Sir Michael Palin has revealed that his fellow ‘Monty Python’ star Terry Jones once threw a typewriter at John Cleese during a row.
By Chris Edwards
Sir Michael Palin has revealed that his fellow Monty Python star Terry Jones once threw a typewriter at John Cleese during a row.
In a new interview with the Radio Times, Palin opened up about the “huge” arguments that occurred within the comedy group, which consisted of himself, Cleese, Jones, Terry Gilliam, Eric Idle and Graham Chapman.
“Since Python split up, and even in our time together, we have all had huge arguments,” said Palin.
“The great thing is that we don’t all agree. I remember Terry Jones once threw a typewriter across the room at John.”
The troupe split up in 1999 before briefly reuniting in 2014 for the variety show Monty Python Live (Mostly). However, a row between Idle and Cleese and Gilliam over the way the group’s finances have been handled emerged earlier this year.
Palin, who has become known for his various travel programmes, said he wasn’t surprised to see the remaining group members fight over finances.
“What’s happening with Python now doesn’t surprise me greatly. It’s just a pity it’s not to do with comedy any more. It’s to do with people’s lifestyles,” he said.
In February, Idle claimed on X (formerly Twitter) that the finances of the troupe, founded in 1969, were still a “disaster”.
He blamed their financial issues on Holly Gilliam, daughter of fellow Python Terry and manager of the troupe, saying: “We own everything we ever made in Python and I never dreamed that at this age the income streams would tail off so disastrously.
“But I guess if you put a Gilliam child in as your manager you should not be so surprised. One Gilliam is bad enough. Two can take out any company.”
In a series of subsequent posts, the actor and comedian said he had to keep working into his 80s to make up for his losses, and that his fellow Pythons have had to do the same. Cleese is currently working on a reboot of Fawlty Towers, Palin continues to make travel shows, and Gilliam is directing films.
The group made their debut on television with the BBC sketch series Monty Python’s Flying Circus, which ran from 1969 to 1974. They later turned their attention to the big screen, making Monty Python and the Holy Grail in 1975, Monty Python’s Life of Brian in 1979, and Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life in 1983.
Elsewhere in the Radio Times interview, Palin dismissed the idea of another Python reunion, saying that the one they did in 2014 allowed them to “bow out gracefully”.
Jones passed away in January 2020, with Palin leading the tributes. Chapman died in 1989 at the age of 48.
The daft ditties of Glasgow’s Ivor Cutler and Monty Python’s Ministry of Silly Walks might never have seen the light without the BBC, writes Aidan Smith.
By Aidan Smith | January 2020
The BBC is under threat. Yes, again. It’s not perfect. Sometimes it annoys and occasionally it infuriates. Like when the in-house diversity focus group decides – in the interests of inclusiveness for other minute markings on the clockface, presumably – that the new Crackerjack shouldn’t start at the sacred and literally time-honoured “five-to-five”. But think of this right now: we wouldn’t have had Terry Jones without the Beeb, nor Ivor Cutler.
I’m thinking of Ivor because he’s being celebrated by Celtic Connections with tomorrow’s performance in his Glasgow birthplace of a tribute album of his daft ditties and I’m thinking of Terry because like the Norwegian Blue parrot he’s no more, ceased to be, an ex-comedy genius.
Jones and the rest of Monty Python’s Flying Circus emerged, big foot bursting through a bucolic sky, at the end of a decade of merciless mirth at the expense of the natural order. Politicians were sent up by the satire boom and then Python set up the Ministry of Silly Walks. The government of the day, still believing in deference, was appalled at this snook-cocking by the state broadcaster. The government of this day, even though it controls much of its own message, still manages to be appalled by the Beeb and perceived bias and is planning stiff retribution. Continue reading →
Veteran English actor, comedian and screenwriter John Cleese comes to Rockford this weekend for his one-man show, “An Evening with the Late John Cleese.” WNIJ’s Jason Cregier spoke with him by phone in advance of his appearance.
