Episode 44 - Mr. Neutron

"If you don't take care of your scalp, you get rabies." - Michael Palin as Mrs. Entrail

Well, we're here, at the Garden, it's a cool, humid night as the home team, the lads from Oxfmbridge, try to fend off another challenge from the tag team of Mediocrity, in the beige trunks, and Randomness, in the guppy. The lads, or as the broad sheets call them, Monty Python, (with or without their flying circus,) came into this match as favorites, an excellent pedigree, huge skills and something to prove. It's been a rough couple of rounds, some great bits mixed up with some nearly incomprehensible bits of crazy. Without John "Killer" Cleese in the corner, the lads aren't as deep as they used to be, and the edge has gone off the rage that had kept them so focused in the past. Terry "The Yank" Gilliam has stepped up his acting game, but his animation seems to have suffered, serving it up more in support to the other pieces. Media has also been an issue, as the boys find less allure in the studios (where they keep the live audiences) and create more of their work for the film camera.

To compensate, Monty Python has had to draw deep from their well of support. We've seen lots of new faces, such as Neil Innes, and old friends Carol Cleveland and Connie Booth. Even Cleese has made an appearance, albeit in the abstract, with his material springboarding some key assaults. And we'll see more support today from a subsidiary member of the group that went on to do great things. Will the lads rally and score a definitive victory? Let's check it out and see. Grab yourself the box set, settle in with some popcorn and moist towelettes for the blood, and let's watch the fight of the century-- again.

And they jump right in, slamming them with the credits, getting the only moderately predictable 30 seconds of the entire show out of the way, eliciting a few chuckles from the studio audience. What will their first sketch be...?

And it's film! The lads are going to their new obsession, film, bringing the New Wave and Fellini-esque traditions to sketch comedy. The lads are chomping at the bit to make their movie, and who can blame them? In a nice tracking shot, a British suburban street is cleaved by a scrap metal dealer in a horse-drawn wagon. It looks like... it is! It's Jones, cantering through town, bellowing "Bring 'em all out!" or something incomprehensible, Pepperpots run out at his summons-- only they're carrying ballistic missiles and bazookas, putting them in the back of his wagon as he trots by, in some weird suburban disarmament. And is it?-- yes! One of the Pepperpots is none other than Douglas Adams, of "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" fame! But I'm not sure this retroactive celebrity can save this odd single jab.

But wait-- a red "Royal Mail" van comes riding up the street, passing Jones and delivering... Palin! He's helped out of the van by a Lord Mayor type, and the two walk over to a small set of bleachers that wasn't there just seconds ago. That gets a laugh. The bleachers are set up next to a mail box, which has a gold robe draped around it. The mail box is the reason for all the pomp and circumstance, we soon discover, as Palin announces the new box. Whenever he says "box", he hits it hard, the "b" exploding concussively and the rest of the word rising in pitch. "The...BOX..." He speaks into a microphone, which echoes through the street-- yet for all the pomp and AV work, the announcement itself is pretty prosaic. It can be summed up as "Here's a new mailbox," but it goes on for a full minute... and then in French. And then in German. Not much sketch here, just a snarky comment on the predeliction of local politicians to make a big deal out of very meager accomplishments, and it takes a while to deliver its punch. Mediocrity ducks it easily, and Random is building a cardboard stomach in the rear. It's not looking good for Monty Python.

But wait! A Palin Voice Over tells us that this simple life was all about to change. We cut to a yellow train arriving, bearing-- yes! Graham Chapman, in a yellow superhero outfit and outrageously blown back golden retriever hair, and across the chest, the title "Mr. Neutron"! Palin's V.O. waxes rhapsodic on the many powers of Mr. Neutron-- strength, brilliance, unbelievable destructive abilities-- but the image doesn't jibe, as Mr. Neutron just carries a shopping bag. He doesn't fly. He doesn't even hover.

A nice animated bit follows, a pinball whirl of planets rush past with "Mr. Neutron"'s name in big block letters, while Palin speculates on the origins of the esteemed Mr. Neutron. He promises us, however, that the origins don't matter. "No matter where he went, terror and destruction were sure to follow." The animation bears this out, as explosions along a grid like surface bring down the planets above. This is sounding good! I likes me some terror and destruction!

But as Palin announces that Mr. Neutron is waiting for his moment to wreak havoc, we see him having tea with Jones and wife Palin in a back yard. Palin regales him with gossip, and Mr. Neutron answers in a deep, emotionless drone, sitting stiffly in the lawn chair.

