's "Paradise Lost". This project isn't going as well, because as Jones the foreman gripes "No one really got on." (That's British for "got along.") No twist, just a doubling down on the reality of the weird little concept.

Built by Hypnosos

We leave the  antiquated characters behind, but not the theme of building. Palin reports that new flats are going up, erected by the Amazing Mystico-- and Janet! Who remembers Janet? From Episode 2? Anyone? It's understandable if she don't look familiar-- Janet was played by Cleveland, in a sparkly magician's assistant outfit, gesticulating like mad for Kargol's every utterance. This time, Janet is played by Marie Anderson (I believe), while Jones plays Mystico, a wide-eyed theatrical hypnotist who puts up buildings-- IN OR MINDS. (Careful-- blowing of a mind will necessarily destroy any buildings previously inserted within.) His 5 pound fee is much more reasonable than the usual millions a block of flats might cost. Tenant Idle is interviewed; "You don't mind living in a figment of another man's imagination?" "No," Idle replies, "It's much better than where we used to live." But when he remembers that his other place was great, the building starts to collapse, and he must talk himself out of the memory. If you believe in low cost housing, clap your hands. Chapman is interviewed as Architect Clement Onan. Onan, some will notice, is a famous biblical spiller of seed, and onanism is another word for masturbation, which the lads tried to get into a prior episode, but which was edited out by the BBC. In Chapman's name, they re-wax that banister.

She's no Carol Cleveland

The documentary changes subject yet again, meandering from building erections to the powerhouse that is Janet. Palin sings her many accomplishments in a voice over, juxtaposed with hilariously goofy "show biz" photographs that look inane-- especially with her mouth wide open in glee. But the accomplishments ("Nobel prize winner, architect, novelist and surgeon,") turn dark, as she uncovers spy rings and stalks supposed wrong-doers. After one such wrong-doer is hanged, the documentary tackles the many cases of execution in Leeds for crimes such as "shouting in the corridor." Finally, we leave this wandering, subject-less documentary behind.

Jones, as Cop Harry "Boot In" Swalk (I love that name!) passes off the executions as accidents due to stress. But, in a nice silly bit, you can scarcely hear him, as other cops start singing over his police radio. Jones asks people to write in with what I assume is a funny address, because it gets a laugh, but the humor is lost on me. Maybe it's three different towns? Chime in if you know.

Now we cut to a proper sketch, sans link. Gilliam and Jones are working men in a mortuary. Jones carefully cuts hard-boiled eggs in half, separating them from the yolk, and Gilliam tapes them back together and puts them in a jar of vinegar. This is never commented on, or noticed. I'm actually ashamed that I noticed it this time, but there you go. A little silliness thrown in just as part of the tapestry. They're listening to the radio, and when the DJ (Cleese) gets insufferably cute, they switch to Radio Four, for their favorite program, "Mortuary Hour", hosted by Shirley Bassey. They don't switch channels, they switch radios. Radio Four is a tiny radio within a different radio. Maybe there's a smaller Radio Five within Radio Four. Did I blow your mind? Where will you live?   

Dig Cleese's crazy wig!

Finally, Cleese comes in, in a hilarious wig and costume, and voice to match. He tells the workingmen to put down their radios-- they're expecting company. Chapman, as a Lord Mayor, wheels in (literally-- he's on a wheeled dais) Palin, as an elderly Peer of the Realm, followed by Cleveland as Palin's wife. The sketch is a simple, straight forward riff on classism in Great Britain. Palin is not only an idiot-- he has a brain that is easily dislodged, so tiny is it. Once they wheel him in, Palin tries to think of something to say, and can't manage it. "I, uhhhh, I uhhhh, I uhhhh..." Palin does this really well-- remember his stutter in A Fish Called Wanda"? Chapman tries to lead him into verbosity, bragging about some element of the mortuary, but it fails to work. In a great physical bit, Cleveland adjusts his head, bonking him on each temple to get the tiny brain back in its slot. The way Palin moves his head, you actually can see the brain shifting. But the sketch doesn't really go anywhere, and they just wheel him off. There's some linkage here-- the workingmen go back to their radios, but Cleese says "This is the big one!... Withby Police with twelve hangees!" (But because we could scarcely hear Jones earlier, it doesn't really register.) Finally, Idle returns as the stiff Scot. "I won't interrupt this sketch for a poond." Too late.

Don't apologize-- go on!

A Gilliam bit follows. As with the opening groupie sequences, Gilliam speaks to the camera, explaining what he does. It's kind of cool, actually-- his hands hold pieces of his animation, and he begins to demonstrate how he puts it all together to make the magic. But like the others, once he realizes that the show is going on, he puts the pieces down, slides his head up into frame and apologizes. Sliding back out, we start his bit. It's a shame-- I would have liked to see more of him talking about it.

Big feet, large robes.

The bit itself is full of great Gilliam touches, but has little to offer by way of narrative. It feels like he's grasping at air. The animated man that he was demonstrating with turns to us, embarrassed, and marches off screen. We hear sounds of lovemaking (Oh, Jones, you little perv!) and a caption with an arrow tells us "Action taking place here" in the second floor of a cottage. A giant Bobbie head sneaks out, his eyes level to and glued at the second floor. The mortified couple  runs off, with the entire second story. They run past a monk, who hears the sirens and disappears into his robes on a "lunch break". Floating WWI helmets fly in like UFOs, inciting serious slinky neck strain in an admiral. The UFOs dive down into a trench, and a bunch of WWI infantrymen slide out, occupying the previously empty trenches. "Gott in Himmel", a German admiral says, and so terrified is he of the sudden invasion, his hair shoots straight out, sending the pickelhaube he wears flying. The helmet slices a little girl celebrating England's victory in half. That's it. Fun to watch, but not much narrative.

