Before John Cleese and Graham Chapman wrote the Dead Parrot sketch, they wrote this sketch for a special called “How to Irritate People.” When they started doing Monty Python, Graham Chapman suggested substituting a parrot instead of a car, and the rest is history. But here’s what the original sketch was like.
I’ll be showing this sketch at a writing workshop I’m conducting this week at the iO Theatre in Chicago, and thought I’d give you a peek. Enjoy.
When I was writing about John Cleese’s one-man show during his Canadian tour last fall, I mentioned that he would be performing in Tasmania and Australia in early 2014. And so he is.
Currently, his schedule looks like this:
Sunday-Thursday 16-20 February – Theatre Royal, Hobart
Saturday-Sunday 22-23 February – Albert Hall, Launceston
Tuesday-Saturday 18-22 March – Comedy Theatre, Melbourne
Tuesday 8 April – The Concourse, Chatsworth/Sydney
Ticket sales are brisk, but there are a limited number of tickets for the Tasmanian shows here, and for the Australian shows here.
Happy birthday, Graham Chapman! Graham would have been 73 years old this Wednesday, and the world is a far less silly place without him. He left us nearly a quarter of a century ago, and he is sorely missed.
Readers Digest used to run a feature about "The Most Unforgettable
Person I Ever Met." While I have known a few people who would qualify, I don't know if anyone fit the bill more than Graham. In addition to being a member of Monty Python, he was also a goatherder, a Petula Clark writer, an alcoholic and then a recovered alcoholic, openly gay at a time when it wasn't well-accepted, a mountaineer, and a fully qualified medical doctor who went to New Zealand as the result of an off-handed comment during a meeting with the Queen Mother. He was sometimes prolific, sometimes not, though at one point, he was simultaneously writing for three different television shows. [He would undoubtedly have been at the forefront of the gay rights/gay marriage movement over the past 25 years, as he was when he was alive--he never really got the credit, but he was, arguably, the first openly gay star of a Hollywood movie.] His greatest accomplishment may have been his triumph over alcohol. He used to party with his friends Keith Moon, Harry Nilsson, and Ringo Starr, a group not known for their temperance (they all eventually quit--or in the case of Keith, tried to quit--drinking; all but Ringo are gone now). At the beginning of the filming of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Graham self-diagnosed himself as alcoholic and made the decision to quit drinking, though it took some time. But when he finally came out of it newly sober, he proved himself to be wonderful capable in films like Life of Brian. The first couple of times I met Graham, he was still hampered by alcohol. The Chicago premiere of Holy Grail (where he was accompanied by Terry Jones) was early in the day, and he did not seem to be affected. The following year, I met him again backstage at New York's City Center, between two Saturday evening performances of the Monty Python Live! stage show. He wandered around shirtless with a large tumbler of something that looked suspiciously like Gordon's Gin. He emitted the occasional random squawks! and sang "Ya De Buckety!" for no apparent reason. But he held himself together enough during the performance that I saw, and I enjoyed it immensely.When I flew to London two years later, I met a completely changed Graham. Quiet and soft-spoken, but still with a wickedly funny sense of humor, he had quit drinking at the beginning of the year and was a totally different person. He invited me to stay at his house on Southwood Lane, along with his partner David, foster son John, dogs Harry, Sly, and Clint, and a semi-regular assortment of drop-in guests, including a semi-scary man in black leather called Spike, and Bernard McKenna, with whom he was writing at the time. He introduced me to the Angel Pub in Highgate (where there is now a plaque in his honor), where he drank ginger ale. Having read about it in guidebooks, I ordered the shepherd's pie; when it came, Graham eyeballed it, looking a bit disturbed, and asked me "Are you sure that's what you wanted?" (Graham was right about the shepherd's pie.) And so began our long friendship, one which lasted as long as Graham himself. Happy birthday, Gray.