Jones basically hates every one and everything. He ekes out a small laugh, calling kids "little bastards," but it doesn't really go anywhere. Mr. Neutron, on the other hand, is pleasant, if bland. "This is a nice area," he drones. "It is convenient for the shops and the West End." (Spoiler alert! Jones hates the West End!)

And I think we're seeing the kid's strategy, Howard. They build up a big expectation with Mr. Neutron, warning of the danger and destruction he brings, but he's really a kinda boring and conventional person, apart from the costume and hair. If Mr. Neutron is analogous to American nuclear power, then I would have to say that this point of view is right on the money. Although many Europeans get hysterical about the fact that we have all these missiles and bombs pointed at or near them, it's actually kind of dull, because we're too dull and conventional to use them. (Note; This was written before the 2016 elections and the possible presidency of Trump.) But if, on the other hand, this is analogous to their current season-- great expectations met with an almost rigorous tedium-- it's maybe a bit too on the nose. Could this be some kind of subconscious mockery of the absence of John Cleese? Are they inadvertently rubbing our noses in the fact that we want John Cleese and he just ain't here?

Palin's V.O. takes us to Washington, and the headquarters of F.E.A.R. - The Federal Egg Answering Room (huh?), which is actually a code name for the real organization, F.E.E.B.L.E. The FreeWorld Extra Earthly Bodies Location and Extermination Center-- where "All was not well." In our first foray into the studio, (6 1/2 minutes into the show, by the way) Idle plays a US general-- we can tell he's U.S. because he's smoking a cigar. A woman hands him a sheet of paper from the teletype. Good God!" he cries out, in the worst American accent ever. We know he can do better, so this must have been intentional-- bad British accents in Washington. The camera zooms in on his as he calls up the Commander on the phone.

SNIFF! SNIFF!

And we're back out of the studio, back on film. (The lads must have been cracking up during this taping-- they hardly had anything to do.) In a white and barren room, beneath what looks like a German eagle, Palin sits at a huge, wide desk, with nothing on it but a phone. Souza's "The Stars and Stripes Forever" plays behind him-- I had to look that up, and as an American, I'm ashamed. As we slowly pan in, Palin starts sniffing his pits, his shoes, his general chest-al area. Clearly, he's getting a whiff of some bad B.O., and he's the only one around. (Not that he doesn't cast his eyes about, embarrassed.) Just to make what he's doing is clear, the lads have dubbed in the sniffs-- we're way too far away to hear them, but it's like he's sniffing us. The phone interrupts him as he's about to dive into his shoe. It's Idle on the other end, announcing that Mr. Neutron is missing. Palin orders the destruction of Washington D.C., until Idle reminds him that Neutron isn't there. "I want a full scale global alert. Surround everyone with everything we got!" (Don't know why we hadn't thought of that in Vietnam.) With all branches of the military on "eternal standby", he sits back, impressed at his own effectiveness... until the smell hits him again (No question about it-- the sniffs are louder than his shouted dialogue was.) and as we pull out, he's back on the scent. The kid's pulling the Blame America one-two. Can they bring their punches up from below the belt and elevate the material into satire?

We cut away to Mr. Neutron, who prunes his rose bushes and chats with pepperpot Idle. At this point, Palin's V.O. has to reassure us-- "Easily the most dangerous man the world has ever seen. Honestly!"- because he's just not lookin' that dangerous. Idle has a nice moment, when she promises to send her husband around to help, and laughs maniacally. But it's strictly behavioral. Are we seeing a new strategy here, a tactic of misdirection? As with Mr. Pither in the Cycling Tour, is Neutron just an excuse to take us through a vast slate of English and American eccentrics?

No! Because now we're back at the large desk with Palin's Commander. His shirt has been pulled up, and he sniffs his own chest, sliding fingers into his pits. Another buzz from Idle alerts him that after three days of "eternal standby" and frequent bombings, the U.S. military has become the terror of the world. But though the world is in the grip of F.E.A.R. (aka F.E.E.B.L.E.), they still haven't found Mr. Neutron. Palin decides to put his best man on it-- Teddy Salad of the CIA. The name gets a laugh-- a cheap laugh. I guess they'd already used "the Cheap Laughs." The blows are low and getting lower-- B.O. and funny and easily misunderstood names, all in the service of mocking the States. Is the Kid weakening?