Jason Cregier: When you first started Monty Python, did you think it would take on such cultural relevance?
John Cleese: Oh, no, absolutely not. We wondered at the beginning whether there was going to be an audience for it at all. It was so different from any other comedy that had come before it. It was so much sillier. And we did completely unexpected things. And then a fair number of the audience just stared at the screen thinking “what is this about?” But it slowly grew, at the end of the first season there was very little excitement. But at the very beginning of the second season The Times of London wrote a piece saying that it was a very good show. And suddenly it seemed to take off. We were very surprised that suddenly it became a bit of a craze with younger people. But we sort of understood it. When I was younger, we had the same reaction to a wonderful radio comedy show that Peter Sellers hosted called The Goon Show.
The Goon Show
Who were some of the influences that you drew inspiration from?
Well, I think early on when I was younger, a lot of it was Laurel and Hardy. And then Chaplin. I think he was enormously important. And then as I got a little bit older, you see in those days without video, anything I used to buy were gramophone records. And I got to know about Nichols and May, Bob Newhart and Shelley Berman in the late 50s. A lot of the best stuff on English television was American. Jack Benny and George Burns, and [Sgt.] Bilko. Phil Silvers was absolutely wonderful. And at the same time, we had this wonderful radio show with Peter Sellers called The Goon Show. And we had some very good sitcoms — a fella called Tony Hancock is totally forgotten. There was lots and lots of very, very good comedy.
What makes your comedy so generational?
I’m not so sure that it is. I think that most of the audience who come to see me are older people, many of them watched and grew up with Monty Python. One of the great delights is that they’re not the super sensitive, extremely woke people who think you shouldn’t laugh at other people. They understand that there’s a kind of affection with laughter, which overcomes any of the critical nature, everything about humor is basically critical. If you have someone who’s perfect like Jesus Christ, or Saint Francis, there’s no mystery about them. What’s funny is all the failures of human beings. I always point out on stage; we like people who can laugh at themselves.
What is so appealing to you about live stage performances?
The connection with the audience is something very real. You do a joke, and they laugh, and you stand there and enjoy the laughter. Whereas on television, you never have that experience. And you certainly don’t on film.
Do you have a favorite character or performance you’ve done over the years?
No, not really. They’re different styles. Python is very, very silly, and sometimes I think gorgeously silly. But Fawlty Towers, which is the sitcom in the hotel, I think that that was very, very good farce. That was a slightly intensified level of reality, but otherwise quite believable, and nothing particularly silly about it. And then you’ve got Life of Brian, which I think is the Python masterpiece. It says very important things about the way that people follow religious leaders. It depends really on your tastes, and the sort of humor that you like, and I like them all. It’s hard for me to pick one.
Life of Brian
Does this continue to motivate you to still perform?
Mainly the need for money. I had a very expensive divorce from a woman who I’d been with for a number of years. We had no children, and the California court decided that she was entitled to a standard of living to which she had become accustomed. But the person who provided that standard of living to which she had become accustomed, wasn’t entitled to it himself.
I grew up with Monty Python through my father. I started watching it with him when I was around 14, it really influenced a lot of what I liked going forward. Eventually, I became a big David Letterman guy. And I saw a lot of parallels between the silly humor in both.
Yes, I liked his show (Letterman) a lot. I did the show many times. It took me a long time to realize that it was not really a conversation show, you had to go on with material. But if you had good funny material, Letterman was extraordinarily good at sort of feeding you and letting the funny material come out.
When you start your shows, do you have an idea what you’re doing when you come out? Or is it a blank slate, and you just kind of run with it.
