There was a young man in his prime

Rich and fair

Rich and fair with golden hair

The fairest Prince in all the land

And all the ladies sought his hand

For they all saw

That no one wore his clothes so well

And all could tell

That he danced well

And rode his horse

And he was very rich of course

And handsome as the day is long

And Ta ra la he sang his song

And played his lyre

While girls conspire to be his bride

Everywhere

For he was very rich and fair

With golden hair

And one fine day

In the month of May

This rich young man in all his pride

With his best friend by his side

Fell off his horse

And died.

There’s been a lot of silly talk about Python re-unions, and whether a few Pythons doing a few Voice Overs constitute a genuine Monty Python film (duh, of course not) so I thought I’d share what happened the last time there was a real attempt to make a Python Movie.  It was in 1997 and I had come up with an idea called The Final Crusade.  I liked the idea of a film about a group of grumpy old men being pressured to get back together again for a last quest, as it would allow us to mock ourselves.  So I sent them all a draft outline of what such a thing might look like. (See Previous Blog.) Surprisingly there was a very positive response, even from John, so I went down to visit him in Santa Barbara and we had a splendid lunch and then a walk on the beach, and he expressed genuine interest in the idea, enough to encourage everyone to meet up in England.  Unfortunately by the time we all got together at a hotel in Buckinghamshire he had changed his mind.

When I got back I wrote about it for PythOnline, and here is what I published then.

 

Fear and Loathing in Buckinghamshire

5/24/1997

What a delight it all was, a twenty-four hour Python re-union at Cliveden, a spectacular Mansion rising above the River Thames in Buckinghamshire, built by George Villiers in the reign of Charles the Second.   I don’t think I have laughed so much since… well since the last time Python met, and no one can quite remember when that was, seven, ten years ago?

I hurried in from London by cab.  Gilliam was already there having flown overnight from LA where he begins shooting Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas with Johnny Depp in less than seven weeks.   Mike arrives by Mercedes, Terry Jones in some kind of battered Audi, and finally John arrives in his Bentley.  Everyone hugs and handshakes as they come in.   John ignores us and goes off to his room.  Ah, the same effusive Python as ever.   We all have splendid staterooms.  Mine was the former billiard room and is called the Mountbatten Room, named I assume after the legendary “Leggy” Mountbatten, which is highly appropriate as I am still limping following an operation in March.   You can just about see the oak-paneled walls from the bed.   The ceiling is like a Renaissance palace.

About a mile away, along long and windy corridors hung with portraits of the Astors, we have a Business Conference Room booked for twenty four hours, which comes complete with a black-tied, morning-coated gentleman, who rapidly fills our orders for cappucini and snacks.   Gilliam fiddles with the high tech controls and makes the curtains open and close several times, plunging the room into darkness.  He then discovers the projecting sketch pad and proceeds to doodle, throwing great outlines on a screen which fills one side of the room.   Is there any other major film director so endearingly silly?

The first two hours seem exactly like old times, as Graham is still absent.

“He’s off writing a series for Ronnie Corbett” someone quips.

His lateness was legendary.  In fact it seems altogether appropriate that he now really is the late Graham Chapman.

The meeting opens with a shock:  John announces that he does not want to do a film.  Gilliam, who has flown overnight all the way from LA, raises a weary eyebrow.   “Don’t you think you might have mentioned this sooner?”

Cleese remains unflappable.  “I’ve only just realized” he says.  “I simply hate filming.  I am going to retire to a beach and read books.”

Gilliam giggles.  The line does seem very familiar from old Python meetings.  Later when John informs us he can’t meet in the spring as he will be “filming in New York” several heads snap up.  Filming?  Aha, so it’s just filming with us he doesn’t want to do.   By then though we had wrested several concessions out of him.   At Mike’s gentle prodding he conceded that he would be prepared to do three weeks filming.   Terry J. thought that might be sufficient.   We decided to discuss the idea anyway since two of us had flown across the Atlantic for this meeting.   Besides, a simple creative discussion would legitimize this whole thing as a tax write-off.

Ideas began to flow just like the old days.   After a short while John began to nod off.   His eyes closed.   His attitude was clear, this was a day off, nothing was going to come between him and relaxation.  We continued to throw ideas around.   John slept on regardless.    After a short nap he suddenly woke up and looked around bleary eyed.

“The thing is I’m very tired” he said.

