"This is the longest continuous vomit seen on Broadway since John Barrymore puked over Laertes in the second act of Hamlet in 1941." - Michael Palin as the Whizzo Sketch Narrator
Okay, this is where things get personal...
Most of what we've discussed heretofore all happened before I had any awareness of sketch comedy, television, or anything else. I was born in 1963, and thus way too young for any Python appreciation. Monty Python's Flying Circus aired from 1969 thru 1974. "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" was released in 1975, but my parents would never have taken me to see that. My father didn't even like the fact that I read Mad Magazine. "Why do you spend your money on that crap?" he would ask. "I like crap," I would silently reply. But by late 1976, I was a full-fledged teenager looking for something new, and I found a new supplier-- Columbia House!
For those of you familiar with the phenomenon, Columbia House was a record club. They would send out a monthly catalogue, and you would buy the latest in records from them. Pretty straight forward so far-- but Columbia House would lure you in with a dozen albums for a penny, to start. All you had to do was buy three additional albums at regular price. A dozen! For a penny!
This will all seem quaint to younger readers who grew up with Amazon and Spotify. But Columbia House was the seed from which both of these phenomena grew. It was essentially a music subscription service, without the means to distribute digitally. And instead of going to the mall, the music would show up at your door, like a gift from a loved one! Sure, you paid like $19 bucks for the albums, and you quit as soon as you purchased your mandated three, but getting those first dozen felt like Christmas morning.
Now, my dozen records included mainstays of the 70s-- the Carpenters, Tony Orlando and Dawn, Barry Manilow. My musical tastes were not all that adventurous. But half of the albums (8 tracks actually-- I have no idea why that was my preferred listening method, but it was. There were essentially 4 sections in each album, and when switching from one section to the next, often in the middle of a song, the chapter would fade out, there would be this ugly "click", and the song would fade back up again as the start of the following section. It was a grisly way to listen to music or comedy, but that's how I listened. To this day, as I remember various albums I used to listen to on my 8 track player, I still insert the fade outs, pauses and "click"s. In fact, think of this whole digression on the horror that is 8 track listening as a fade out and click. Now, back to the original thought...) half of the albums were comedy albums, and there, my taste improved. Redd Foxx! Steve Martin! And Monty Python.
I had seen some of the Python film clips on various variety shows, and had finally glimpsed "The Holy Grail" on HBO, another new concept in television. I wanted more. This album was the latest thing they had done. The performance had only happened the year before. I had finally caught up with Monty Python!
At this point, the sketches were entirely new to me. I had not seen them on Monty Python's Flying Circus, as my local PBS station hadn't yet made the Python leap. That would happen later that year. So, without the challenges of the "stream of consciousness" format they used in the TV show, with blackout lines and laughter to cue my 13 year old neurons, I immersed myself in this record. I listened to it constantly, and could soon recite it. I didn't get all the jokes, much to the-- delight?-- of the savvier adults in my vicinity. (Imagine your 13-year old spewing phrases like "Constable Clitoris"-- I had no idea that "Constable" was even a dirty word.) More to the point, I didn't understand the context of who these men were, and what they meant.
One of those contextual details that is so apparent to me now that I've watched the TV show-- this album/show is really foul-mouthed! After years of relative restraint at the BBC, they came to the US in full potty-mouth mode. I suspect that this particularly school yard interpretation of their own material was designed to appeal to the lower class American citizenry-- and it worked! Every obscene departure from the usual script was greeted with screeches and howls of surprised approval from the liberal elite of New York City. It's one of the fun things to note as we go through the tracks.
I suspect that this show was the brain child of Eric Idle, who was more beholden to the British Music Hall tradition than the others. There are almost as many songs as there are straight sketches. In this show, you can see the origin story of "Spamalot" and the live shows to follow. It also captures the moment in time when Monty Python exploded here in the states, and as it turns out, I was a part of that.
