Monty Python's Flying Circus tonight comes to you live
from the Grillomat Snack Bar,
Paignton.
Hello to you,
live from the Grillomat
Snack Bar, Paignton.
And so, uh, without any more
ado, let's have the titles.
It's...
[♪]
ANNOUNCER: Monty Python's Flying Circus.
Well, those were the titles.
And now for the first item
this evening on the menu...
[CHUCKLES]
...the team has chosen
as a little hors d'oeuvre
an item, and I think
we can be sure
it won't be
an ordinary item.
In fact, the team told me
just before the show
that anything could happen
and probably would.
[CHUCKLES]
So let's have
the item.
[♪]
Hello, good evening, and welcome to Blackmail.
And to start tonight's
program,
we go north to Preston
in Lancashire
and Mrs. Betty Teal.
Hello, Mrs. Teal.
Now this is for £15,
and it's to stop us revealing
the name of your lover
in Bolton.
So, Mrs. Teal,
send us £15 by return
of post, please,
and your husband Trevor,
and your lovely children,
Diane, Janice and Juliet,
need never know the name
of your lover in Bolton.
[PLAYS ORGAN]
And now a letter...
a hotel registration book
and a series of photographs,
which could add up to divorce,
premature retirement
and possible
criminal proceedings
for a company director
in Bromsgrove.
He's a Freemason
and a prospective Tory MP.
That's Mr. S. of Bromsgrove.
Three thousand pounds, please,
to stop us revealing
your name,
the name of the three
other people involved,
the youth organization
to which they belong,
and the shop where you bought
the equipment.
[PLAYS ORGAN]
We'll be showing you more of that photograph
later in the program...
unless we hear
from Charles or Michael.
And now it's time
for our "Stop the Film" spot.
The rules are very simple.
We have taken a film which
contains compromising scenes
and unpleasant details, which
could wreck a man's career.
But the victim may phone me at
any point and stop the film.
But remember, the money
increases as the film goes on.
So the longer you leave it,
the more you have to pay.
So now, with the clock
at £300,
this week, "Stop the Film"
visited Thames Ditton.
[♪]
He's really brave here.
[PHONE RINGING]
Hello, sir. Hello, yes.
No sir, no,
I'm sure you didn't. Heh.
No, it's all right, sir,
we don't morally censure,
we just want the money.
Yes, and here's the address
to send it to:
ANNOUNCER:
Not at all, sir. Thank you.
[CHATTER]
Ah. Sorr-- Sorry chaps,
it was my mother.
Ah.
Ah, gentlemen, pray silence,
for the President
of the Royal Society
for Putting Things
on Top of Other Things.
[APPLAUSE]
[CLEARS THROAT]
I thank you, gentlemen.
The year has been a good one
for the society.
[MEN CHATTERING]
This year, our members
have put more things on top
of other things
than ever before.
[CROWD MURMURING]
But I should warn you...
this is no time
for complacency.
No. There are still
many things--
and I cannot emphasize
this too strongly--
not on top of other things.
[CROWD MURMURS]
I, myself, on my way here
this evening, saw a thing
that was not on top
of another thing in any way.
ALL:
Shame! Shame!
Shame indeed.
But we must not
allow ourselves
to become too despondent.
For we must never forget
that if there was not
one thing
that was not on top
of another thing,
our society would be
nothing more
than a meaningless
body of men
that gathered together
for no good purpose.
[CROWD MURMURING]
Bravo, bravo.
But we flourish.
This year,
our Australasian members
and the various organizations
affiliated
to our Australasian branches,
put no fewer than 22 things
on top of other things.
[EXCITED CHATTER, APPLAUSE]
Well done. All of you.
[CROWD MURMURING]
But there is one cloud
on the horizon.
In this last year,
our Staffordshire branch
has not succeeded in putting
one thing on top of another.
ALL: Shame! Shame!
Therefore--
Therefore, I call upon
our Staffordshire delegate
to explain this
weird behavior.
[CROWD MURMURING]
Indeed. Indeed.
[CLEARS THROAT]
Cutler, Staffordshire.
Um... well, Mr. Chairman,
it's just that most of
the members in Staffordshire
feel... whole thing's
a bit silly.
