Monty Python Live at the Hollywood Bowl Script Part 3




How Sweet to be an Idiot


Singer :
How sweet to be an idiot
As harmless as a cloud
Too small to hide the sun
Almost poking fun
At the warm but insecure untidy crowd
How sweet to be an idiot
And dip my brain in joy
Children laughing at my back
With no fear of attack
As much retaliation as a toy
How sweet to be an idiot
How sweet

I tiptoe down the street
Smile at everyone I meet
But suddenly a scream
Smashes through my dream
Fe fi fo fum
I smell the blood of an asylum
Hey you
You're such a pedant
You've got as much brain as a dead ant
As much imagination as a caravan site
But I still love you
Still love you, ooooooooooh
How sweet to be an idiot
How sweet
How sweet
How sweet


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[Animated flasher sequence]

Jung und
elastisch

Es
macht
spass!

SCHLEPP 91



Mr. Smoketoomuch (Travel Agent)

			VISIT	MOROCCO
		    Sun, Sea, and Watch
			 out behind you

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Good morning.

Secretary: Oh, good morning. Uhm, have you come to arrange a holiday or would you like a blow job?

Mr. Smoketoomuch: I'm sorry?

Secretary: Uh, oh, you've come to arrange a holiday?

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Uuh...yes.

Secretary: Oh, sorry, sorry. Now, where were you thinking of going?

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Uh, to India.

Secretary: Ah, one of our adventure holidays.

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Yes, that's right.

Secretary: Well, you'd better see Mr. Bounder about that. Uh, Mr. Bounder, this gentleman is interested in the "India Overland" - and nothing else.

Mr. Bounder: Ah. Hello, I'm Bounder of Adventure.

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Oh, hello. My name is Smoketoomuch.

Mr. Bounder: What?

Mr. Smoketoomuch: My name is Smoketoomuch. Mr. Smoketoomuch.

Mr. Bounder: Well, you'd better cut down a little then. [Laughter]

Mr. Smoketoomuch: I'm sorry?

Mr. Bounder: You'd better cut down a little then. [Snigger]

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Oh, I see! Smoke too much so I'd better cut down a little then!

Mr. Bounder: Yes. [Laughter] Ooh, it's going to get people making jokes about your name all the time, eh?

Mr. Smoketoomuch: No, actually, it never struck me before. Smoketoomuch... [Laughter]

Mr. Bounder: Anyway, ehm, you're interested in one of our holidays, are you?

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Yes, that's right. I saw your advert in the blassified ads.

Mr. Bounder: The what?

Mr. Smoketoomuch: In The Times Blassified Ads.

Mr. Bounder: Ah, The Times Classified Ads.

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Yes, that's right. I'm afraid I have a speech impediment. I can't pronounce the letter B.

Mr. Bounder: Uh, C.

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Yes, that's right, B. It's all due to a trauma I suffered when I was a sboolboy. I was attacked by a Siamese bat.

Mr. Bounder: Uh, ah, a Siamese cat.

Mr. Smoketoomuch: No, a Siamese bat. They're more dangerous.

Mr. Bounder: Listen...can you say the letter K?

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Oh, yes. Khaki, kettle, Kipling, Khomeini, Kellog's Born Flakes.

Mr. Bounder: Well, why don't you say the letter K instead of the letter C?

Mr. Smoketoomuch: What, you mean, pronounce "blassified" with a K?

Mr. Bounder: Yes, absolutely!

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Klassified!

Mr. Bounder: Good!

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Oh, it's very good! I never thought of that before. What a silly bunt.

Mr. Bounder: Now then, uhm, about the holiday...

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Yes, well, I've been on packaged tours many times before, so your advert really baught my eye.

Mr. Bounder: Good, good, jolly good, well, let me offer you this...

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Why-why, what's the point of going abroad, if your just going to be treated like a sheep?

Mr. Bounder: Mmm.

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Carted around in buses surrounded by sweaty mindless oafs from Kettering and Boventry.

Mr. Bounder: Absolutely.

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Their blothed backs and their bardigans and their transistor radios, complaining about the tea or they don't make it properly, do they? And stopping at endless Majorcan bodegas selling fish and chips and Watney's Red Barrel and calamaris and two veg. And sitting in their cotton sunfrocks, squirting Timothy White Suncream all over their puffy, raw, swollen, purulent flesh, 'cos they overdid it on the first day.