Enough personal prologue-- let's get to the professional prologue.
The year is 1976. The Pythons have finished with the TV show, made their first movie, and have fully graduated out of the tiny BBC realm into the international celebrity realm. To cap off their transformation, they decide to do a New York City show, a follow up to the Drury Lane show. They met in 1976 on Central Park East, decided on the line up, and that was that. They were hosted by the New York City Center, right around the corner from Carnegie Hall.
They made some changes to the line up. Cleese did not want to work so hard, and asked Palin to do more, so we got Blackmail and lost the Secret Service Interview. There seemed to be a drive towards limiting the material to stuff that had been on the TV show, with only the Four Yorkshiremen sketch, the Wrestling sketch and (apparently) the Pie Throwing sketch avoiding that cut.
The Lads had a mixed experience of New York City. Cleese had his pocket picked, Innes was burgled, Chapman was mugged-- but hey, that's what NYC does best! On the other hand, they experienced their own rags to riches story in the city that created the genre. At the start of the run, they might see one or two people hanging out by the stage door for an autograph. By the end, they needed security to get into the theater. A star-struck woman fainted on Palin. Theater critic Clive Barnes wrote a rave review ("A bunch of lunatics calling themselves Monty Python have taken over the theater and are forcing unsuspecting people to laugh. Almost at gunpoint.") Leonard Bernstein was backstage. John Cale. George Harrison joined in the Lumberjack Sketch, incognito. They met the original cast of Saturday Night Live. Martin Scorsese. Jim Henson.
A couple of funny anecdotes; Harry Nilsson heard about George Harrison joining in the Lumberjack Sketch, and he wanted in. But that night, he put a little too much lime in the coconut, refused to take off his shades during the song, and when everyone else backed up to avoid the closing curtain at the end of the sketch, Nilsson stepped forward and landed in the orchestra pit, earning a broken wrist. I'd have loved to see that, or even hear it on this recording. Alas. And one night, during the Argument Clinic sketch, one of the audience members got a bit rambunctious, and threw fireworks up on the stage. Chapman got fed up, raced out to the audience and started heaping abuse on him, as he does in the sketch. He chased the man out of the theater. Ah, what a loss-- that man was truly mad.
Listen along. If you don't have the album yet (and it's not part of the "The Instant Monty Python CD Collection" box set, which you can buy here!), GO BUY IT NOW! Let's do this...
We begin with a rebellious riff on the warning not to record this. The announcer says "photographs and recordings are prohibited", and I believe Palin chimes in with "But are encouraged nevertheless," This is, of course, a joke. No sketch comedy group controls their shit like Monty Python. But it plays into the revolutionary tone. As pigs and sheep took over the TV studio at the start of the Flying Circus show, so now do the Circusians mess with the announcements a theater is legally mandated to make, even though said announcements directly benefit the Python IP. You know what would be funny? If there were some bootlegger in the audience who distributed an album of this performance, and made a million dollars. I bet Monty Python's lawyers are hilarious!
Just as in the Drury Lane show, we launch right into The Llama sketch. Cleese brings all the energy he brought in when they did this in the show, his voice climbing and falling, trilling and yelping. Palin gives the voice-over narration, and it's pretty straightforward. The lads aren't having as much fun with post-production as they did in the previous live album yet. It's all sketches, no mixers here. The audience responds with laughter and applause at every line, except, ironically, at Cleese's terrified "Cuidado!" His volume overwhelms the audience. But they come back at the final song and Chapman popping the paper bag.
Just as at Drury Lane (they've got a real structure here,) we go to Gumby Floral Arranging. Idle announces him on, giving his bonafides as having studied at "the Kishoto Institute of Floral Arrangment". I don't get this joke, and a cursory search left me no wiser. P.T. Gumby is a hit with the audience, but the sketch feels over before it has begun.
