Monty Python's Fliegender Zirkus Episode 1

"The Germans came to us and said 'Look, we haven't got a sense of humor... Can we use yours?" - Eric Idle

At some point during the creation of the third season, Monty Python's Flying Circus invaded Germany. Being British, they were polite about it, and only did it upon the request of the Germans-- specifically TV producer Alfred Biolek, who watched a few episodes of Monty Python while in the UK and thought their brand of humor would play well in the Fatherland. As it turns out, he was wrong. "This was an absolute flop, it cannot be stated differently." And so, they took a page from Germany's world war playbook-- if something is an unmitigated disaster, do it again.


At first, the Pythons were reticent. They didn't speak the language, and they were smart enough to anticipate cultural gaps that many jokes would not manage to bridge. But there were more alluring possibilities as well. For instance, no studio performances. The entire show would be shot on film and edited at their leisure. This would have been catnip to Jones, Palin and Gilliam, the auteurs of the group. Gilliam, in particular, an animator with little lip-synching to worry about, would translate effortlessly. Also, not speaking the language would free them up from time-consuming links and set-ups. They could just go all out with silliness. The promise lured them to at least visit that damn place, and in October 1971, the lads took a trip out there.

They celebrated Oktoberfest, and Albrecht Durer's 500 birthday. They visited a concentration camp, and were allowed to leave. The country was buzzing with anticipation of the Munich Olympics coming the following year. Much of all of this made it into the content of their shows. But beyond all of this, the lads came to realize that they all had serious preconceived notions about the German people, especially regarding their sense of humor. Germany was one of the first non English countries to embrace Monty Python-- even if they didn't embrace this particular show. The creation of these two episodes became an exercise in cultural broadening for all the troupe. Plus, we get 1.5 hours of weird-ass television, with the company speaking pigeon German, which is good. Let's check it out!

Best Guest Performance Ever!

We begin with a pretty lady at a desk, doing her TV announcer thing. The speech she gives essentially translates as a "what you are about to see" schpiel. But the set collapses behind her, revealing a reedy fen. Two frog men emerge, take her and drag her back into the water. Throughout these indignities, the lady, Frau Newsreader Claudia Doren is unflappable, never even taking a break as she is pulled from her desk (and her mic) and dragged back into the swamp. Well done, Claudia! This is reminiscent of the newsreader sketch from the first season-- Cleese and his desk kidnapped and dumped in the ocean amidst gunfire and car chases-- but this is simpler and more elegant. Although, one could argue, a very sinister first impression.

Gilliam is up next, with two dark-eyed ladies staring at a scandalous picture. A gentleman comes up behind them, and voiced by Palin, announces "And now for something completely different," only in German. It's very strange for Palin to be speaking German, but I guess I'd better get used to it. he titles follow, the third season titles with the pipes at the start and the weight lifter at the end. Let the show begin!

A quick bit with Jones as the Olympic torch bearer, running through "Athens". Making sure to triple check this quiet road, he is promptly hit by a car. Not hit hard, just tapped a little in the knee.

We cut to a documentary about Albrecht Durer, which surprises us with the revelation that the painter was known, not only for his painting, but for his rent-a-car service. Cleese quickly steps in, apologizing for the inaccuracies. He is stern, authoritarian, and decidedly unsilly, as he promises to keep an eye on this documentary. Just as well, because the documentary soon claims that Durer was an insect. Then the documentary takes us over to--

Australia, Australia, Australia, we love you, ah-men! Palin, as a German-speaking Fosters-swilling Bruce, complete with corks dangling off his bush hat, says he doesn't know Durer from a kangaroo's rectum, then goes off on a Tourette's-inspired recital of "arse" and "bum", which gets buzzed by Cleese the killjoy, who apologizes again for the previous spokesperson. An appreciation of Durer follows, sung by Anita Ekberg-- only it's not really Ekberg, just a cut out, and the voice is Jones singing a subtle variant of the Dennis Moore song. Cleese returns again, to apologize, again. (They seem to be apologizing a lot for this show.) They finally give up on the documentary, and cut to "The Merchant of Venice"-- as performed by cows. Not just any cows, though-- The Bad Ischl Dairy Herd.

Once again, we get footage (of cows) voiced over, one of them with a yamulke and curly hair braid. We get some applause from the Woman's institute, and we're out. One of Shakespeare's shorter plays.

We go back to the Olympic torch bearer, bandaged and crutched. This time, he's not the victim, wreaking havoc with his torch. (Hey, we've all been there, am I right fellas?) He passes Chapman as a lady, and when asking for directions, he sets her umbrella on fire.