Mr. Bounder: Yes, I know just what you mean! Now, what we offer is...

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Being herded into countless Hotel Miramars and Bellevues, Bontinentals with their international luxury modern roomettes...

Mr. Bounder: Oh, yes.

Mr. Smoketoomuch: ...and swimming pools full of draft Red Barrel and fat German businessmen pretending to be acrobats and forming pyramids and frightening the children and...

Mr. Bounder: Oh, yes.

Mr. Smoketoomuch: ...barging into the queues. And if you're not at your table...

Mr. Bounder: Oh, yes.

Mr. Smoketoomuch: ...spot on seven you miss your bowl of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom Soup, the first item in the menu of International Cuisine.

Mr. Bounder: Absolutely. Now what we have here is...

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Every Thursday night there's a bloody cabaret in the bar featuring some tiny emaciated dego with nine-inch hips and some fat bloated tart with her hair Bryll-creamed down and big arse presenting flamenco for foreigners.

Mr. Bounder: Will you be quiet, please?

Mr. Smoketoomuch: And an adenoidal typist from Birmingham with flabby white...

Mr. Bounder: Will you be quiet?

Mr. Smoketoomuch: ...legs and diarrhea trying to pick up hairy, bandy legged, whop degos called Manuel.

Mr. Bounder: Be-be quiet!

Mr. Smoketoomuch: And once a week there's an excursion to local Roman remains, where you can buy Cherry Aid and melted ice cream...

Mr. Bounder: Be quiet!

Mr. Smoketoomuch: ...and bleedin' Watney's Red Barrel.

Mr. Bounder: Shut up!

Mr. Smoketoomuch: And one night they take you to a typical restaurant with local...

Mr. Bounder: Shut up!

Mr. Smoketoomuch: ...atmosphere and color and you sit next to a...

Mr. Bounder: Shut up!

Mr. Smoketoomuch: ...party from Rhyl who keep singing "I love the Costa Brava!"

Mr. Bounder: Shut up!

Mr. Smoketoomuch: "I love the Costa Brava!" And you get cornered by some drunken green grocer from Luton with an Instamatic camera and last Tuesday's 'Daily Express'...

Mr. Bounder: Please be quiet!

Mr. Smoketoomuch: ...and he's on and on and on about how it is running the country and how many languages Margaret Powell can speak and she throws up all over the cuba libre. And spending four days on the tarmac at Luton Airport on a five-day package tour with nothing to eat but dry British Airways sandwiches.

Mr. Bounder: Shut up! Please shut up!

Mr. Smoketoomuch: And you can't even get a glass of Watney's Red Barrel because you're still in England with the bloody bar closes every time you're thirsty. And the kids are crying and vomiting and breaking the plastic ashtrays. They keep telling you won't be another hour, but you know damn well your plane is still in Iceland, because it had to turn back, trying to take a party of Swedes to...

Mr. Bounder: Shut up!

Mr. Smoketoomuch: ...to take a party of Swedes to Yugoslavia. Of course it loads you up there at 3 a.m. in the morning. And then you sit on the tarmac for four hours because of unforeseen difficulties, i.e. the permanent strike of airtraffic control over Paris. When you finally get to Malaga airport, everybody's queueing for the bloody toilet, and queueing for the bloody half-customs officers, and queueing for the bloody bus that isn't there, waiting to take you to the hotel that hasn't yet been built. When you finally get to the half-built Algerian ruin called the Hotel Limassol, while paying half the holiday money to a license Spaniard in a taxi, there's no water in the pool, there's no water in the bath, there's no water in the tap, there's only a bleeding lizard in the bidet, and half the rooms are doublebooked, and you can't sleep anyway, 'cause the permanent are in the jungles in the hotel next door. Meanwhile, the Spanish National Tourist Board promises that the raging cholera epidemic is merely a mild outbreak of the Spanish Conleigh, while the like of the previous outbreak in 1616 even the bloody rats are dying from it!


Graham Chapman: (Ready to start the next sketch) As early as the late 14th century, or indeed as late as the early 14th century, the earliest forms of japes were divisible in...

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Meanwhile, the bloody guardia are arresting 16-yearolds for kissing in the streets -(something you can't make out) - everybody's buying awful little horrid donkeys with their names on, I can't tell you the -(something else I can't make out)- and when you finally get to Manchester, there's only another bloody bus to carry you another 60 miles...


