Episode 40 - The Golden Age of Ballooning

"It's not a balloon, you stupid little thickheaded Saxon git! It's a Zeppelin!" -  Graham Chapman as Mr. Zeppelin. 

The Pythons have enjoyed cult success of the like the BBC has never seen. Their albums are bestsellers, their books are high on the novelty lists, their live show has toured Great Britain and Canada, and they've sold out a West End Theater. They are in the midst of writing and developing their first original movie, which will become known as Monty Python and the Holy Grail. They are the toast of swinging London after three years on the BBC--

And now the BBC is going to give them a shot at a fourth year.

Why the trepidation on the part of the BBC? Simple-- the band is not complete for this particular series. John Cleese, the man who was offered the show in the first place, no longer wishes to do it, for reasons outlined previously. And although Cleese had been determined from the start to make Monty Python an ensemble effort, he was a huge part of the success of the show, both as a writer ("The Parrot Sketch") and a performer ("The Ministry of Silly Walks"). Can the lads get along without him?

They say yes. Jones and Palin, the two most disciplined and prolific writers, see an opportunity here to create more long form content. Jones, in particular, had always butted heads with Cleese over how the show should go, and by default, Jones wins. Now the dominant visionary in the group, Jones could pretty much call the shots. Idle had plenty of material ready to go, and Python was the best platform for him. Chapman seemed interested in proving himself as a writer who could stand alone, without Cleese, his partner. Plus, they had an ace in the hole-- Gilliam, who had not had much of an opportunity to perform, and was as explosive a performer as Cleese, if not as controlled. Finally, they brought Neil Innes in, to create more music for the show. It would be a different Python, but it would still be a funny, ground-breaking and surprising television show.

Let's see how they did. As always, if you haven't already, you can buy the box set here! Your sponging days are over-- no more living vicariously through this blog. It's time for the richer experience of watching the show yourself!

One of the usual signs of a show trying to redefine itself is the discarding of the old. In this particular episode, this means "No opening titles." We launch instead into the opening titles for a different show, "The Golden Age of Ballooning". Accompanied by classical music, hot air balloons crowd the air. It is a Gilliam-esque illustration, and gives us our only hint that this is Monty Python. But fear not-- more hints are coming. The title of this particular episode, we are shown in a graphic, is "The Beginnings".

Sharp cut to Palin as a mustached, mushroom-capped working class plumber dealing with a troublesome toilet whilst narrating the show, interrupting the narration every now and again to urge the toilet to let itself be fixed. He tells us of the Montgolfier brothers in 1783, the inventors of the hot air balloon, preparing their first launch. All about the juxtapositions here, plumber and stodgy BBC educational program, more strange than funny, but worth a laugh.

Idle and Jones play the Montgolfier brothers in the next scene, in flouncy period clothes and long grey wigs, full of import on the eve of their big day, looking out over the field and imagining their place in future encyclopedias. Jones has a little trouble with the French accent, riding it like a bucking bronco, but he manages.We get our first "joke thread" when Idle announces he will go and wash. This is hysterical, because, you know, he's French. Soon, the brothers have forgotten their big historical day and can only talk about bathing. Idle is too excited to do it, and Jones has been having trouble washing for years, to his great shame. "I am filthy! You are the cleaner of the Montgolfier brothers!"

This is (temporarily) interrupted by Chapman as an extraordinarily English butler, announcing a Mr. Bartlett-- only Chapman can't get the name right. Bartlett peeks in to correct him, wearing a "Gas Cooker" trenchcoat and hat, (played by Peter Brett?). After all that struggle to get the name right, Jones says "We don't want to see anyone. Tell him to go away." Nice little gag there.

And we're back to washing. Jones asks Idle what he will be washing, and Idle stops himself before he gets to the naughty bits. (There is a period plumber working on pipes behind Idle, echoing Palin's introduction-- not particularly funny, or even noticeable, but there it is.)  Idle then wraps the scene up with a dramatic monologue about the history they will make, and calls back the encyclopedia gag-    "Balloon-- just after Ballcock and just before Bang. What a position!"

But we miss most of it, because an anachronistic AV crew walks in through the balcony to set up a projector and screen, completely stealing focus. They wear black turtlenecks, and are ignored and ignoring. The projector plays some Gillaimination of two naked boxers bathing and boxing, bouncing in a tub of soap suds, while a Chapman voice over recounts the bath in fine historical detail; "Joseph Michael Montgolfier went on to scrub his torso, his legs, and his naughty bits..." (Yay, naughty bits!) "The End" pops up.

A cheesy 60s title card for "The Golden Age of Ballooning" cuts in, with Chapman's VO announcing

all the attendant merchandise that must be purchased to avoid jail and fines. There's a book, an audio book, crochet, and a talking frog. Yeah, I agree, lads, the constant push towards merchandise is egregious. And I love your books and albums and live shows and t-shirts! (As I write this, I'm looking at my talking Grail.) It's a cute if hypocritical gag, but it does go on a bit.