We encouraged him to go off and lie down.  He accepted the offer gratefully and went to his room.  Now the ideas began to flow quite fast.

“We should just make the Do Not Adjust Your Set film” said Jonesy.

It was true, the four of us had been in rooms writing together since the mid-Sixties.   It felt comfortable and familiar.

“Let’s get it down” I suggested, grabbing a marker and writing Act One on the fresh paper on the Executive Board.   I outlined the first beat in a different color.  Now it really was tax deductible.   Of course this being Python the first idea immediately went off in the wrong direction and I was forced to start writing before Act One.

“Typical Python” I said.

“That’s right” said Michael “start at the beginning and work backwards!”

All concerns that we might no longer be funny fell away as we carved and chalked and marked and a rough shape grew on the Executive Board.  In fact only the return of John from his nap stopped the flow and by then we were well into Act Two.    John seemed rather dazed and suddenly wanted to discuss Las Vegas, and so we abandoned the creative and turned to the planning stage again.   John was proposing that we spend a month together “leisurely writing some new material for a new show.”   Several of us pointed out the unlikelihood of this ever happening, and indeed the simple fact that an audience needs to see familiar Python material.   Everyone hates that moment in a concert when the old British group say “and now here’s some new stuff from our latest album…”

“The very point of concerts,” I argue “is their predictability.  It’s like Church, it’s important the audience know what is going on.   It’s a ritual.  They don’t want new material.”

It’s agreed that Jonesy will draw up a list of new old material for consideration.  Someone suggests we do the Hollywood Bowl again.  Someone else suggests we play a tiny venue like Littlehampton.  Gilliam is keen on planning elaborate Vegas type effects.   John suggests we come on in wheelchairs with a coffin.  Everyone agrees there should be showgirls.   It’s getting late by now and John proposes a walk.   We’ll meet up later for cocktails and dinner.   We haven’t done badly.  In four hours we have outlined a movie and proposed a way of going forward towards a Vegas Re-Union Concert.  Of course no one is exactly committed to anything at all, but still, it is now genuinely tax deductible, and the laughs have been great.

Dinner is even more hilarious.  Fortified by some Crystal Louis Roederer (’89) a tax-deductible gift from our Management Company, a white Macon enjoyed by Jonesy, (itself the recipient of much caustic abuse from John) we leave the Blue Gainsborough Withdrawing room and withdraw into the large ornate gilded Dining Room.   John calmly orders two bottles of red, the more expensive of which is roundly condemned by Jonesy, and which indeed is rather uninteresting at over a hundred quid the bottle.  The second is a much more spectacular Chateau Eric Cantona, at least I think that’s what it was, several bottles came and went, though I clung gamely to the champagne.  (I am a champagne teetotaler I discover.)    After much laughter, very tolerable risottos, oysters, salmon, Chateaubriand  (Chateau Brian?) and  some fine cheeses, John announces he is ready for bed.   I think he quite enjoyed himself.

It’s still early once John retires so we decide to have one more bottle of Chateau Cantona in the Snooker room.

“Terry’s v. the rest” yells Michael, and so on Lady Astor’s table where Christine Keeler had once lain naked and brought down a Conservative government we banged our little red balls around.

It soon became evident that while we were all fairly hopeless at snooker, the two Terrys were more hopeless than anyone.   Balls shot off the table, leaped spectacularly over other balls, banged into the balks accompanied by shouts and curses, anywhere and everywhere except in the holes provided.   After an hour or so things began to sink for me and Mike and I sailed into an unassailable lead of 40 – 3.

“Right” said Jonesy in a masterly Zen way “time to stop thinking” and he instantly slammed in a red.   Within a few minutes, and aided by a generous helping of foul shots from me, he rolled up the blue, pink and black in consecutive shots and the Terry’s had won!    Unbelievable.  Never trust film directors.   Mike and I as befits our lowly status as mere actors, were nauseatingly decent about it.   This contrasted starkly with the two Terrys’ habit of jumping up and down and screaming abuse at Michael as he attempted to pot.   I expect that’s allowed in the rules though.   I’m sure the Duke of Buckingham behaved that way, and God knows the lucky fellows who ploughed the lovely Christine Keeler on that table must have made quite a noise…

So to the very big question: will we or won’t we?   To be honest I haven’t a fucking clue.  I think Mike, Terry J. and I agreed to come up with a first draft screenplay by sometime next year.   John proposed another re-union in mid-September when TG finishes his shoot. He is alternately happy to see us and very keen to leave, but he is very endearing in his old age. One thing for sure, we are all still happily bonkers.  Lack of money has not spoiled us.   Also we are all still funny.   Hilarious in fact, though you may have to take my word for it.   The banter was incessant, affectionate and deeply personal.    It was a great re-union.  I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.   I do hope we can all make another one.

