The Biography of a Comedy Legend A fine biography of a lovely man. I knew him well Horatio. He was on my first honeymoon, in the South of France, during the first week of Python filming in July 1969. Lyn and I would spent Christmas as houseguests with him and Lauretta at his lovely Victorian home in Hampstead overlooking the Heath. He enjoyed his rise to fame, and sudden English popularity, but when the American TV series came along (Marty Feldman’s Comedy Machine) all we potential writers fled from it, except Gilliam who was accustomed to Yanks after all. None of us wanted to turn up at Elstree and write in a factory five days a week, that’s just not the British way. The book is good, with the occasional inevitable inaccuracies: for example I did not accompany Marty’s body home to Hollywood in December as it plainly states, for the simple fact I had left the movie long before he died, actually in October, and I was in Australia by that time. (1982.) Bill Oddie is quoted rather unpleasantly. I don’t remember him being much of a Marty friend, but he speculates about people’s deaths that he knows nothing about. Tim Brooke-Taylor, of course, was very close to him, and is typically generous. Several commentators reveal anger and envy about America and personally I have always used his life as an example of what to avoid in Hollywood: mainly the film business…but then my reasons for coming here were to raise a child, and I told my wife to shoot me if ever I became involved in Hollywood. She kindly consented to do that. The child was a big hit. I will never forget Marty coming home to England to film Yellowbeard, in early September 1982. He came into our house in Carlton Hill and Tania and I were shocked to see how thin and ill he looked. He said he was happy to be back in the UK making something silly with old friends again. He was delightful as ever during the filming in Rye, though chain smoking. I didn’t see that much of him in Mexico, as I was only there for three weeks and had a contract they had to shoot all my scenes, so I could leave quickly, so I left before Peter Cook fell off the waggon and Marty fell off the planet, but there were rumours of cocaine abuse, and clearly the heart attack was massive, though probably survivable in LA. I was always told the story of the ambulance being stuck in Mexico City traffic, which is amongst the worst in the world, so that makes some sense. He was a brilliant writer, a great script editor, an hilarious actor, an extraordinarily loving friend, the finest companion and the most brilliant company. I think he enjoyed his fame and success. But fate and fame conspired as they do for us all. It made me sad to read but happy to remember him.