Oh no, it’s very much scripted. Because you see with comedy, the way I put it is, the audience helps you write the script. Because if you go out there and they get a big laugh, you think, Well, that’s good. I think I’ll keep that. And if you go out and don’t get a big laugh on a joke, you think, well, there’s something wrong with that joke. I better fix it. The audience is always telling me what works and what doesn’t work. And as you do a tour, more and more of it works because you keep fixing the bits that don’t work. And I’ve gotten to the point now, where there’s about two moments in the show that aren’t quite right. Otherwise, it’s material I’ve been doing for some time. And although I’m repeating it, the fact that the audience is enjoying it so much always gives me the feeling of fun, that we’re having fun. So, in a funny kind of way, it still feels quite fresh, but it’s because it’s a live performance. I can see people’s faces.
Talking with the Monty Python member about Peter Sellers, failure, and why he prefers disrespectful interviewers.
Looking for some quality comedy entertainment to check out? Who better to turn to for under-the-radar comedy recommendations than comedians? In our recurring seriesUnderrated, we chat with writers and performers from the comedy world about an unsung comedy moment of their choosing that they think deserves more praise.
By Erick Arviss | 2018
You’d be hard-pressed to find someone working in comedy that hasn’t creatively cribbed from Monty Python. The influential British comedy troupe’s trademark surrealism, self-referencing, and artistic anarchy has been coded into the DNA of many modern architects of America’s absurdist comedy Zeitgeist, from Doug Kenney to Amy Sedaris to the minds behind Mr. Show. With Flying Circus, Python reconfigured the stuffy structure and unadventurous format of the modern sketch show, thumbing their noses at the medium by acknowledging its limits then speeding past them completely. Sketches would connect, reference each other, and bend time and space but would never fully conclude or tie up loose ends. It was an exercise in creating a lattice of meta-narrative and self-aware characters, which ultimately established its own extended universe of comedy iconography that is still being cited nearly 50 years later. I mean, the Dead Parrot sketch is just straight-up foundational.
But beneath Python’s Dadaist deconstruction of comedy trends (sideways credits FTW!) was a mean anti-authority streak. Their films were big and silly, yes, but their themes took direct aim at nationalism and war (Holy Grail), dogma and religious fundamentalism (Life of Brian), and class (Meaning of Life). Founding Python member John Cleese made this clear during our conversation, telling me that “anti-authoritarianism was deeply ingrained in Python” growing up in post–World War II United Kingdom.
Cleese, who is currently on tour screening Holy Grailfollowed by career-spanning conversations with audiences, wanted to pay homage to the stylistic forefathers of Python, The Goon Show, for our Underrated series. Created by British-Irish satirist Spike Milligan along with Harry Secombe and Peter Sellers, The Goon Show disrupted the most dominant entertainment format of the ’50s — the radio show — with a cast of fictional characters (with Sellers, Secombe, and Milligan embodying multiple personalities) performing scripted three-act shows parodying aspects of modern life and mocking show business, the military, advertising, and English culture along the way. The Goons also used music and sound effects in innovative ways, creating a more surreal and heightened atmosphere unlike anything else on the BBC Home Service at the time. Picture A Prairie Home Companion on acid, or Tim and Eric distilled into audio form. Cleese claims the Goons had the greatest impact on the troupe, and after hearing him speak about them, it’s easy to see why.
It’s impossible to overstate how influential your body of work — from A Fish Called Wanda to Fawlty Towers to especially Monty Python — has been on modern comedy. But what comedy inspired you growing up that your fans may not know about?
Well the biggest influence, and this might surprise you, is not something we were watching. We were listening to it because it was a radio show. It was a radio show in the ’50s called The Goon Show. It was a pure radio show and we all were listening to it. Kids were devoted to it in England. It was written by a guy who was a bit of a genius, rather a depressed one of course, named Spike Milligan. It also had Peter Sellers in it, who of course is the greatest voice man of all time. If he could listen to you for five minutes, he could do a perfect impersonation of you. He had this wonderful program he created which allowed him to experiment with his insanely funny characters. We used to listen to that in the same way that people listen to Monty Python. In the morning, we’d be at school and we’d discuss the whole thing and rehash the jokes and talk about it. We were obsessed with it. Continue reading →
The HOBBLEDEHOY 