Postscript

This was published on PythOnline in 1997.  Nothing came of the film. The distances were just too great and by this time we hadn’t worked together in 15 years.  It certainly wasn’t John’s fault, but with the death of Graham in 1989 John had lost both a friend and a peer.  Graham was in many ways the glue that bonded the older 1948 Show pair with the younger and more unruly Do Not Adjust Your Set quartet.  Without Graham John had no one of his age or generation to turn to for sympathy or advice.  I understand his isolation and lack of enthusiasm now.  I would continue to work on PythOnline at Seventh Level where I became Producer of a CD-ROM game based on The Holy Grail which would open my eyes to the potential of adapting this Python material into other forms, a quest that ultimately led to Spamalot.

We would all have a glorious re-union at the Aspen Comedy Festival in 1998 and another very fine and funny re-union in New York in 2009.  Despite newspaper reports to the contrary we all still get on very well.

 

 

In 1997 I came up with an idea for a Python movie.  I went to visit John in Santa Barbara and he seemed genuinely ok with the idea of doing another Python movie, and everyone seemed interested, enough to suggest we get together, but by the time we all assembled at a hotel in Buckinghamshire to discuss it he had changed his mind.   This is the rough outline I sent around.

 

The Final Crusade

This time it’s for the money….

Arthur is long since dead and the fellowship of the Round Table has broken up.  The Knights have parted, returned to different lands where they have forgotten their Holy Quest and abandoned their mission for a life of luxury and idleness.

One day a Saracen (Salman Rushdie) returns from the Holy Land with disquieting news:  the Infidel is on the move.    He has captured the Holy City.  Jerusalem has fallen.  Civilization is threatened. In shame the Knight seeks counsel of a Holy Man who tells him to round up as many goodly knights as he may and proceed to the Holy Land.

 

The Great Crusade.

Where are the Knights now?    One is in a far country.  One is on a journey.  One is on location fighting the French.   One is too old.   One is dead.

Can they restart the fellowship for the last time in their lives?    Can they leave home comforts, wives and children and journey to save the Holy Land?

 

Part One.  The Gathering of the Knights

Sir Barry

“He’s out of his fucking head.  He expects me to get up, leave Veronica, put on heavy metal, risk dying of plague and walk 2,000 miles on horseback in order to fight the strongest knights in the known world.”

“Yes.”

“Why on earth would anyone want to do that?”

“He says they could offer you a knighthood.”

“I’ve got a bloody knighthood.”

“Barry.”

“Ah hello dear. I’m almost done with the Herald.  He’s just leaving.   Tell him no bloody thank  you.”

“Barry, is it all right if mother comes to stay?”

“Mother?”

“My mother.  She wants to come and stay for a couple of years.”

“Here in the Castle?”

“Yes.”

“With us?”

“Yes.”

“I see.  Wait Herald, don’t leave yet.   Look Darling, that’s fine, the thing is though, I may have to go somewhere for a bit…. Just a couple of years.”

 

Sir Lionel

“Are there any women on the voyage?”

“No more than the usual collection of cooks, sluts, nurses, harlots, washerwomen, masseuses, helpers, friends, ho’s, child-minders, comforters and nuns.”

“I see.  How many so far?”

“About 5,000 in all.    Young, fit, healthy females.”

“You know perhaps I could just come for a little while.”

Sir Thomas

“I’m sorry.  This is my family time.  I want to be with my family.  I’ve been out a lot and they need me here.   Obviously it’s a great opportunity but  I’m very sorry I’m trying to uncomplicate my life right now. I might be available in a few years.   I’m not saying no mind you.  I’m just saying ‘maybe in a few years.’    Who’s sponsoring it?”

“Who’s sponsoring it?”

“Yes.  Who’s paying for the whole thing.”

“Well the Church.”

“The Church?   Very wealthy, the Church.”

“Oh immensely wealthy. And they’ll pay very well indeed for those who’re in at the beginning.”

“How much exactly are they prepared to pay?…..”