Neil Innes is next, with "Short Blues". The title says it all-- maybe a fifteen-second song that abruptly ends after the first line. It seems strange to bring in the relief pitcher so soon in the show-- did Palin need a costume change? If so, Neil could have made the song a bit longer, adding "I climbed out of bed" to the song would have doubled its length, and he could have repeated that, making it a full minute. Give Palin a break, or don't give him a break.
Palin, presumably rested, comes back on in full MC mode, welcoming us to the "Abraham Beame Institute of Advanced Finance." This is a New York joke-- Beame was the Mayor of NYC during the 70s, and NYC was struggling financially. It was assumed they would have to be the first city to declare bankruptcy. Palin goes on to announce that the following wrestling match is sponsored by SCUM, an improbable mix of salad dressing and foot ointment. This is reminiscent of Saturday Night Live's "Shimmer"-- a floor wax and a dessert topping. Was this a thing in the mid-70s? Taking two incompatible products (one of them food) and cramming them together with a goofy name that starts with "S"? Let me try-- "Squeal! A sugar substitute and hammer!" "Splendor! Glass cleaner and top-shelf gin!" Look at me! I'm writing jokes in the 70s! There are other off-color products, but to my taste, the Pythons have never been all that great at spoof ads, from the early Whizzo days to now. Advertising is dumb-- old news, even then.
What follows is the relentlessly visual Chapman wrestling sketch, with Cleese giving the color commentary. It is funny, since the Wrestling Sketch was never shown in Monty Python's Flying Circus, to hear the audience catch on that there's only one person fighting. It doesn't get many laughs, or the soundtrack of wrestling fans cheering drowns it all out, but occasionally, Cleese sneaks in a topical reference or two-- "The over right shoulder Gerry Ford... the double Edie Gorme..." But for the most part, the audience seems perplexed. On behalf of New Yorkers who only like their comedy regurgitated, I apologize.
World Forum is next, and the audience is more prepared, enjoying the familiarity of this classic sketch. Idle, as the portentous announcer, introduces everyone with the appropriate gravity, and then lightens it all up beautifully! No surprises here-- Jones as Marx says "Shit!" when he loses the lounge suite, as he did at the Drury Lane show, but it was clearly new to the City Center crowd, who erupted in howls of laughter and applause. Instead of "Sing, Rittle Bildy," Mao identifies "Gleat Barrs of Fiyah" by Jerry Lee Lewis. I think that's Gilliam playing Mao again, although it may be Chapman.
Albatross is next, with a maddening calliope sounding score underneath him that (mercifully) fades out. Jones asks for "Good Humors" instead of choc ices. But when Jones asks for two, Cleese replies "I've only got one, you cocksucker!" Ah, the cerebral humor of the Pythons! Even at the age of 13, I got that joke. Especially at the age of 13. Chapman comes out (sorry) as the un-silly general, to end this sketch and get the next one started, with little resistance from Cleese. "Start the vignette. Go!"
So far, we've had little warm-up bits, holding back on the classic sketches. Now, we start digging into the Python canon. This seems to be the pattern for the live shows. It is of note, however, that there is very little new material here. No "MI6" sketch, no "Bar" sketch. The Lads are playing it very safe, only improvising with their foul-mouthed eruptions. Did they know that they were on the precipice of very big things? Was this, their second attempt at a first impression, meant to right the ship and control their own American image?
Nudge Nudge is next, and the audience is on board, cheering at the end of Idle's first line. It's interesting that this character, so specifically British, translates so well here in the states. We don't have "clubs" like this, and social climbing isn't quite the same phenomenon here. But they love Nudge, Nudge. No changes or Breakaway tags-- just a reference to Jones' wife being from Scarsdale. "Say no more!"