Another episode of "The Golden Age of Ballooning" starts, "The Montgolfier Brothers in Love." (Another graphic has to clarify "Not with each other, obviously.") Our deepest, darkest fantasies come to life when we see Carol

Cleveland, strapped horizontally hanging from a balloon. It's a shame she had to wear such a form-concealing French costume-- or anything. She complains in a fetching French accent to Jones, who works at a desk nearby, that all he thinks about is balloons. She gives many examples, while he measures her with a large tong-like instrument. He seems to spend a lot of time measuring her breasts, and frankly, who can blame him? As he crawls beneath her to get yet another measurement of her balloons, Idle walks in, and stammers, embarrassed at catching them in such a compromising position. "It's all right," Jones reassures, "We've done the difficult bit." This gag would work great in a sit com. We expect better from Python.

Idle announces that their benefactor, Louis XIV, is coming to visit. "Isn't he dead?" Jones asks. "Evidently not," Idle replies huffily. Idle extracts a promise from Jones that he'll was for the King, and a title card dissolves us to "Later That Evening"

Doesn't Palin look Scottish?

Later that Evening, Chapman announces to Idle the arrival of Louis XIV of France. (Mr. Bartlett tries to piggyback on this occasion, but Chapman chases him away.) Louis steps in-- and it's Palin, with scars on his face and a Scottish accent, which gets the biggest laugh of the show so far. His two footmen seem equally street-worn and suspicious. Idle sends Chapman away for some claret, and a long uncomfortable (and unfunny) pause follows. Making small talk, Idle asks "You have come from Paris?" "Where?" Palin responds.

Chapman rescues us with a goofy bit, as his Butler tries to figure out where the claret is. Idle describes with all his night, but Chapman just ain't getting it. Finally, they work it out. Chapman exits, and returns with meaningless exposition about an Egyptian canal. The Pythons are showing off their Cambridge degrees. Idle shoos him out.

Finally, Palin cuts to the chase. He wants the maps, ostensibly to put in the archives of (what's it called?) France, but clearly to steal them. Jones steps in dramatically-- "Just a moment!"-- wearing a towel and a bath cap, and gleaming with wetness. He was washing! And apparently, studying history, because, he announces a la Richilieu in Episode Three, that Louis XIV died in 1717. "Oh," Palin covers in his brogue, "Did I say Louis XIV? I meant Louis XV." But the jig is up. Palin headbutts Jones, (which is apparently a Scottish thing,) and races out with the plans, just as Chapman arrives without the claret.

The AV crew returns, showing footage of Palin and his posse running off. Chapman's Voice Over asks all the cliff-hanger questions, and announces the next episode... NOW!

And now things get weird. Episode 3, "A Great Day for France", starts with a modern panel show. Chapman, Sir Dividends, argues for a military presence if lieu of the collapsed government, and Idle, as Sir Interest, agrees provisionally, provided the army doesn't interfere with street executions, "which I feel have been the shot in the arm that the British economy so desperately needed." This is a topical reference to the political issues going on in England circa 1974, although I'm not sure what the street executions reference. While they blather, the Moderator Palin continues the narration of the "Golden Age of Ballooning", setting the stage for George III's court in England.

Back in period, Idle reads King Chapman a children's book. Chapman's deranged but pleased expression is priceless. A knock at the door alerts them that hey're not alone, and Idle switches out the book for a larger book of state business. Jones (as Lord North, apparently,) announces Palin as Louis XVIII, but when George III denies there is such a person, Palin (off screen) headbutts his way past Jones. Poor bastard is getting his nose kicked a lot in this episode. Palin, now in a wool tam o'shanter, tries to sell the plans to Chapman, but Chapman insists on pomp and circumstance that the fraudulent Palin would rather avoid. Finally, Jones (again) as Montgolfier, still in towel and bath cap, scotches (see what I did there?) the proceedings. "This man is an imposter!"

"Oooo, no, I am not,"Chapman whines, holding a hankie to his ear."Honestly!" (My daughter used to hold a hankie to her ear. Ergo, my daughter is King George III, and America belongs to her.)

Things devolve from there. Gilliam the footman announces the Ronettes, who come in and sing "George the Third" over and over in a Neil Innes written song, Palin headbutts everyone, Mr. Bartlett tries to get in, and Chapman curls up on the floor, confused that his insanity is running ahead of schedule. This is my problem with stream-of-consciousness narrative... inevitably, we wind up in chaos and anarchy, as all the jokes pile on top of each other.

Fortunately, this is a fake series, and we can keep going. The AV crew has snuck in with a title card, taking us back to France, where Idle Montgolfier reads with fake ears while Cleveland paces the floor, worried about Jones. It's been six months. The plumber is still there. And Chapman's Butler is still looking for the claret, although Mr. Bartlett has finally left. Idle dismisses him with a "Thank you, O'Toole," eager to put his tongue in Cleveland's mouth. "Not at all, sir," Chapman replies. "I've

enjoyed being in it." As he leaves, a burst of applause brings him back onstage for a curtain call, to the shock of Cleveland and Idle, and he repeats the last few lines, to great laughter, acclamation and flowers. Even Jones (still in a towel) and Palin come out to congratulate him. An odd ending to this bit, but somehow engaging. Roll credits, with a quick voice over announcing that Neil Innes is for sale by the BBC.