ALL: Silly?
[CROWD MURMURING]
Silly?!
I suppose
it is a bit.
What have we been doing
wasting our lives
with all this
nonsense?
Right. Okay.
Meeting adjourned forever.
Here, here.
[CHATTER]
[SIGHS]
Good Lord.
I'm on film.
How did that happen?
[CHATTER]
It's film again.
What's going on?
Gentlemen, I have bad news.
This room is surrounded
by film.
ALL: What? What?
We're-- We're trapped!
Don't panic.
We'll get out of this. How?
We'll tunnel our way out.
Good thinking, sir.
I'll get the horse.
Okay, Captain. You detail
three men, start digging,
and load them up with cutlery.
Sir.
And then we'll have a rota.
We'll have two hours digging,
two hours vaulting and then
two hours sleeping, okay?
All right, Medwin, let's see
you get over that horse.
Pick your feet up, Medwin.
Come on, boy!
Stupid English.
They are prisoners,
and all they do is the sport.
One thing
worries me, Fritz.
Yeah?
Where's the traditional cheeky
and lovable Cockney sergeant?
Cheer up, Fritz,
it may never happen.
ALL:
♪ Maybe it's because I'm a Londoner ♪
Good. Everything seems
to be in order.
♪ That I love London so ♪
Colonel. I've just found another exit, sir.
Okay. Quickly,
run this way.
ALL:
If we could run that way--
Sorry.
[GRUNTING]
[ALL YELLING]
[ALL GRUNT]
[ALL GRUNTING]
[CHATTERING]
[BELCHES]
Oh, I'm-- I'm terribly sorry.
Excuse me.
[TOILET FLUSHES]
Ah.
Hello. Um,
well, they certainly
seem to be in a tight spot,
and I spot
our next item.
So let's get straight on
with the fun
and go over to
the next item,
or dish.
[LAUGHS]
Hello. How are you?
I'm fine. Welcome to a new
half-hour chat show
in which me, viz the man
what's talking to you now,
and Brooky, to wit,
my flatmate and nothing else--
I'd like to
emphasize that--
discuss current affairs
issues of burning import.
Have you heard the one
about the three nuns in the nudist colony?
Shut up. Tonight,
the population explosion.
There were these three nuns--
Shut up.
Come the year 1991,
given the present
rate of increase
in the world's
population,
the Chinese will be
three deep.
Another thing--
Sorry, love, sorry.
The show is too long this week,
and this scene's been cut.
Lord Hill's at
the bottom of this.
But if you can find
a piano stool,
you can appear later on
on the show in film.
How much?
Oh, about ten bob each?
I wouldn't wipe
me nose on it.
Have you heard the one about
these three nuns? Shh.
I can hear something.
Hang about. We may still
get in this show as a link.
[GRUNTING, YELLING]
That's clever.
How do they do that?
Color separation,
you cottonhead.
[ALL YELLING]
[BELCHES]
[ALL YELLING]
MAN 1: What's all this?
MAN 2:
Some sort of lever.
MAN 3: Lever? Well, pull it.
MAN 2: Pull the lever.
MAN 4: Come on, pull it.
[ALL CHATTERING]
MAN 2: No, that's not right.
That's got it.
Oh. What's this?
[PLAYING DRUMS]
[IN FRENCH ACCENT] So, British pig, we meet again.
What?
[ALL GASP]
That bitch!
He spilled the entire bottle
of Chateau Latour.
Everything.
It's a disaster!
Yeah.
BOOMING VOICE:
Shut up, the lot of you!
Over here, Sir William.
Sir William, over here.
Over here.
BOOMING VOICE:
Now stay there.
[THUNDER CRASHING]
What are we gonna do now?
I don't know.
How are we going
to get out of this? No idea.
Well, what shall
we do?
VOICES:
Don't jump! Don't jump!
ALL:
What?
ALL:
Please don't jump! Think of the little ones!
ALL:
We weren't going to jump.
ALL: Don't jump!
The fire brigade's coming!
ALL: What?
[SIREN WAILING]
ALL:
Don't jump! Don't jump!
[ALL SCREAMING]
My God,
he's coming back!