Spoiler alert-- It's a tie!

A filmed bit follows, with Jones from Paraguay facing off against Chapman from England in the Olympic final of the Men's Hide and Seek Competition. Like the earlier 19th century fictional characters sketch, this sketch relies solely on its concept for laughs, playing it mostly straight otherwise. The sketch asks, how impossible would it be to find someone if this game were an actual sport? While Jones counts, Chapman gets on a plane, flies to Sardinia and hides in some castle. It took Chapman over 11 years to find Jones, and now it's Jones' turn. The lads have some fun with the coverage-- Palin gets old and wrinkled and covered with cobwebs reporting from the studio. Idle on the other hand, stays fresh as a daisy reporting from the field. The contest results in a tie, and it's priceless to see the expression on the contestants' faces when he hears there must be a rematch.

Remember the unctious MC with the red jacket, played by Palin in Season 1? On the beach? With the donkey rides? He's back! As well as the beach, and the donkey rides. "Hello, again," he quacks, "Nice to be back, glad to see the show is going well." But he's not all that's back. As he introduces the next sketch in a sitting room, he apologizes for the poor production quality, but "the budget's a bit low." Cleese steps in and hits him-- with a chicken! Cleese then walks off and hands the chicken-- to the knight, standing nearby! It's all he hits! Original hits, original stars! Knight! Chicken! MC! Donkey Rides!

Cleese walks off, passing Idle's Scot, sitting in a beach chair drinking tea. "This is a totally free interruption-- no money has changed hands." We follow Cleese, who, with exquisite specificity, squishes something in the sand. This is our extra link to the sitting room sketch, which Cleese enters, and promptly squishes a matching bit of vermin in the sitting room.

Cleveland, Cleese's wife, has dinner waiting. She dreads the expected visit from their neighbors, the Cheap Laughs. Sure enough, Jones and Chapman ring as Mr. and Mrs. Cheap Laugh respectively. Bad jokes, pratfalls and hysterical laughter ensue. A time lapse gives us another view of the donkey ride gag, and when we return, the Cheap Laughs take their leave. Cleese and Cleveland argue as they discover other cheap laughs left behind-- bucket of water, whoopie cushion, and finally-- a 16-Ton Weight! That, too, makes a victory lap around the track. There's nothing cheap about that laugh.

In bed, later, Cleese and Cleveland make up-- "I'm just tired of always having to be like the Cheap Laughs," she whines; might this be a little bit of personal frustration seeping in?--  but their bed folds back into the wall, replaced by Idle at a news desk. Nice bit of choreography there, and I would love to see how Cleese and Cleveland managed the dismount.

"Probe" casts Idle as a reporter investigating cruelty and unfairness in bullfighting-- a big, aggressive bull versus "a small greasy Spaniard."  They ask Cleese, Brigadier, and Chairman of the "Well Basically" Club. "Well, basically..." Cleese replies. This is a nice bit for Cleese who lapses back and forth between a staunch military man recommending first strikes on bulls, and a prance-y effeminate theater reviewer admiring the showmanship of bullfighting. A large hammer swings in from the wings, clubbing him back into machismo. Finally, in the midst of his tirade against bulls, the lights go out. Idle announces from the dark "I'll turn the lights back on for a poond."

Gilliam returns, with a well-meaning tech man who can fix the show's problems with a touch of the button. This turns out to be more than he bargained for, as the arm snakes around and around. The hand finally finds the button, sending a visible electronic bump to a mic with lips that says something in German. Now things get weird. Two trees start to grow to a German marching song. They grow side by side, right up into deep space-- until they both flatten against some invisible ceiling. A smash cut to a brick wall, with graffiti reading "Remember 1937" A sudden shot of Hitler-- who can only stammer an apology. "I don't know why I've been included in this cartoon..." Another head pops out of his mouth, claiming this whole thing to be full of political significance. Hitler bites down, beheads the man, who lands in a crater on a strange planet, insisting all the way that "I was right." A strange riff on topicality from Gilliam, but more strange than funny.

 

Strange sci-fi music joins the strange planet, and Cleese's VO tells us all about the planet Algon. Is this another Skyron, with tennis-playing blancmanges? Not quite. More a riff on the breathless news coverage of the Apollo program, and their tireless search for metaphors to make all this science crap comprehensible to us morons. "Here", Cleese intones, "an ordinary cup of drinking chocolate costs four million pounds. An immersion heater costs..." You get the idea. And split-crotch panties? Unobtainable.

Algon, you're trying to seduce me.

Palin takes over as the host of this program, as they examine live footage from the first intergalactic probe to the barren wastes of the planet Algon. Apparently, they have discovered sexy lingerie on other planets. Will they find them on Algon? Probably, as Marie Anderson, in some weird stewardess costume, wanders past the camera. "The probe has struck crumpet!" Palin crows. Maybe this is the point of all scientific endeavor-- to discover someone who will sleep with scientists.

The science show devolves, cuts off, and Idle's stiff Scot comes out and reads the credits. "Conceived, written and performed by the usual lot." As he finishes, the camera pulls back to reveal the 16 ton weight poised above him. He makes a pitch to other BBC producers, and the weight is released. We fade out before we see it land.

What a pleasure to see this show, and all the old characters trotted out. Even Gumby makes a rare vocal appearance, announcing the opening title. But while this show delivers the laughs, and the past laughs, it gives us little that's new. Maybe Cleese was right. Maybe they'd really done all that they could do. We'll see...

Next week; Episode 36 - "E. Henry Thripshaw's Disease"