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Slapstick Lessons


Graham Chapman: As early as the late 14th century or indeed as late as the early 14th century, the earliest forms of jape were divisible into the two categories in which I now intend to divide them. The earliest manifestation of the of the basic simple precipitation jest incurred, as will be seen from the demonstration, a disproportional amount of internal resibility on the part of the operator.

Terry Jones falling after tripping on Michael Palin's leg: [Bladonk]

Graham Chapman: The secondary precipitation occurs when both protagonists and dupe are located indoors. It is true, however, that this has involved the development of a special piece of machinery. But it is still no more than a simple variation of primary precipitation.

Terry Jones falling after down after failing to sit down on a chair held by Terry Gilliam: [Bladonk]

Graham Chapman: The opening-up of the African continent revealed a vast new source of wealth for humourous exploitation. We are to see demonstrated how this was adapted to the basic precipitation jape.

Michael Palin: [Cough]

Graham Chapman: We now come on to a considera... [Cough] [Cough] We now come on to a consideration of the more sophisticated transitive mode of japing, in which as we'll observe, the operator or inceptor remains totally unaware of the humorous implications of his action. First...first we are to see the simple sideswipe or "wop."

Michael Palin: Hey, Vance!

Terry Jones being knocked down by Terry Gilliam's wooden board: [Bladonk]

Graham Chapman: Next, the "sideswipe and return."

Michael Palin: Hey, Vance!

Terry Jones being knocked down by Terry Gilliam's wooden board: [Bladonk] [Bladonk]

Graham Chapman: And now, the "double sideswipe and return."

Graham Chapman: Hey, Vance!

Terry Jones and Michael Palin being knocked down by Terry Gilliam's wooden board: [Bladonk] [Bladonk] [Bladonk][Bladonk]

Graham Chapman: Popular as this jest has always been, however, it cannot compare with the ribald connotations associated with the dispatch of an edible missile. First...first the simple straightforward "offensive deposit."

Michael Palin throwing a pie in Terry Jones's face: [Blafs]

Graham Chapman: Second...second the simple "sideways offensive deposit."

Terry Gilliam throwing a pie at Terry Jones sideways: [Blafs]

Graham Chapman: Next, the simple "surprise deposit."

Michael Palin throwing a pie in Terry Jones's face: [Blafs]

Graham Chapman: And now, the "foul pie."

Terry Gilliam pressing a pie into Terry Jones's abdominal areas: [Blafs]

Graham Chapman: Uh, could we have new pies, please? Finally, finally we move on to the interesting but little known variant normally designated the "three-course complex."

Terry Gilliam throwing a pie into Michael Palin's face: [Blafs]

Michael Palin throwing a pie into Terry Jones's face: [Blafs]

Michael Palin and Terry Gilliam simultaneously pressing pies into Terry Jones's face: [Face]

Graham Chapman: But...but finally we must not forget the enjoyment, the satisfaction, and the edification to be derived from the simple straightforward "sideways completely unexpected deposit."

Graham Chapman pressing a pie into John Cleese's face: [Blafs]


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Children's Hour


CHILDREN'S HOUR

Storyteller: Once upon a time there was a little house in a dark forest. In this house lived a humble woodcutter and his wife and their pretty daughter, Little Red Riding Hood.And in the middle of this deep, dark forest, there lived a vicious wolf! One day Little Red Riding Hood set off to take some things to her old grandmother who lived deep in the forest. The vicious wolf saw Little Red Riding Hood and thought: "She looks very good to eat!" "Where are you going my, pretty one?" "Oh, kind sir, to my grandmother's." "Ha, ha, ha, ha!" smirked the wicked wolf and dashed off through the forest to grandmother's house. "Knock, knock, knock" went the wicked wolf. The door opened wide, but it wasn't grandmother who opened it. It was Buzz Aldrin, America's #2 spaceman! For this was not Granny's little house at all, but the headquarter of NASA, the American space research agency. The wicked wolf was shot by security guards. [bang bang] So all was quiet in the forest again. The humble woodcutter and his wife sold their story to Der Speigel for 40,000 DM. NASA agreed to limit the number of nuclear tests in Granny's little house to two on Thursdays and one on Saturdays after tea.


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Dead Bishop


Wife: Liberal rubbish! What do you want with your jugged fish, Klaus?

Husband: Pardon, my wide-thighed plum?

Wife: What do you want with your jugged fish, you clothied git?

Husband: Halibut!