Teddy is up in the Yukon-- and Palin warns Idle to wear a great disguise. Well, there are disguises, and there are disguises. This is the latter. Idle wears black tights and a backpack that proudly announces "Nothing to do with F.E.E.B.L.E." He approaches a lone cabin in the middle of the bleak North England landscape (which is supposed to be the Yukon, remember.) The rustic cabin has a doorbell, which gets a laugh. Chapman answers in a thick orange beard and a lumberjack jacket. When Idle tries to pass himself off as a person with the Government-- the government ballet, that is-- it turns out to be a minor disaster. Chapman is all about the ballet, and he's not alone in that cabin-- about five homosexuals crowd around him as he talks ballet with the increasingly uncomfortable Idle. When Idle finally swerves the conversation back to the object of his mission, Teddy Salad, Chapman says "The secret agent?" Apparently Salad is no better at disguises than Idle. Idle tries to maintain his pointless fiction, and Chapman points him towards the store. This could have been a nice bit, but the promise of the sketch never gets realized. Idle never really gets into trouble with his cover, there was no need for cover in the first place, and the only joke is that you can't tell who the homos are, or when to drop one's cover. I think the lads are on the ropes here, Jimmy. None of their attacks are developing or landing the way they should, and even the narrative seems transparently pallid-- a lot of fuss over nothing, and nothing turns out to be... nothing.

Back in the studio (11:42 into the show, over a third,) Mr. Neutron hangs wall paper and gives diet advice to a fat Brit played by Palin,who recounts how much he eats. If this sounds not particularly funny, there is a toilet joke. When Mr. Neutron recommends salad, Palin asks "Teddy Salad?" Whoa! They're confusing a character named Salad with salad! Who could have seen that coming?! Easily dodged by Randomness, although he loses the squid.

Back in the studio again, with the live audience for back up. Idle, having made it to the log cabin store where Teddy Salad is supposed to be, is given a salad by Italian waiter Palin. Palin rejoices at serving a salad, when all he ever serves is fish to the Eskimo customers he gets. Sure enough, Chapman and Jones and OWLs (Others Without Lines) all in Eskimo garb, complain about the lack of fish at their table. "We want fish," Jones cries, "We've finished our fish." But Chapman insists their not Eskimos. Indeed, they speak with refined British accents. So what are they? Well, according to Palin, they're irritating, because they don't want canneloni. It makes him homesick for his childhood days in... Odom? The non sequitirs are dizzying, but for all the leg work, Frank, they're not getting in any solid laughs to the gut. What a waste of the studio audience, who tries gamely to giggle, but can't keep up.

Idle approaches, speaking loud and slowly, since Eskimos don't understand English, and even though Chapman reminds him they're not Eskimos, Idle continues his short bus English, asking for Teddy Salad. When asked what Teddy does, Idle replies "He's a hen teaser." Bringing us a quick shot of Idle as the Fiat chairman, asking "What is a hen teaser?" Remember, we saw that clip in the Golden Age of Ballooning, so the lads are doing multi-show running gags. Nothing new there, they were doing that in Season 1, but I appreciate the effort. Chapman. Back to the scene, Chapman says that the only Teddy Salad he knows is in the CIA. (Though earlier, he said he didn't know a Teddy Salad.) Idle insists on sticking to his cover, even though Chapman admits he's MI6-- "but not a word to the Eskimos."

Back on film (that was almost a 2 1/2 minute stretch there... not bad,) Idle trudges across the "Yukon" landscape, ominous background music playing. He spots a dog sled, pulling a Yukon miner type across the grass. Yes, grass. Now, that's funny! Jones is the miner type, and the only snow in sight is in his beard, Idle announces, with some portent, that he's with the American Government Ballet. Jones is as interested in ballet as Chapman was, but Idle cuts him off. "Sure is nice to see ya, Mr. Salad."

"I'm ain't Salad. You want Teddy Salad?" Jones points out a dog in the sled team, a short haired and adorable brown dog staring off into the distance.

"That's a dog," Idle protests. "Only bits of it," Jones reassures. In a quick bit that feels achingly reminiscent of Cleese and Chapman's animal degradation (only with a twist-- this time it's the humans being "enhanced" to accommodate the dog), Jones tells us how Salad got his weight down to 1 1/2 pounds to fit into the costume. "Eighteen inches off each arm and over three feet off each leg-- all of the head was removed, except for the eyes and the brain." They go over to a lone tree to talk. The cutaway shot of the tree gets a laugh-- bad filmmaking, or is the tree somehow funny to Brit audiences?

Idle and Jones by the tree talk to the dog- did I mention that the dog is adorable? Apparently, Salad is so deep in disguise that he is unable to deal with Idle, except as a dog. He must be given a bone first, and taken "walkies". But when Idle mentions Mr. Neutron, the dog's head pops up and stares Idle directly in the AWWWW, HE'S LICKING HIM! Who's a good boy?! Who's a good boy?! The Kid has brought out the big guns now-- let's see how the most innovative comedy troupe ever uses the cute dog.