If you’ve been holding off on buying tickets to the Python Reunion show in London this July, it looks like the decision may be made for you soon. Of the ten shows scheduled at the O2 Arena, six are sold out, and there are single seats only for Saturday July 19. A very few seats remain for July 15, 16, and 18, but that’s it. Details are at montypythonlive.com, and no, I won’t make a penny from this. Just another public service I provide…
Although, of course, I will make a few pennies–though not much more than that–from sales on my Python trivia book. Just click here for more…
Now that you know where the Marx Brothers were one hundred years ago this week (see yesterday’s post), I thought I’d show you why we care about them.
This is the famed Stateroom Scene from A NIGHT AT THE OPERA, which many people think is their best film. It’s certainly their most successful conventional comedy, with a straight romantic subplot. It’s not quite as anarchic as their first five Paramount features, but it revived their film career, thanks to producer Irving Thalberg (Groucho considered Thalberg a genius; he died while in the middle of production of their following picture, A DAY AT THE RACES).
Legend has it that this was written by Al Boasberg, a quirky, oversized writer who usually worked in his bathtub. The studio kept bugging him to finish the scene, annoying him greatly. When he was finally done, they sent someone over to pick up the finished script, but he couldn’t find it. After much searching, he found that each individual line had been cut apart and taped to the ceiling. Enjoy.
One hundred years ago today was a great day to be in my home town of Ottawa, Illinois.
It was a century ago on January 1-3 that the Marx Brothers appeared live on stage in “Mr. Green’s Reception,” along with their company of 22 actors, singers and dancers at what was then the Gayety Theatre (which burned down in 1930, and was replaced in September 1931 by the Roxy Theatre, which still stands.
The four Marx Brothers–Groucho, Harpo, Chico and Gummo performed before packed houses–not surprisingly, as if you were alive in Ottawa in January 1914, what could possibly be more important than seeing the Marx Brothers? (Zeppo later replaced Gummo, but in 1914, he was apparently too young to be an official Marx Brother.)
The Marx Brothers also appeared in Ottawa in September of 1912, performing “Fun in Hi Skule.” Neither of these shows were ever filmed, though portions were apparently cannibalized and used in some of their Broadway shows and films. So excuse me for a little civic pride, even though I was born a hundred years too late. I’m going to go watch Horse Feathers.
Is there a better way to start 2014–the year of the Python reunion–than with a Python reunion?
This is an edited version of a 60-minute Special Feature that was filmed for the MEANING OF LIFE Blu-Ray, probably around the time the Pythons themselves were discussing doing a REAL reunion–which will be this July in London.
Enjoy, and a Happy New Year!
Candysraves.com, a fine site whether you’re looking for books, movies, or any number of miscellaneous products, is now featuring an interview with their latest product: me. I talk quite a bit about writing and my Time Police books (also available here), but there’s all sorts of useless trivia about Monty Python, improvisation, and what I’m working on at the moment. And if you’re as bored of me as I am, there’s still plenty on her blog for you to enjoy…
As 2013 ends, “In Memoriam” lists start to pop up on blogs. I’ve been fairly lucky this year in losing only a few friends, relatives and acquaintances. But, the world lost a comedy genius this year, and I lost a one-time collaborator, when we lost Jonathan Winters.
In the world of improvisation, even among improvisers, Jonathan Winters was too hip for the room. Television, then and now, simply didn’t know what to do with someone so uniquely talented. Pure, raw comedy just oozed out his pores, and film and television executives didn’t know how to contain it or package it in the same way they did it for other stars. He was wonderful in It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World and The Loved One, but movies were few and far between. Youtube is full of clips of Jack Paar and other talk show hosts sitting down with him and letting Jonathan be Jonathan. But TV execs could never find a way to use him in a conventional sitcom or variety format, even though they tried (most prominently as Robin Williams’ infant son on Mork and Mindy).
When we were living in Montecito (the rich suburb of Santa Barbara), and I was working for John Cleese, Jonathan Winters was a prominent local resident. I kept my eyes peeled for him, but after a year, I had pretty much given up hope on ever seeing him. But he did do a book signing at a local bookstore, and I joined the line with my then-young son, and listened to him address the gathering.. We got a book and got a photo, and we left, impressed and hoping for more such encounters. Based on the stories we had heard, Jonathan Winters was supposed to be ubiquitous in the Santa Barbara area, but that was the last we saw of him, at least for a while.