He's French, speaking English, with German subtitles

Gilliamination links us to the next bit-- a riff on Frenchmen. Jones, quintessentially British, claims to be a Frenchman who has not been to the bathroom in five years. Palin confirms this, speaking English in an outrageous French accent, subtitled in German. (It can get exhausting.) Palin has papers proving that Jones is French, and documents attesting to the fact that he hasn't been in five years. A series of impressive testimonials follow, from news footage of the Chancellor, to Nixon, to the Queen, all stating emphatically that yes, it's been five years. Finally, we get Chapman as a doctor, who should know-- he and Jones have spent the last five years in doctor patient bliss. But it couldn't last, as Chapman was drawn by his very nature back to the flock of Doctors he came from. Like the pigeon fanciers in Season 2, the doctors chirp and mill about a green field, finally rounded up by Farmer Idle, who brags on his current crop of doctors, including his "short-horned gynecologists".

So far, it all seems a bit stiff. The lads feel a bit off their game, uncertain as to which sketch to stick with and which to run screaming from. They are also without one of their best weapons-- language, and the delivery thereof. The process from the written to the spoken included getting a translator in the middle there to dictate the German translation so that the actors could learn it by ear. But that would imply that they were also memorizing the translator's delivery of the joke. In other words, Monty Python has essentially become its own tribute band, writing jokes which are then translated and re-performed by someone else, and doing those jokes. It's a little like The Who ding Elton John's version of Pinball Wizard, if Elton John were a German translator.

Still, for all its strangeness, you have to stop and wonder at the accomplishment and ambition. These guys are doing an original show, in a language they don't speak. Holy crap!

Anyway, Cleese returns, and in what must have been the dress rehearsal for the "Holy Grail" credits, he informs us that they are returning to the Durer documentary, and that the producers responsible for the last attempt have been sacked. The documentary begins, much like the second attempt, only now, strange things are happening to the wood carving art work. Large cannons peek out from hills, pierce other towns with neat little black spots. A horse is cross-sectioned, and looks much liker an orange inside. A rhino starts hopping on dancing naked ladies. Hey! Who let Gilliam in here?! In a great slow burn, the lads are playing the long game, giving us a "real" version of the documentary pictures, and a fake, anarchasized version. (It's a German word. Look it up!) Despite Programmer Cleese's apologetic efforts to stop it, the cartoons have taken over. Cleese surrenders and brings us back to the program.

Idle tractors the doctors back, explaining how farm-raised doctors allow cows more time to work in hospitals. And CRASH! Three story lines converge, as we see cows in an ER loading dock, mooing with subtitles both medical and Shakespearean. (With a brief apologetic interruption from the Durer documentary.) It's the end of Act 1 of the Merchant of Venice, as performed by cows. The strangeness is suddenly working for me. More than any other Python show, it feels as though revolutionaries have taken over the broadcasting company and are messing with the order. And of course, this is where they would do it, in Germany, where order is the national religion. Rather than attack propriety, as they did in the UK, they attack order itself.

Idle reviews the production form the ornate balcony of the theater, enthusing over how the cows have mastered the challenge of doing this particular play. Other animals have tried and failed, notably some chickens. But then Chapman, in a long walk-up to the camera, announces some Doctors doing the same play. They're terrible, getting distracted by medical diagnoses. Cleese's Programmer ducks in with another apology-- there will not be another Durer documentary attempt.

Great bit now with Gilliam. A trench coat wearing man stands backstage, watching the production, and did I mention it's terrible? He walks onstage, and we hear bullets and bombs as he expresses his free speech rights. Satisfied, he walks back off stage and out of the theater, where he encounters a billboard with a sexy model on it. Looking around to make sure there are no observers, he whips open his trench coat and flashes the billboard. He gets another shot with a split billboard, one ad with a man and one ad with a woman. He flashes the woman, repeatedly. He fails to notice a real woman walk up with a dress. Inspired by the flashers bravado, she flashes the male ad. They notice each other, and it's true love at first flash. Suddenly, their clothes are like butterfly wings, and they fly off together into the sunset. Very nice! Gilliam's first attempt at story nets us a real winner, equal parts crudity and inspiration. If the Germans didn't like this bit, we have to wonder what's in their water. The sunset turns out to be some gun-toting family's home. They shoot the animator, and he falls, screaming...

And lands on a road, where backpacker Jones tries to hitchhike. Half Gumby, half zombie, Jones leans from the waist, his idle arm dangling low-- is he Frankenstein to Chapman's Dracula? No one will pick the forlorn freeloader up-- until the torch bearer crutches on by. (Hey, wait a minute! Didn't Jones play the torch bearer, too? It looks more like Idle now, although the face is bandaged up.) The Torch bearer offers him a piggy back lift, and off they go. But behind them is a dark forest, once upon a time.  

