Monty Python ’3 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...
[J‘J‘]
AN NOUNCER: Monty Python ’3 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.
So let's have the item.
[J‘J‘]
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.
80, 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.
[J‘J‘]
He's really brave here.
[PHONE RING/NG]
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.
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 M U RMURS]
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.
Indeed. Indeed.
[CLEARS THROAT] Cutler, Staffordshire.
Urn... well, Mr. Chairman,
it's just that most of the members in Staffordshire
feel... whole thing's a bit silly.
Silly?!
Isuppose 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 Oh, 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: I Maybe it's because I'm a Londoner J‘
Good. Everything seems to be in order.
J‘ That I love London so J‘
Colonel. I'vejust 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'tjump! Don'tjump!
ALL: What?
ALL: Please don'tjump! Think of the little ones!
ALL: We weren't going to jump.
ALL: Don'tjump! The fire brigade's coming!
-ALL: What? -[SIREN WAILING]
ALL: Don'tjump! Don'tjump!
[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--
[:0 DUI" 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?
Itjust came right off the wall.
Really, sir?
Yes. |-- I didn't touch it.
Of course not. 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-- Shejust, 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. l-- I understand.
I mean, she-- She just, uh--
-She just fell? -Fell.
[SCREAMS]
[CRASHING]
Terribly sorry.
-That's him. -Right, sir.
Oh, hello, Officer.
Urn, 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]
J‘ Oh, Mr. Belpit J‘
J‘ Your legs are so swollen J‘
Excuse me. Is-- Is that the school hall?
Um, I'm sorry, I don't know. I'm not in this one.
l-- 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. -lsn'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.
-Jo||y 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.
What?
Ah, certainly, sir. Some stuffing.
-Oh. Thank you. -"Oh, thank you,"
says the queen, like a Ia-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. -[GRUNT|NG]
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 '3 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 da y,
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 '3 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 think that if Ken, uh, keeps his right up,
gets in with the Ieftjab,
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 '3 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]
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 day/ights out of a little schoolgirl.
It's quick, and it’s fun.
J‘ Raindrops keep falling On my head J‘
[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 498 to Babbacombe."
Oh, uh... there you are. Hello.
Urn, 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?
Urn...
Well, the same team will be back with you again next week
with another menu full of items.
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."