But first, while Idle takes Salad walkies, we cut to an in-studio bit. At 10 Downing Street, the Prime Minister (Idle) gets an update from undersecretary Palin. But for some reason, never explained in the sketch, the Prime Minister's office is also a restaurant-- a high end one, too, judging by the Italian violin player (Jones). The joke here is that, while Palin comes to relay some classified and urgent news, Jones insists on playing loud, romantic tunes for them, even leading the other patrons in a Conga line past them. I guess they shouldn't have turned the seat of government into a restaurant. Which brings us back to why they would. There's a weird bit where Idle hears that FEAR is dropping bombs (I thought they'd already done that,) and he decides to evacuate, reaching for a picture on the mantel surrounded by candles-- a shrine, essentially. Who's in the picture? Dwight D. Eisenhower. I am now convinced that there is a level to all of this, a subterranean vein that has something to do with American military power and the British sense of impotence in the face of that power, coupled with the British suspicion of American intellectual laziness. The Kid is setting up his opponents for the Strangelove assault.

Back on film, (that was just over two minutes in the studio,) Jones and Idle talk with the well-walked dog. Idle has lost hope-- he's thrown sticks, they've chased reindeer, but no discussion. But just as Idle offers a meatball to the adorable doggie, the doggie whispers adorably in Jones' ear. "He's trying to tell us something!" And wonder of wonders-- the doggie speaks! "Carpenter," he grates in a Palin V.O.(Carpenter is the name of Idle's character,) ",,, it's just that it's so goddam painful in here." When Idle repeats the mission-- to take care of Mr. Neutron-- Salad Dog responds haltingly. "I... I... I gotta go walkies."

That explosion is in a small English village

In the mostly vacant headquarters of FEAR/FEEBLE, Palin is entirely naked behind his desk, washing his pits. When he hears that the Carpenter/Salad gambit has stalled, he decides "We'll bomb him out!" A rudimentary animation intercut with stock war footage shows explosions all over the globe, but mostly, according to Palin's VO, they bombed little English villages. "But always it was the wrong place." A nice bit of visual dexterity follows, as a blue van with "US AIR CORPS" painted on it, drives through the rubble of a city. "Sorry, Enfield...We apologize for any inconvenience caused by our bombing." A genuinely funny bit, not least because the impulse to apologize after a bombing is British, but not American. When we bomb someone, right or wrong, we congratulate them on their good fortune. Apparently, Python's conceptualizing of Americans is as bad as their American accents.

But here's what's impressive-- Explosions go off behind the city's rubble. The van is real, and the rocky road that the van is on is real, and the explosions are real, but the crumbled cityscape is animated-- or at least, a picture. Apparently, this visual effect was not accomplished by Gilliam, but by a visual effects supervisor? I need to get some corroboration on this, because it feels like Gilliam..

Back at the studio, Mr. Neutron takes on the studio audience late in this match. Palin's V.O. announces that this dangerous man, "who could destroy entire galaxies with his wrist," has fallen in love, with Jones, of all people. Jones plays pepperpot housewife Mrs. S.C.U.M., who natters incessantly about the destruction of Enfield. More forceful than we've ever seen him, but no less drone-y, Mr. Neutron tells her to forget about her husband and go away with him. He's feeling empowered after winning a cereal contest prize of $5000 pounds, and he wants her to help him rule the world.

(He had her at $5000 pounds.) Chapman scores some of the first real hits we've had in this show, intoning lines like "As Tarzan had his Jane, as Napoleon had his Josephine, as Frankie Lane had whoever he had..."with befuddled dead pan brilliance-- and an occasional frog in his throat. At the end, with perfect timing, he drops the stentorian deliver and asks Jones "You're not Jewish, are you?" getting one of the biggest laughs yet. Sorry, cutaway shot of the tree, time to make room for the real pros. Chapman shows the lads why they should spend a bit more time in front of an audience, instead of getting all Jean-Luc-y on us.

From adorable to... a little creepy. 