The Church

“Enormously costly these things you know.    Apart from persuading the knights, there’s the whole cost of paying for the boats, the food, the weaponry, the horses…”

“We would of course invite contributions from wherever we went, in return…”

“In return for a share of the profits.  Of course.   Clever.”

“Then there’s the taxes.”

“Of course the taxes.”

“And the ransoms.”

“And the tribute extracted from countries you go through in order to persuade you to keep going and not just stay there and…well loot a little.”

“Very valuable.. contributions.”

“Immensely valuable.”

“So let me get this straight.    In return for the profits you want us to take the Saracens out of the land promised by God to the Jews and replace them with Christians.”

“Yes.”

“Well it’s against my religion but business is business.”

The Deal is Struck.

“So that’s 10% for you.  10% for Sir Geoffrey of Strachan and 10% for Sir Roger de Coverly.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a total of two thousand, two hundred and sixty nine per cent.”

“Agreed.”

“Agreed.”

“Right we’re on then.”

The Recruiting Promise

“We can promise you nothing.”

“Nothing.”

“Except bloodshed.”

“Oh bloodshed.”

“A chance to murder people of a different race.”

“Murder foreigners.”

“With the blessing of the Holy Church.  And the assurance that when you die in battle you will enter Paradise.”

“What is Paradise exactly?”

“It is a land flowing with milk and honey, where all is delightful, where there is no more bloodshed and where all are peaceful and friendly to one another.”

“Oh, right.  Good idea.  Let us fight to the death so that there may be no more bloodshed and killing.”

“Sign here please.”

 

The Farewells

“Mother there is to be a Crusade.”

“What’s a Crusade?”

“A great moral adventure that seeks to purify all who will enlist to purge the Holy Land of the Infidel.”

“You’re not going!”

“Mother I’m fifty-three years old.”

“Your father wouldn’t approve.”

“What?”

“You wouldn’t catch him sloping off to the Holy Land.”

“Well obviously not.  He’s been dead for 32 years.”

“He may be dead but he’s still your father.”

“I’m sorry but I have to go.”

“How could you leave a poor widow?”
“Mum you’re very wealthy.  You have this castle…”

“The Hendersons have two castles.  One for the summer in France.”

“I’ll only take Jimmy the Page, my faithful idiot friend.”

“Who’ll keep the pigs warm at night?”

“You’ll soon find another idiot mum.”

“Oh all right, off you go then. Walk two thousand miles wearing metal. See if I care.”

They Set Off

A glorious sight.

“Impressive isn’t it.”

“It’s only stock footage.”

The map

A mighty Army underway.    A journey through France.    An encounter with the Italians.

The Venetians

“Signori, welcome to Venice.”

“Where are the bloody streets?   It’s all underwater.”

“Si Signori.  May we talk, we have a little deal to propose?  We will give you  money if you take Constantinople.”

“Constantinople?  But that’s a Christian City.”

“Technically, yes.”

“Why would we do that?”

“Lots of money.”

“But a Christian City….”

“And then we would build you boats, and give you food, supplies, money, women…”

“All we have to do is capture Constantinople?”
“It’s practically on your way.”

“And you’ll fund the whole thing? “

“Cross my heart hope to die.”

“It does seem like a very good deal.   What could go wrong?”

 

“These English are complete idiots.”

Later

Sir John Goldstone reports disquieting news.

“I’m afraid the Venetians are not going to pay.”

“But they promised to pay us profits.”

“It’s an accounting thing.  Apparently we’re not yet in profit.”

“What do you mean Not yet in profit?”

“It’s something to do with the interest on the original loan.   Apparently it’s normal.”

“When will we be in profit?”

“In another 208 years sir.”

“And that’s a guarantee?”

The Media Tent

The media stir up discontent

The Press Conference.

“Sir Alan, people are criticizing your leadership.”

“What do you say to criticism that you are a useless, untalented turd, with no skill, no brains, and no business being in the Crusade?”
“Who said that?”

“I did.”

 

“He refused to be drawn into allegations that the whole thing was a complete waste of time.”

 

“I mean it is we who inform the public what they think.”

“I didn’t think much of his last Crusade.”

“We the media demand 24 hour access, a daily briefing, and two more press carts.”

“This is the worst bloody Crusade I’ve ever been on.”

“I was on one once where we had to eat the horses.”

“We ate donkeys.”