This relatively single-minded narrative has taken up more than half the show, and there's been little deviation from the central story line. Even Gilliam's animations (the title sequence and the bathing sequence) were in service to the story, with little straying, apart from the two lines in the panel show discussion. We've had the standard silly deviations that keep getting called back in-- the washing, the awkward pauses, the Scottish thug trying to teal the plans (I'm including the head-butting in that), the self-aware historicity, the BBC merchandise, and of course, the balloons  But now that the narrative is over...?

The BBC graphic plays under Chapman's VO shilling GAB (Golden Age of Ballooning) suppositories, and then announcing a party political broadcast from... the Norwegian Party? Idle, with a picture of a snowy pond or lake behind him, speaks to us in Norwegian, with titles, extolling the virtues of Norway-- especially the woman, with big knockers, who will do anything. "They'll go through the card." He's cut off with a buzz, but Chapman's VO promises that the highlights will be discussed by... a lot of people with a very thin connection to Norway, including "Mr. Brian Waynor, whose name is an anagram of Norway..." More silly than funny, this, but they're giving Chapman a lot to read, so he must be sober.

Another episode of GAP follows, this one about Ferdinand Von Zeppelin. We begin with silent-ish footage of Jones as Barry Zeppelin, "the least talented of the Zeppelin brothers." He blows up baloons, only to have them plummet to the ground as though they were made of lead. But he keeps trying larger balloons. Finally, he tries a man-sized balloon-- which retaliates by inflating him, in a very cleverly shot and conceived special effect scene. Once inflated, he floats with no problem, although his balloon is left behind.  Nice one joke bit there.

Palin's VO transitions us to the first flight of the Zeppelin in 1908. Ferdinand, played by white-mustached Chapman, is approached by various German types who compliment him on his balloon. "It's not a balloon, you stupid little thick-headed Saxon git! It's a Zeppelin!" Frustrated by their inability to call it by his name, he tosses them out of the Zeppelin, where they land in the dressing room of a German cottage. It's great to see Chapman in fine form, yelling and screaming as in The Flying Lesson sketch or the Argument Clinic, but it's over before we know it, and the rest of the sketch takes place in the German cottage. There is a Gilliam animation of the bodies being thrown out of the zeppelin-- once again, in strict service to the surrounding material.

Those specks are people being pushed out. 

In the cottage, Palin and Jones play the man and wife, respectively, that live in the German cottage. Palin's reading of exotic recipes is interrupted by all the dead bodies landing in his drawing room-- not sitting room, as he corrects Jones. They try to figure out what to do about the bodies, and the best they can come up with is to sort them. The big laugh comes when Jones says "We should call the government," and Palin points out "This is the government." The performances of Palin and Jones are nuanced, but the sketch never seems to land (unlike the bodies), and the energy, after Chapman's rants, drops with an inexorable and lethal momentum (just like the bodies.) I've heard and read Python apologists referencing this scene when they try to validate the last season-- isn't it a great and interesting concept, to have this German couple sorting all

the dead bodies? Perhaps, but I don't get much of a laugh out of it. Between the odd editing into the scene, and the muted quality of the scene itself, there just isn't much about it that's funny.

We end with a photo montage showing a result of the mass murder that Zeppelin committed that day; one of the deaths was responsible for the birth of the producer/director the GAP. Life goes on. Or does it? The balloons crowding the sky are all popped by hypodermic syringes and other medical instruments, as a new, edgy title appears-- the Golden Age of Colonic Irrigation! Not the shortest title, but the kids love it. A pair of upended buttocks rise up to great one of the instruments, and in the interests of good taste, we cut away. This feels more like Gilliam, breaking from the narrative with violent tastelessness. We've missed you, sir!

Chapman's VO, over black, still lists the Norway commentators, the connections to Norway growing thinner and thinner. Finally, a Masterpiece Theater type of movie, "The Mill on the Floss" starts. Music swells as the Part 1 title pops up; "Ballooning". (Thought you'd escaped, eh?) Jones and Cleveland in Victorian costume hold hands in the brush of an English meadow. So deeply in love are they, they float up into the sky with an ease that would make Barry Zeppelin green with envy. Fade to black.

Well... some funny bits, and the performances and production value are all there, with brief moments of comic inspiration lighting up the rest of the content. But the show seems to have lost its edge in all the randomness. Monty Python has always been silly, but it's never been pointless. Though some through lines are played out exhaustively, they never really pay off. Maybe the conflict that Cleese brought to the proceedings was more valuable than anyone knew. Or maybe the lads are just rediscovering their balance after his departure. One things is clear-- for better of worse, Cleese won't be coming back.

Next week; The Return of Cleese! (sort of.)