When I was growing up, I loved his too-infrequent television appearances and his too-brief TV series. I also owned several of his comedy albums, which were off-the-wall wonderful, and in junior high school, my bit in the school talent show involved lip-synching to a Jonathan Winters album. I loved the guy, and my only regret was that he wasn’t on TV more often.
Finally, on the day we were going back to Illinois for the holidays, I pulled into the parking lot across from our house, and I stepped out to grab a newspaper. “University of Illinois, eh?” I heard someone comment. I turned around and realized that the Great Man had been looking at my license plate holder. I stammered a bit and remembered that he was from Ohio, and a big Ohio State booster. I made a little small talk about their football teams, all the while thinking “I’m talking to Jonathan Winters!”
He looked exactly the way he looked on television, and acted a little like a bored townie hoping to chat. Naturally,I obliged him. I told him we were heading back to Illinois for Christmas, but lived just across the road, and maybe we’d run into each other after I returned.
That was my parting memory of Santa Barbara that year, and I couldn’t wait to get back to see if I could arrange to run into my new–well, acquaintance, at least. I ran into an old classmate while I was back, who asked me what California was like. I said “It’s pretty much the same as Illinois, except when you’re standing in line at the post office and you see somebody who looks like Jonathan Winters, it really is Jonathan Winters.”
Upon our return to Montecito, I made a post office run mid-morning, and in the strip mall where the small local post office was located, I saw a large expensive-looking car parked in the handicapped space outside with the license plate reading JW 1. I swerved into the first parking space available and went in to “buy some stamps,” hoping that what I was doing would not legally constitute stalking. He was indeed standing at the counter, mailing out copies of his recent book. As I had a copy of it at home, I approached him and asked if I could get him to sign it sometime. “Sure,” he said, “can you meet me at the pharmacy at lunchtime?” The pharmacy he referred to was about a minute’s walk away, and was actually a drugstore with an outdoor area that served lunch. Laurie and I decided to eat there, and sure enough, shortly after we arrived, Jonathan Winters arrived. He signed and we chatted–for some reason, we talked sports again, and told him about working for John Cleese. Just before he left, he said “I’ve got an idea I’d like to talk to you about. Can I call you?”
Could he call me? I gave him all of my phone numbers, figuring there was at best a 50-50 chance I’d hear back from him. But a couple of days later, I had stepped away from my desk when the phone rang and the machine kicked in, and I heard his familiar voice leaving a lengthy, hilarious message which I still kick myself for not saving. We arranged another lunch at a nearby cafe.
He discussed a film that he wanted to write with me, a sports-related film. Over several weeks, we made several attempts to break the story, but none of them really succeeded–while I was trying to write a story and a vehicle for Jonathan Winters, he was much more interested in writing a very serious, very dark story. Ultimately, we couldn’t reconcile the approaches. Write something serious for Jonathan Winters? To me, the man sitting across the table was comedy.
There was a dark side to him, make no mistake. He fought–and mostly conquered–many well-publicized demons, and was never shy about talking about any of them. But he channeled the pain into comedy, into laughs like the world had never seen, all improvised.
Eating lunch in public with Jonathan Winters, I found out, was as entertaining as any of his television performances. Sometimes people would recognize and approach him, other times he would notice something someone was wearing or carrying and he would approach them and make a comment. He lived in his own reality, a strange but very funny reality, that he created for each and every person he talked to. He always referred to me as “This is my stepson,” a role I embraced. And, when I initially referred to him as “Jonathan,” he politely corrected me, and I always respectfully referred to him as “Mr. Winters.”
So as 2013 draws to a close, Mr. Winters, I’ll say a last goodbye from your friend. Your collaborator. Your stepson.
The surviving Pythons appeared on the New Year’s Eve edition of BBC1’s Graham Norton show, proudly shilling for the stage show, and answering questions that he allegedly had prepared for a boy band. Very funny stuff. Knowing their various schedules, I suspect this was taped earlier in December, but it really doesn’t matter. Just watch and enjoy.
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