Wife: The jugged fish is halibut!

Husband: All right. What fish do you have that is not jugged?

Wife: Uuh, rabbit.

Husband: What, rabbit fish?

Wife: Well, it's all covered in fur.

Husband: Well, is it dead?

Wife: Well, it was coughing up blood last night.

Husband: All right, I'll have the dead, unjugged rabbit fish.

Female Voice: One dead, unjugged rabbit fish later.

[ONE DEAD UNJUGGED RABBIT FISH LATER]

Husband: Apalling!

Wife: Oh, you're always complaining.

Husband: What's for afterwards?

Wife: Well, there's rat pie, rat pudding, rat sorbet or, uh, strawberry tart.

Husband: Strawberry tart?

Wife: Well, uh, it's got some rat in it.

Husband: How much?

Wife: Six. Rather a lot really.

Husband: I'll have a slice without so much rat in it.

Female Voice: One slice of strawberry tart without so much rat in it later.

[ONE SLICE OF STRAWBERRY TART WITHOUT SO MUCH RAT IN IT LATER]

Husband: Apalling!

Wife: "Moan, moan, moan!"

Son: Hello, mom! Hello, dad!

Husband: Hello, son!

Son: There's a dead bishop on the landing!

Wife: Where...where's he from?

Son: What do you mean?

Wife: What's his diocese?

Son: Well, he looked a bit Canterburyish to me.

Husband: I'll go and have a look.

Wife: I don't know who's bringing them here.

Son: Well, it's not me.

Wife: I put three out by the trashcans last week and the garbagemen won't touch them.

Husband: It's the bishop of Leicester!

Wife: How do you know?

Husband: Tatooed on the back of his neck! I think I'd better call the police!

Wife: Should you call the church?

Son: Call the church police!

Husband: That's a good idea! The church police!

Michael Palin: Hello! What's all this then? Amen!

Wife: Are you the church police?

Church Police: Oh, yes!

Wife: There's another dead bishop on the landing, sergeant!

Michael Palin: Detective ----, madam! What is he? R.C. or ----?

Wife: How should I know?

Michael Palin: Tatooed on the back of their neck! Here, is that rat tart?

Wife: Oh, uh, yes.

Michael Palin: Disgusting! Right, men! The hunt is on! Let us kneel in prayer! Oh, Lord!

Church Police: Oh, Lord, we beseach thee. Tell us who croaked the Bishop of Leicester.

The Almighty Powers of God: [Thunder]

Angels' Choir: [Chant]

God: The one in the braces, he done it.

Angels' Choir: [Chant]

Husband: It's a fair cop, but society is to blame.

Michael Palin: Right, we'll arrest them instead!

John Cleese: Come on, you! Are you in society? Are you in society?

Wife: Ho, ho, ho, ho...

Michael Palin: Right, we'd like to conclude this arrest with a hymn.

Michael Palin :
All thing's bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small.
All thing's bright and wonderful...


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The Lumberjack


Lumberjack: I never wanted to be in such a shambledy sketch. I always wanted to be...a lumberjack! Leaping from tree to tree...as they float down the mighty rivers of British Columbia! The larch...the redwood...the mighty sequoia...with my best girl by my side! The giant deadwood, the spruce...the little Californian root tree! We'd sing, sing, sing!

Lumberjack :
I'm a lumberjack and I'm OK, I sleep all night and I work all day.

Choir & Girl :
He's a lumberjack and he's OK, he sleeps all night and he works all day.

Lumberjack :
I cut down trees, I eat my lunch, I go to the lavatory.
On Wednesdays I go shopping, and have buttered scones for tea.

Choir :
He cuts down trees, he eats his lunch, he goes to the lavatory.
On Wednesdays he goes shopping, and has buttered scones for tea.

Lumberjack :
I'm a lumberjack and I'm OK, I sleep all night and I work all day.

Choir :
He's a lumberjack and he's OK, he sleeps all night and he works all day.

Lumberjack :
I cut down trees, I skip and jump, I like to press wild flowers.
I put on women's clothing, and hang around in bars.

Choir :
He cuts down trees, he skips and jumps, he likes to press wild flowers.
He puts on women's clothing, and hangs around in bars?

Lumberjack:
I'm a lumberjack and I'm OK, I sleep all night and I work all day .

Choir & Girl :
He's a lumberjack and he's OK, he sleeps all night and he works all day.