Well, they seem to be in another tight spot.
[CHATTERING LOUDLY]
Um-- Could you--?
Could you--?
Could you keep it down
a little, please.
Thank you so much. And--
[CHATTERING LOUDLY]
Could you keep it down--
Down, please?
Thank you.
Well, and now
we move on to our--
to our main course:
uh, prawn salad.
Prawn salad?
Well, if you'll just wait in here, sir,
I'm sure Mr. Thompson
won't keep you waiting long.
Fine. Thanks very much.
[DOOR CLOSES]
Uh-- The, uh, mirror fell off the wall.
Sir?
Uh, the mirror fell off--
Off-- Off the wall. It fell.
I see.
You'd better wait here.
I'll get a cloth.
Uh, i-it came off the wall. Yes, sir?
It just came
right off the wall.
Really, sir?
Yes. I--
I didn't touch it.
Of course not.
It just fell off the wall.
Yes, i-it just
fell off the wall.
Don't move.
I'll get help.
Yes. Uh...
Fell off the wall.
Oh, my God! What a mess!
Here,
did you do this?
Uh, no. No,
I didn't do all this.
Uh, it-it did it all.
Oh. Well...
Here. Hold this.
I'll get started.
Oh. It's jolly nice.
What is it?
Hmm? Oh, it's
a Brazilian dagger.
Oops! Oh!
[SQUEALING]
[DOOR CREAKS]
Oh. Oh.
Uh, sh-- She just,
uh, fell, uh,
on-- onto the--
the dagger.
Yes, of course
she did, sir.
Yeah, s-she just
g-gave me the dagger
and tripped,
and went, "Oops."
Oh, yes, sir. I understand.
You know, I mean,
I didn't--
Oh, no, of course not, sir.
I-- I understand.
I mean, she--
She just, uh--
She just fell?
Fell.
[SCREAMS]
[CRASHING]
Terribly sorry.
That's him.
Right, sir.
Oh, hello,
Officer.
Um, there seems to
have been an accident.
Well, uh, s-several
accidents actually.
That's right, sir. Would you
come this way, please?
[GASPING]
It's me-- me heart, sir.
[GASPS]
You swine! I'll get you for that.
Uh... I won't wait.
I'll phone.
[RUMBLING]
Sorry.
[MUTTERING]
Did we get out?
Well, I think we're
really out this time.
Yeah?
Oh, jolly good.
Now, where's
the school hall?
I think
it's over there.
Come on.
Right. Come on.
Fine.
Very good.
[MUTTERING]
♪ Oh, Mr. Belpit ♪
♪ Your legs are so swollen ♪
Excuse me.
Is-- Is that the school hall?
Um, I'm sorry, I don't know.
I'm not in this one.
I-- I'm in next week's,
I think.
Oh. Come on.
[FLAMBOYANT ACCENT]
Oh, Mr. Belpit!
Oh, here we are.
Ah, well, they seem to have linked that themselves.
So there's no need for me
to interrupt at all.
[CHUCKLING]
So, uh, back to
the school hall.
[PLAYS SHOW TUNE]
MAN: Seven Brides for Seven Brothers.
[SCATTERED APPLAUSE]
'Tis time the seven Smith brothers had brides.
Fetch me Smith, Major.
Sir.
'Tis time you and your six
brothers were married.
Thank you, headmaster.
Fetch me your six brothers,
that the seven brothers
may be together.
[DINGING]
ALL: Behold, the seven brothers.
Right, I'll see Watson,
Wilkins and Spratt
in my study afterwards.
But...
But where shall we find
seven brides
for seven brothers?
The Sabine School
for Girls.
Yes, and it's
the Annual Dance.
Fetch hither the seven brides
for seven brothers.
BOTH: Behold the seven brides.
Fetch hither
the padre,
that the seven brides
may marry the seven brothers.
Fetch hither the master on duty,
that the seven brides
may marry the seven brothers.
Sorry I'm late, headmaster. I've been wrestling with Plato.
What you do in
your own time, padre,
is written on the wall
in the vestry.
Right. Ahem.
Do you four boys
take these two girls
to be
your seven brides?
ALL: Yes, sir.
Right. Go and do your prep.