As if they were reading this blog in '74, the lads stay in the studio! On a set made to look similar to the earlier filmed scene, we cut to Jones, Idle and the dog, only the dog is now an hilarious puppet, darker than his real life counterpart, and with a mouth that moves with the lines that Palin speaks. This would be much funnier if it weren't so strange looking. The lads play it straight as Salad Dog recounts past achievements instead of getting on with the mission. He describes how he once disguised himself as a functional water hydrant. "I could put out fires!... Mind you, it hurt." Finally, he gets down to business. He knows the exact address where Mr. Neutron is. As the cameras pull in on Idle and Dog, Dog narrows down the field with agonizing slowness in an attempt to build suspense. "He's not in China. He's in Europe. You want to know where in Europe?" etc. Then, suddenly, he explodes. Not with anticipation-- he literally blows up. Cut to naked Palin, surrounded by perfume bottles. "That takes care of the Yukon. Where next?" The answer-- his office. Boom! A quick bit here as Palin the Lord Mayor announces the world domination achieved by placing a ring of postal... BOX-es around the Gobi desert. A bomb promptly lands on him and all of his boxes. The lads are losing their cool as the clock ticks out.

Oooo... cool effects!

Back in the studio, with the return of Mr. Neutron. Can he work his magic again? A man in love, Neutron transforms Mrs. SCUM into the most beautiful woman in the world-- I was expecting Carol Cleveland, but once the animated white balloon that obscures her transformation disappears, it's still just Jones, but in a new dress-- and he tries to hurry her out before the bombs drop. We know the bombs will drop, because we keep seeing stock footage of bombers, in a strange cross-cutting that feels more tragic than funny. They don't make it out in time, BOOM! and we cut to a Gilliamin
ation of the globe all bombed to crap, looking like an empty cracked eggshell.

You thought I was kidding about the blood, didn't you? The Kids have finally done it-- they have destroyed the world! After years of limiting their anarchistic tendencies to squalid riots and an occasional bomb, they have completely blown up the planet, and they have blamed it on America! Taking down both Mediocrity with the scope of their destruction, and Randomness with their political message of the dangers of concentrated nuclear power.

If only it were funnier.The statement, that Americans become threatening in response to threats, is old hat. If you're going to stick to old scripts, you should have some new jokes. And there aren't many apparent in this round. Ten years after Dr. Strangelove, it lacks Strangelove's edge and flair.

Well, hold on. We're not done yet. Palin's VO asks all those cliff hanger questions-- "HOW CAN Mr. Neutron and his child bride survive?!"-- before we cut to Idle, reading from the Radio Times, a TV perched on the desk beside him. The synopsis is apparently in the paper he reads-- he breathlessly promises us that yes, Mr. Neutron survived, and a lot of violence, explosions, and very expensive special effects are coming up, and "We're going to see those expensive scenes... right now!" On the TV beside him-- the credits start rolling. Idle promises that just after the credits, the good stuff begins. He points out the "very expensive sound... expensive visual effects there... cheap director." But once the credits are over... the screen goes black, and "The End" pops up on the screen. "Oh, come on," Idle whines, "You can give us another minute, Mr. Cotton  please!"

A Conjuring Today title appears, ceding to Palin, in funny wig, googly eyes, magician's outfit and a bloody, clotted saw, promises that after last week's show, cutting a woman in half, he will show you how to cut a woman in three bits. He's then chased off by the Bobbies. They run past Idle, who talks on the phone; "Look, mate, if you'r gonna put on rubbish like that and Horse of the Year show, you can give us another minute..." Then things just get silly. We cut to outside the BBC. Idle walks out, papers in hand, and Jones hits him on the head with a giant hammer, while Palin's V.O. announces that "World Domination" t-shirts are for sale. You ever get the feeling they just walk around with a camera, doing silly things to fill the air time?

Well, what a bout. Although the Kid gets points for scope and narrative rigor, they ultimately failed to connect with most of their blows. They kept Gilliam on the bench for most of the show, and the rest of them seem to have one foot out the door, leaving the TV party early to make their date with filmic destiny. Their disregard for the live performance aspect of the show is apparent. Only Chapman gives us a bright spot in this otherwise strange but lackluster show.

The story behind this one-- Palin and Jones wrote another really long science fiction sketch, but the Brits surrounding him don't acknowledge or notice the alien. (Note; This show was written and shot well before the Brexit from the E.U.-- it turns out that the British are all too aware of the aliens in their midst.) The other lads were fine with the long sketch-- less for them to do. This pales in comparison to the days when they would have knock-down drag-out fights over what's hanging in the foreground. It really feels as though a crucial element has been lost.

There is something outrageous and brave in that the primary joke is how we are constantly promised something that never comes. Monty Python has become aware that they are not delivering, and rather than double down on their efforts, they will instead comment on how they are not delivering.

Okay... but I'll only give you one more show to get away with that.

Next Week; Party Political Broadcast

The End is Near...