Little Red Riding Hood vs...

We pan to the forest, and a voice over tells us the fairy tale of Red Riding Hood-- as played by John Cleese, tall, hyper-aggressive and repulsive. This bit made the rounds (with English voice over) in the live shows, so it's a familiar routine, despite the few times this show has been seen. The basic joke is Red's complete lack of vulnerability (or even femininity) as opposed to the wolf-- played by the cutest, most bashful and nervous dachsund ever. The wiener dog, with scraps of fur taped to his body, looks embarrassed to be a part of these childish proceedings, and must be manhandled into position or action. Not only do the governing hands point out the schlockiness of

The Big Bad Wolf

this production, they also provide some scale-- this is a pretty tiny dog. When the "wolf" says, in voice over, "She looks good to eat," it can't help but draw a quick laugh from one, unless you're a diehard PETA enthusiast-- 'cause the dog doesn't look like he's having much fun. But finally, his torment ends when he gets to Grandmother's house-- which turns out to be a NASA facility, and Buzz Aldrin's security guards have the dog shot. Off screen, of course, PETA members-- please put your red paint down. But Red isn't out of the woods yet. Heinz, the rapist of Stuttgart, sets his sights on Cleese's lovely body, and is strung up for his troubles. The other rapists of the forest (all in trenchcoats) come to cut him down, and everyone lives happily ever after in weird ways, which include the explosion of Grandma's cottage/NASA. There's not much that's funny in this, apart from Cleese' s interpretation of Red Riding Hood and the dog's interpretation of the wolf. It's pretty silly, to be sure, but silly in that random Palin/Jones way. It never achieves much actual humor, just a weird, surreal trance state.

Red winds up in Cairo, or Germany posing as Cairo, where she once again is accosted by Jones, this time as a dirty postcard salesman. He finally catches Red's interest with dirty pictures of-- Albrecht Durer. And we're back to Durer, this time in a turban, and all of his drawings have been altered to suggest Middle Eastern themes-- a camel instead of a horse, a pyramid in the middle of a village, and a rhino with a turban and sunglasses. (How sheik!) Cleese turns them all down. Where can I get some?

Back to the Torch Bearer, hobbling down the road with Jones piggy-backing him, and using the torch to cook an egg. He gives Idle the egg, and they go their separate ways. Jones puts up a tent in a forest clearing-- a very elaborate tent, with three stories, multiple gables, etc. It's a long bit, with him unpacking the tent in fast motion, the joke being that such an edifice could come from such humble beginnings. But again, not that funny. Just silly.  

This is impressive.

But now comes some truly inspired humor, as a the 27th Annual Silly Olympiad is announced in voice over. (I will point out that Kim "Howard" Johnson's episode description deviates from what I see on the show, so there may have been some fiddling with A nd E's presentation here.) Like Red Riding Hood, we've seen this bit before, too, and it's awesome! In the English version, there's a lot more voice over, but the jokes all still work, despite the silence in this version. We get the 100 meters for men with no sense of direction, a race for the deaf, freestyle swimming for non-swimmers, ("We'll be back when they fish out the corpses.") and a marathon for the incontinent. They start interweaving the events. My personal favorite-- the "Men with their mothers" event, where the racers are trying to get their mothers to please just move down the track, and the mothers have to shop or chat or just gripe. Hilarious!

Now, and American West theme sneaks in, and out of the bar steps-- Albrecht Durer! Painter, philosopher and Marshal in these here parts. Cleese's program director soon puts a stop to that! (Do you suppose there was a tourist-y marketing attempt to commemorate Durer's 500 birthday and that's what Monty Python was mocking?) He orders up a game show, and Palin and Cleese oblige with a wild west game show called "Stake Your Claim". (I feel like I've seen this before, but I'm not sure where. I'll figure it out, though.)

After a false start and a change of venue, the show gets started properly. It's a great bit, the first "true" sketch of the show so far, where Host Cleese good-naturedly pierces guests impossible claims. Palin claims to have written the entire works of Shakespeare, but when  Cleese points out that Palin is only 43, and the works are known to have been performed 350 years earlier, Palin caves with masterful comic timing. "I was hoping you wouldn't bring that up..." Other guests, frightened by Cleese's acumen, abandon their claims, muttering "I'm no match for you." It's a simple bit, but very funny. Maybe I just like sketches. Pepperpot guest Chapman tries to change her claim, from jumping off a castle and being buried alive, to burrowing through an elephant, knowing that the show would not have an elephant handy. Cleese makes her honor her original claim, and let us raise a glass to toast her memory. Nice try, frau Chapman. As the show wraps, Palin returns with more outrageous claims, but Cleese won't let him back on the show. Whic is fine with Palin, because-- he always wanted to be a lumberjack!