Yes, sir.
[SCATTERED APPLAUSE]
[PLAYS SLOW TUNE]
I say, Teddy. You said something, Neddy?
That's right,
I did, Teddy.
Well, what is it, Neddy?
Piggy banks, Teddy.
Piggy banks, Neddy?
Yes, I want to hunt
piggy banks, Teddy.
You want to hunt
piggy banks, Neddy?
That's right, Teddy.
[COINS JANGLING]
I've got him, Teddy.
Time to bring home
the bacon, Neddy.
That's not bacon.
That's sirloin, Teddy.
Can't be sirloin.
Not from a piggy, Neddy.
But that's sirloin,
Teddy.
No, it isn't, Neddy.
Is, Teddy.
Isn't, Neddy.
Is, Teddy.
Isn't, Neddy.
Is, Teddy.
Mm. Looks like I've been
playing the fool, Neddy.
Mm. That's all right,
Teddy.
Thanks awfully, Neddy.
Thanks a lot.
No, no, no.
Doesn't matter at all.
Jolly civil.
No. Perfectly all right.
I'd do the same
for you.
Good morning. I'd care to purchase a chicken, please.
Don't come here
with that posh talk,
you nasty,
stuck-up twit.
I beg your pardon?
A chicken, sir? Certainly.
Thank you.
And how much does that
work out to per pound, my good fellow?
Per pound, you slimy trollop?
What kind of a ponce are you?
I'm sorry?
Four and six a pound, sir.
Nice and ready for roasting.
I see. And I'd care to
purchase some stuffing in addition, please.
Use your own,
you great poofy poonagger.
What?
Ah, certainly, sir.
Some stuffing.
Oh. Thank you.
"Oh, thank you,"
says the queen,
like a la-di-da poofter.
I beg your pardon?
That's all right, sir.
Call again.
Excuse me.
What is it now,
you great pillock?
Well, I can't help noticing
that you insult me,
and then you're polite
to me alternately.
I'm terribly sorry
to hear that, sir.
Its all right.
Doesn't really matter.
Tough titty if it did,
you nasty, spotted prancer.
Ah.
Oh. Uh, so sorry,
I asked for tea.
Would you--?
Thank you very much.
Well, uh,
we've had the dessert.
And then...
And so...
the first item--
The last item on
our menu of fun
is the coffee.
No, I did ask for tea.
But you just
said, "Coffee."
No, no. That was just
my announcement.
It's just a metaphor.
We come--
He just said he wants tea...
Would you mind
keeping it down, please?
We come as--
as I said just now... [CHATTERING]
to the coffee.
There, he said it again!
Shut up!
NARRATOR:
This is Ken Clean-Air System,
the great white hope
of the British boxing world.
After three fights
and only two convictions,
his manager believes
that Ken is now ready
to face the giant American,
Satellite Five.
The great thing about Ken is,
is that he's almost
totally stupid.
NARRATOR:
Every morning, he jogs the 47 miles
from his two-bedroom,
eight-bathroom,
six-up, two-down,
three-to-go house in Reigate
to the Government's Pesticide
Research Centre at Shoreham.
Nobody knows why.
[GRUNTING]
Basically,
Ken is a very gentle, home-loving person.
I remember when one of his
stick insects had a knee infection.
He stayed up all night,
rubbing it with Germolene
then banging its head
on the table.
Oh, such a pretty baby,
always so kind and gentle...
and really considerate
to his mother,
and not at all the kind
of person you'd expect
to pulverize their opponent
into a bloody mass of flesh
and raw bone,
spitting teeth
and fragments of gum
into a ring which had become
one man's hell
and Ken's glory.
NARRATOR: Every morning at his little three-room semi
near Reading,
Ken gets up at 3:00.
And goes back to bed again
because it's far too early.
At 7:00 Ken gets up,
he has a quick shower,
a rubdown,
gets into his tracksuit
and goes back to bed again.
At 7:50 every morning,
Ken's trainer runs
the 13,000 miles
from his two-room lean-to
in Bangkok and gets him up.
I used to wake Ken up
with a crowbar
on the back of the head.
But I recently found that this
was too far from his brain,
and I wasn't getting through
to him anymore.