Next, in a departure from the Drury Lane lineup, we get Crunchy Frog, with Terry Jones apparently just sitting on stage and having a new seat moved in around him. This is his second consecutive turn as "straight man", this time to Chapman (taking over from John Cleese) as the Constable from the Hygiene Squad investigating the suspicious Whizzo chocolate assortment. A few changes here, to accommodate American sensibilities; first, Superintendent Parrot is now dubbed Constable Clitoris (get it?); and when Jones asks "What about our sales?" instead of replying "I'm not interested in your sales," Chapman screeches "Fuck your sales!" Chapman takes his performance all the way to eleven, playing to the balconies, even forcing it a little bit. But the sketch still works beautifully. Another minor addition-- hardly even worth mentioning-- instead of acting all queasy, Gilliam (as the aforementioned "Clitoris") actually vomits into his helmet, and then puts it on his head. Gives new meaning to the term "highbrow comedy." This actually works in performance, giving this sketch, which doesn't really escalate, a true, powerful, visual climax. Palin gives us a voice-over as the audience roars and moans, putting this particular vomit session in a historical context. They rush through the remainder of the sketch-- I imagine Gilliam needed a shower-- and with a reprimand for talking to the audience, we are handed off to the Bruces.
This is our first song in a while. It sounds like it's just Idle and Palin up there, but there must be more. Neil Innes, I presume? Having created a musical context for the Bruces with the Philosopher's Song, Idle shifts into full cabaret gear, throwing out jokes and Fosters to the audience. The song is fun-- a bunch of philosophical name drops in the context of drinking, with the word "fart" thrown in at the end. Because what else rhymes with Rene Descartes? They try to get the audience to sing along, with only a crumpled piece of paper to guide them. The audience gamely, lamely claps. One member (with a British accent!) calls out "We can't read it!" But that doesn't stop Idle's joke about the "smart, suave New York audience". The lyrics get bigger somehow, and the audience sings along. There is some hilarity going on that I can't quite figure out-- maybe Palin careening drunkenly through the audience?-- but the singalong works, getting the audience into a raucous interactivity.
Next, and I don't know how Idle managed this, he starts the next sketch with what must have been a costume change. Did he duck out of the Philosopher's Song early? I don't think so-- I think I hear him at the end. Besides, Idle would never walk away from a song. No, there must be some filler that is not represented on the album. At any rate, he gets us going with the Travel Agent sketch. Or rather, Carol Cleveland gets us going when she asks "Have you come to arrange a holiday, or would you like a blowjob?" This is her first appearance, and she has upped the ante after Cleese's "cocksucker" line. After this, things go pretty much as they went in Drury Lane, with the tour de force rant from Idle at the end closing the act. There are specific local references-- "Bolumbia University" and "Boney Island", and Palin's straight man performance is wonderful, with his forced laugh over his "Smoke Too Much" joke, and his attempts to interrupt Idle's monologue. "Shut your face!"
The next bit is also new to the live shows-- The Camp Judges. Palin's voice over explains the visual joke to the audience listening in. "If you have any ladies underwear at your house, why not slip it on during the track?-- It's fun, and only slightly illegal." Idle and Palin perform the sketch very well, and they have really taken center stage with this show, performing two "duets" in a row. Palin keeps the streak going with Blackmail-- "The game in which you can play with yourself." The sketch plays out pretty much like the show. Some minor additions-- the name of the organ player is "Onan", famous biblical masturbator-- but no acclimating to the new venue here. It would have been easy to place this show in New York. You'd need some new footage for the "Stop the Film" spot, but the rest would be line changes; Mrs. Teale could call in to stop Palin from revealing the name of her lover in Brooklyn. They did Palin's commentary during the "Stop the Film" bit in post, clearly-- jokes like "Look at the size of that... briefcase" get no laughs, and are delivered in a near whisper.