Lumberjack :
I cut down trees, I wear high heels, suspenders and a bra.
I wish I'd been a girlie, just like my dear papa.

Choir :
He cuts down trees, he wears high heels, suspenders and a bra?

John Cleese: What kind of god damn fairy cunny fairy faggot...

All except Girl :
I'm a lumberjack and I'm OK, I sleep all night and I work all day.
I'm a lumberjack and I'm OK!


Get the ENTIRE Lumberjack song (2 minutes and 47 seconds long) HERE (407K)


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Closing Credits


MONTY
PYTHONS
FLYING CIRCUS

[Liberty Bell March- John Philip Sousa]

Concert Film
Produced and
Directed by
TERRY HUGHES

Filmed Sequences
Directed by
IAN MACNAUGHTON

Post Production Director and Editor
JULIAN DOYLE

Executive Producer
DENIS O'BRIEN

Concert Film Co-Producer
JAMES RICH, JR.

HOLLYWOOD BOWL

Production Coordinator
ANNE HENSHAW

Stage Manager
MOLLIE KIRKLAND

Production Design
JOHN MACGRAW

and
JOHN MILES

Sound
STAN MILLER

Wardrobe
DAY MURCH
HAZEL PETHIG

Props
CHARLES KNOBE
BILL PEIRCE

Make up
VE NEILL
MAGGIE WESTON

Promotion
CLOG HOLDING and
LARRY WALLON

Press
PATTI WRIGHT

Python's U.S. Coordinator
NANCY LEWIS

Music Production
ANDRE JACQUEMIN

Title Music
JOHN DUPREZ

and
RAY COOPER

CONCERT FILM

Edited By
JIMMY B. FRAZIER

Lighting Design By
WILLIAM KLAGES

Video Control
JOHN B. FIELD
JOHN PALACIO

Audio Recordist
ED GREEN

Script Supervisor
SANDRA PEARSON

Unit Manager
DAVID R. HORNE

Production Manager
STEVE TERRY

[The End]

Technical Directors
JOHN B. FIELD
JIMMY B. FRAZIER
KEN HOLLAND
GARY MATZ

Camera Operators
DAVE HILMER
MIKE KEELER
JOHN LEE
DAVE LEVISOHN
WAYNE ORR

Technical Operations
Supervisor
STEVE DEAVER

Videotape Operator
BILL CONROY

Maintenance
BILL FEIGHTNER
BERT WEYL

Assistant Audio
JEFF FECTEAU
CHRIS SEIDENGLANZ
LARRY STEPHENS

RTS Phonelines
KENNETH NUNN

Camera Assistance
DAN ANDRESEN
JOHN MAYON

Audio Utility
RICH BROWN
MIKE WILSON

Audio Re-Recording
JERRY CLEMANS

Opticals Designed By
C.D. TAYLOR

Rear Projection
BACKGROUND ENGINEEERS

Assistant
Videotape Editors
MARK BERNEY
KEN LASKI

Production Associate
JOANNE FISH

[The End]

Recorded in Imagevision By
COMPACT VIDEO
SERVICES, INC.

[Piss Off]

Concert Film Assembly
ARDEN RYNEN

Post Production Supervisor
SANDRA PEARSON

With Thanks To
MARTY FELDMAN
ANGUS JAMES
DAVID LIPSCOMB
TIM BROOKE-TAYLOR
ARISTA RECORD, INC.
CHARISMA RECORDS LTD.

[Piss Off]

Staged
and
Presented by
MONTY PYTHON

COPYRIGHT 1982
THE MONTY PYTHON BEGGING BOWL PARTNERSHIP
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No. 26740
THIS PICTURE MADE UNDER

THE JURISDICTION OF

MOTION PICTURE ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA

THE CHARACTERS AND INCIDENTS PORTRAYED AND THE NAMES USED HEREIN
ARE FICTITIOUS, AND ANY SIMILARITY TO THE NAME, CHARACTER OR HISTORY
OF ANY PERSON IS ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL AND UNINTENTIONAL

THIS MOTION PICTURE PHOTOPLAY IS PROTECTED PURSUANT TO THE PROVISIONS OF THE
LAWS OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA AND OTHER COUNTRIES. ANY UNAUTHORIZED
DUPLICATION AND/OR DISTRIBUTION OF THIS PHOTOPLAY MAY RESULT
IN CIVIL LIABILITY AND CRIMINAL PROSECUTION