So I now wake him up
with a steel peg
driven into his skull
with a mallet.
NARRATOR: For breakfast every day,
Ken places a plate of liver
and bacon under his chair
and locks himself
in the cupboard.
Well, he's having a lot of mental difficulties
with his breakfasts.
Uh, but it's his temperament
caused by a small particle
of brain in his skull.
Once we've removed that,
he'll be perfectly all right.
NARRATOR:
At 8:30, the real training begins.
Ken goes back to bed,
and his trainer gets him up.
[PANTING]
At 10:30 every morning,
Ken arrives at what
he thinks is the gym.
Sometimes it's a sweet shop.
Sometimes it's a private house.
Today it's a hospital.
[MUMBLES]
Hi. Could you please tell me where the training is?
Certainly. Um, yeah.
Go straight down there.
Straight down there. Down there.
[MUMBLES]
Straight down there.
Down there. All right.
[GRUNTING]
NARRATOR: For lunch Ken crouches down beside the road
and rubs gravel
into his hair.
But lunch doesn't take long.
Ken's soon up on his feet
and back to bed.
And his trainer has to run
the 49,000 miles
from his two-bedroom
six-living-room tree house
in Kyoto to wake him up.
Hello. Eh,
when Ken is in a really
deep sleep like this one,
uh, the only way to wake
him up is to saw his head off.
[STEEL GRINDING]
NARRATOR:
What is he like in the ring, this human dynamo,
this 18-stone bantamweight
battering ram?
We asked his
sparring partner
and one-time childhood
sweetheart, Maureen Spencer.
Well, I-- I think that if Ken,
uh, keeps his right up,
gets in with the left jab,
and, uh,
takes the fight to his man,
well, uh, he should go
for a cut eye in the third
and, uh, put Wilcox
on the canvas by six.
NARRATOR:
Ken's opponent in Tuesday's fight is Petula Wilcox,
the Birmingham girl
who was a shorthand typist
before turning pro in 1968.
She's keen on knitting and
likes Cliff Richard records.
How does she rate her chances
against Ken?
Well... I'm a southpaw.
[CLIFF RICHARD MUSIC PLAYING]
And I think this will
confuse him,
particularly with
his brain problem.
My lords, ladies,
and gedderbong.
On my right...
from the town
of Reigate,
in the county of Kent,
the heavyweight
[SPEAKING GIBBERISH]
Mr. Ken Clean-Air System!
[CROWD CHEERING, APPLAUDING]
And on my left, Miss Petula Wilcox.
[CROWD BOOS]
[BELL DINGS]
MAN 1: I think boxing is a splendid sport.
Teaches you self-defense.
MAN 2:
Obviously, boxing must have its limits.
But providing they're both
perfectly fit,
I can see nothing wrong
with one healthy man
beating the living daylights
out of a little schoolgirl.
It's quick, and it's fun.
♪ Raindrops keep falling
On my head ♪
[HUMMING]
Oh. No, he's gone.
But he left a message.
Jack! Where's that note
that fellow left?
Oh.
Here you are.
It says, "Sorry,
had to catch the last bus.
Am on the 49B
to Babbacombe."
Oh, uh... there you are. Hello.
Um, you got the note.
Jolly good.
Well, um,
that's all the items that
we have for you this week.
And, uh, what a jolly nice lot
of items too, eh?
Um...
Well, the same team will be
back with you again next week
with another menu
full of items.
Um...
I don't know if I shall
be introducing the show
next week...
as I understand that
my bits in this show
have not been received
quite as well as they might.
But, uh... never mind.
The damage is done.
No use crying over spilt milk.
I've had my chance...
and I've muffed it.
Anyway, heh, there we are.
I'm not really
awfully good with words.
You see, I'm more
of a visual performer.
[CHUCKLES]
I have a very funny-- Though I say so myself.
A very funny...
funny walk.
I wish I'd been in that show.
I'd have done rather well.
But anyway, there we are.
Show's over.
And, uh, we'll all be--
They'll all be back
with you again next week.
Sorry.
I do beg your pardon.
I don't like these...
blatant displays of emotion.
[SOBBING] I wish it would say, "The end."