So I don't live in London. I wasn't lucky enough to be one of the people who got tickets in less than sixty seconds after they went on sale. Hell, I couldn't get tickets to the live simulcast at the movie theater at Union Square in the city; I had to get tickets for the rebroadcast of the final show four days later. So it was a lot less special than actually being at O2 when those final shows were performed. You get what you pay for. (I didn't even get a totally raucous crowd, with almost everyone dressing up in some fashion: a few Gumbys here and there, perhaps, and a wee bit of singing along, but if you're in Greenwich Village you expect more silliness.)
I took my eldest (fourteen) to see the rebroadcast. We had a great time, really. She doesn't know all the words yet -- but that's probably because I haven't shared them all with her, since her younger sister has no self-control, and would suddenly start singing "Sit on my face" at her elementary school. She was in joyous disbelief at the arrangement of "Every Sperm is Sacred." (So was I.) The "cameo" by Stephen Hawking after the universe song was a highlight for her, too. (Yes, she's a nerd. Apple doesn't fall too far from the tree.) And she loved the passion I brought to the singing: "Emmanual Kant/was a real pissant," etc.
But let's face it: this was really the Eric Idle Show, with sets by Terry G., with Michael, John, and Terry J. showing up and not always hitting their marks. (The live show grew out of Idle's solo performances "Eric Idle Exploits Monty Python," and it showed.) The musical numbers were terrific, and hilariously choreographed. Gilliam's set designs were inspired and sick. The use of video was in keeping with previous live shows, taking on a certain poignancy because of the late Graham Chapman's presence in them. (Nice of them to feature a moment of his as The Colonel.) Other members of the crew stepped in for some of the sketches in which Chapman originally appeared, like the classic "Four Yorkshiremen." The Anne Elk (Miss) sketch was a pleasant surprise. And after all these years, who can resist Carol Cleveland asking, would you like an argument or a blow job?
The best parts of the sketches, however, often happened when they went slightly awry, or made a few nudge-nudge (not to say "Nudge Nudge") jokes, like when the one gay high court judge asked the other, "did you handle the Cleese divorce," receiving the reply, "which one?" When Cleese mocked Jones as he read the label of the Whizzo chocolate ingredients for Crunchy Frog and they horsed around with the label card, as Gilliam, as the Constable, began his grotesque reactions; when halfway through "Nudge Nudge" Eric finally realized his mustache was half-off; When Cleese and Palin mocked their ineptitude during the oddly combined "Dead Parrot/Cheese Shop" sketch; these were funnier because they showed them actually thinking on their feet, which they can still do, despite their ages. Cleese's voice is pretty shot at this point: too many "HELLO POLLY" screams from a generation ago probably haven't helped. Palin's Gumby flower arrangement worked mainly as nostalgia (I still miss the Brain Specialist). The Bruces' pre-song chatter was less amusing, though seeing Carol dressed up as "Punk Bruce" was fun. (In the old days, they tossed real cans of Foster's to the crowd; this time, it was just Foster's can-shaped pillows.) Gilliam did seem to be enjoying himself a lot, I must say.
The rock at the center of this craziness was Idle; he sings most of the songs (Palin gets "I'm a Lumberjack" this time, as he did on the tv show) and is clearly directing things on the stage. The newer song material, like the silly walk song and the added lyrics to the "isn't it nice to have a penis" song, are his, and fit in well enough. He's a presence throughout the show, despite the several sketches featuring just Cleese and Palin (and one featuring just Cleese and Jones, the "penguin on the telly" sketch), where he is no doubt changing costume. It's he who speaks on behalf of the group as they prepare to sing the finale, "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life," which has become a standard in its own way. (A whole generation or three of us hope that at whatever memorials are given in our honor, everyone will sing and whistle it.) And it's just so damn irrepressible, as is the joy I felt as I walked out of the theater, even though I think that if given a choice of two sets of old geezers, I'd probably take the Stones over these guys. There is also something about passing the silly torch on to the young-uns, and while I might not have given my kids a tragic love for my Mets, at least they can converse in Dead Parrot.
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