“We had to eat the women and children.”

God Appears

“Look stop fucking bitching and pissing around.   You have a simple goal.  Kick the infidels out of the Holy Land and then fuck off home.”

“Are you sure that’s God?”

 

 

 

 

c) E. Idle

“God’s here again Dr. Tannenbaum.”

“Oh dear. Show him in Miss Partridge.”

“He set fire to the chair again.”

“Thank God we have insurance… Ah hello Jeho…”

“Don’t use my name.”

“Sorry. So what have you been doing for the last week?”

“Well I created a heaven and an earth…”

“Of course you did. In seven days.”

“Six. On the seventh…”

“You rested, of course. So what seems to be the problem?”

“Nobody believes in me anymore.”

“Come now that’s not true…”

“I remember when I was the most popular thing on the planet. People feared me then, they really feared me.”

“Well you moved in a mysterious way.”

“Oh that was just an accident, I sprained my ankle creating a giraffe, they’re tricky things.”

“You asked your followers to kill their children.”

“Only Abraham. And that was just a gag.”

“Well you were pretty scary with all that Hell thing.”

“Yes that was good wasn’t it. They really feared that. Eternal damnation, what a concept.”

“So what went wrong?”

“Science. I told them to burn that Galileo, but the Inquisition was useless.”

“But now surely we have science we see Galileo was right.”

“What’s right got to do with it? I’m God. I made it all happen.”

“The night before the 23rd October 4004 B.C.?”

“Yes. It was a Tuesday I remember it well. I thought I’ll just pop out and let there be a bit of light, and then I started to tinker around and in a week I’d created all the heaven and the earth and all the living creatures therein and the waters and the trees and the animals, and then I created Adam and Eve. And then I rested.”

“That’s not strictly true is it?”

“Yes it is. It’s in the Bible.”

“Look Jeho…”

“Don’t use my name.”

“Every schoolboy knows that 13.6 billion years ago the entire Universe exploded out of a microscopic atomic singularity which contained all the matter and enough energy for the whole expanding Universe.”

“And they say my version is hard to believe!”

“Have you been taking the Prozac?”

“No I couldn’t find any water. My Son keeps changing it into wine.”

“How is He?”

“Well He’s half the problem, with all that peace and love bull. Christians want guns, semi-automatic weapons. Fear is what they love. But no, my Son has to be some kind of hippie appealing to a new generation. Forgiveness? I never forgive. Turn the other cheek? Crazy. Sin? I invented it. Why would I forgive it? It made the Church a fortune.”

“Have you ever thought of PR?”

“That’s what the Pope does.”

“Sadly the Pope needs his own PR, they’re up to their hassocks in law suits. Have you ever considered a Make Over?”

“What?”

“Change the costume, find a decent PR firm, go on Oprah, cry a little, maybe shave, dye the grey hair, you look like you just wandered in out of the Desert. And ditch the sheet. Go to Gap and get some Daks and lose the sandals, they are so not today.”

“I’m not going on Oprah.”

“Well Doctor Phil, he’s right up your alley.”

“I’ve got plans for him.”

“Alright then Kimmel, show the lighter side of yourself. Ferguson’s great with guests.”

“How about Letterman?”

“Not right now, wrong for your image. Dave is too revered. You’ll come off looking second best.”

“But I started the Top Ten List.”

“Of course you did and the Ten Commandments are still really good, but they need updating. No one covets ox and sheep anymore. Maybe a new Aston Martin…”

“Leno?”

“Almost certainly won’t have you, unless you have a Sitcom on NBC.”

“Fox?”

“They have an exclusive contract with the Devil.”

“How about E?”

“Chelsea won’t take you. She thinks you’re against women.”

“I am. I don’t know why I created them, they’ve been nothing but trouble.”

“How about a few Website appearances, maybe Nerdist and Reddit, do a Podcast, you should have a Twitter account, certainly Facebook, and they may be able to get you on the Simpsons.”

“Look I’m God, I don’t want to be on a stupid cartoon show. Doesn’t anybody Fear Me anymore? I get no respect.”

“Don’t use that phrase, it’s a Rodney Dangerfield line.”

“A philosopher?”

“A comedian.”

“That was my big mistake, permitting comedy.”

“I’m sorry Time’s up.”

“I created Time.”

“Just take the Prozac and I’ll see you next week. And do you mind not setting fire to the furniture on the way out?”