Next, Eric idle introduces Neil Innes as "Raymond Scum", (Where the hell did the rest of the Pythons go? Was it nap time?) who comes on to sing "A Protest Song". "Ladies and gentlemen, I've suffered for my music-- now it's your turn," he says as he painfully tunes his guitar. The song itself is funny, a Dylan pastiche complete with harmonica that he occasionally misses. But the song is less funny than the performance itself. Innes bridges the gap between spoof performer and Python performer. The lyrics are abashed non sequiturs, more inane than funny, the stoner singing more loving than judging, and he gives us a tour de force of a long single harmonica note at the end, reminiscent of the stunt theatrics of Idle's monologue at the end of the Travel Agent sketch. A sweet and very singable nonsense song.
But then-- ah, but then-- Cleese re-emerges from his self-isolation, plunks a parrot cage down on the counter, and the audience erupts before a single word is said. It's the Dead Parrot sketch, with Cleese and Palin doing their thing. This is the parrot sketch monologue I memorized when I was young (every version is slightly different,) and it still works for me on every level. The audience agrees, bursting into applause every few lines. Cleese breaks a few decibels when he repeats "Pining for the fjorrrrrds?!" and he stays in the stratosphere throughout the monologue. They finish with "You want to come back to my place?" Glorious to hear, it is so exquisitely constructed as a sketch that it jolts us with an energy as surprising as it is expected.
We go from here to the Four Yorkshiremen, rendered as it was at the Drury Lane. Cleese is not in it-- Jones, Chapman, Idle and Palin (again!) The audience was not familiar with the sketch, and the laughs are slow in coming. But Palin gets us there with "We used to dream of living in a corridor!' From then on, the audience is with them, giving Idle's final story an small ovation.
Palin turns around to make his entrance on the argument clinic. Cleveland's "he's a little bit conciliatory" joke doesn't register, but Chapman wakes the audience up with his "Abuse" service. The sketch speeds along from there. The bell ringing at the "end" of the argument gets a huge laugh. They finish the sketch with Palin and Cleese "No you didn't Yes, I did" ing each other as the lights (I imagine) go out.
Gilliam's "Two Legs" song comes next, with him getting shot and disemboweled. Nice bit of theater there. And then, mysteriously, they use their stage time to play us a radio drama-- the Death of Mary, Queen of Scots". It's funny, I'm a fan, but not all that applicable to the live show. Maybe they were using it for a costume change. At any rate, Radio 4 explodes, and we get to the Salvation Fuzz.
I confess, I have never found this sketch to be particularly good. It has a nice moment in the TV version, where the finger of God sweeps in to point out Idle as the killer. But most of this sketch is a rambling collection of running gags that never seem to find any traction. Yet here it is, part of their American foray, and it became a regular part of their live shows-- they performed it at the "O2" concert in 2014. Even the single standout moment, the finger of God, is slowed way down in the live version, with a chorus of angels ramping us up to the finger. It's not bad, in an absurdist sort of way, but it's not good. I am convinced that Jones insisted they do something that was less sketchy, more rambling and obscure, and that it devolve into the chaos that Jones admired. It is the only appearance of the Pepperpots, with Jones playing the wife. There are numerous time lapses in the piece, narrated on stage by Carol Cleveland. The audience laughs at the gross-out lines, but you can tell they were a little dumbstruck by the whole thing. Finally, the Church Police arrest Society, dragging everyone off stage but Eric Idle. "What a stroke of luck."
Annnnd the Lumberjack Song! A great finish to the show. Once the song is over, the Monty Python theme plays them off as the audience applauds.
I would love to get a little insight from the Pythons as to why they chose these pieces to perform in these live shows. I know that Cleese, Idle and Palin regularly did little cabaret show excerpts in London to make a little extra cash. Was there similar audience research done in the states? There seem to be very specific choices as to what to bring over, and what not to bring over. It's particularly interesting comparing this show to the Drury Lane show, performed only two years earlier. So many original pieces fallen by the wayside. Did the live show resort to using only classics? Or did the live show essentially create the classics as classics?
Still, this was a great trip down memory lane for me, reliving my first immersive Monty Python experience anew. Thanks for joining me on the journey, and we'll see you in the next life.
Next; "The Life of Brian"