In one of the first bits purloined from the British series, Palin sings "The Lumberjack Song" in German. Oh, that is weird. The background singers take it a little slowly, but they chime in with nice harmonies. The German frau (Palin's "best girl") is dubbed. Why? Maybe the whole sketch couldn't be mic'ed properly. It's trippy to watch it in German, but Palin gives us the same infectious thrill that he always had. A complaining letter follows, with an assurance that the remaining 30% of lumberjacks "form relationships with farm animals in the usual way." Added complaints follow about marsupials and indecent acts on trampolines, before the letter is shot right in the "a".

Gilliamination follows, with a photographer taking pictures of subjects, and a field marshal with preternaturally wide jaws eats an entire town before his head explodes with fanfare for-- the Bavarian Restaurant Sketch! ("Das Bayerisches Restaurant Stuck!) This is a little gem. It feels like a Cleese Chapman sketch-- it's that cruel. An American couple, played by Chapman and an actual lady come with their guidebook translations and pigeon German, to a Bavarian restaurant known for its authenticity. At first, it starts out with giddy huckster-ism. Palin and Idle polka and sing to an accordion as they take the coats or push in chairs, all in the finest Bavarian tradition. But when burgermeister Jones, carried out an a beir, sings and dances over with the menu, he hits Chapman on the head and the lady in the face.

Well might you ask...

Things go downhill from there, with evil liquids poured on them and food stuffed into their clothes, all in the name of Bavarian tradition. Finally, Chapman is tossed from the window with sauteed potatoes, and is too dead to get the check (which is traditional American behavior.) Cleese did warn them that "the food, the service, is all traditional, beyond good an evil." (A Nietzsche reference-- was he Bavarian?) The sketch mocks the kitsch of "traditional" restaurants, at the same time as it mocks the people who seek them out. Cleese is hilarious in the sketch, kicking his heels and tapdancing with that manic grin on his face, checking to make sure that the cruelty is consensual. "You did want an authentic meal," he reminds them.

The material prior to this piece is all well and good, but it felt a tad polite, like the lads were holding back, with the exception of the Munich Olympics bit. The whole show had a timid apologetic tone. But the Bavarian restaurant sketch ranks right up there with "The Dirty Fork" or "Job Interview". It feels like Python has decided to stop being so polite and swing for the fences. I'm curious whether the Germans found it funny-- but I do. The sketch is almost six minutes long, and it feels too short (as opposed to the Albrecht Durer documentaries, which are much shorter, but way too long.)

You can't say the lads don't know when to close it out. The credits follow, over a long filmed bit of Lord Jones ceremonially walking downstairs, accompanied by footmen, to a waiting carriage. Once inside, we hear a toilet flush. (Like I often say-- we're never that far from potty humor.) He steps back out, and the footman run the soiled coach away. This feels more English than German. Although Germany had its royalty back in the day, they have quite a different relationship than the English did, and still do.

Black and white Gilliamination follows, made unique by a completely colorless palate, nothing but pen and ink rendition of planes, trucks and trains all transporting this coach, until they pass a billboard. Zoom in on the billboard-- and the frogmen are returning the abducted newsreader frau Doren to her desk, where she bravely continues talking. It's a thankless bravura performance on her part, which I for one appreciate. There is no better praise than this-- I doubt Carol Cleveland could have done better. They seat her back st her desk, positioning her just so, and replace her background flat-- always leave a country like you found it. "And now," she finishes, "Albrecht Durer." Fade to black.

What a show! True, it fails as often as it succeeds, but while the lads were trying hard to be gentle, they were also refusing to be anything other than what they were-- anti-authoritarian anarchists, not so much lampooning television as destroying its hallowed (and hollow) conventions. And besides bridging cultural gaps with their inimitable sensibilities, they friggin' spoke German! And they did it without winking and nudging their way through it, but committed completely and without irony. The show is a true oddball treasure, proof that the lads didn't know what it meant to play it safe. They don't even have a studio audience to encourage them. I will "stake my claim" that if Monty Python is supposed to have revolutionized television, nowhere is the revolution more evident than in this subversive, dangerous show.

Next Week; Albrecht Durer! Or Show Zwei! (If I can find it.)