"It's awfully kind of you to address me as 'Sir', but you really don't have to" – Sir Michael Palin says to me as we sit down for a talk at his favorite Soho club in the heart of London. "I hardly ever use that title, perhaps only when I want to order a good place in a restaurant."
How ironic that the man who played the part of the rather silly knight who says "Ni" in the classic movie "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" – ended up receiving a knighthood from the British monarchy. "Yes, that is rather strange," he laughs, "Who would have thought that such a ludicrous knight would turn into a real knight? I had absolutely no inkling that this would happen to me. Comedians are not usually awarded knighthoods."
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But the man sitting opposite me is no ordinary comedian: Michael Palin is one of the most important figures in the history of 20th-century humor. The man who established the most popular comic group in the history of television and cinema, who elevated the nonsense genre to the level of art and created movies that are quoted by millions the world over, can definitely contentedly sit back and relax in his armchair and look back at the chaos that he and his crazy comedy troupe brought to television in the late 1960s. This is the second time that we have met for an interview and this time we are meeting on the occasion of his 80th birthday. Our conversation took place prior to the events of October 7, when nobody imagined what the future held in store. This was a time when it was still possible to hark back to a completely different period in time.
From "Monty Python's Flying Circus", 1972:
Compere: "Good evening, and welcome to this year's finals of the All-England Summarize Proust Competition, where each contestant this evening has a maximum of fifteen seconds to sum up 'A La Recherche du Temps Perdu'. So let's crack straight on with our first contestant tonight, Harry Bagot. And Harry, what are your hobbies outside summarizing?"
Contestant: "Well, strangling animals, golf and masturbating."
Voice Over: Well, there he goes. Harry Bagot. He must have let himself down a bit on the hobbies... golf's not very popular around here, but never mind, a good try."
This amusing and somewhat disturbing sketch is only one of an endless number of cult sketches that were created in the "Flying Circus" program, that was the brainchild of Palin and his fellow comedian, John Cleese. They brought in four more members to form the team: Graham Chapman, Eric Idle, Terry Jones and the animator Terry Gilliam. Together, they cooked up a form of radical nonsense that was completely new to the world of entertainment at the time. Based on sketches lacking a clear punch line, jaggedly interrupted scenes, stark, bare-bottom nudity and surrealistic animation, the Pythons took the prudish English by storm with a new genre of humor, completely lacking any logical backbone.
You called your first episode "Whither Canada?", but there is absolutely no mention of Canada throughout the entire episode. And when you were asked why you chose this title – your reply was that this sounds like the dullest and most boring documentary film in the world.
"Exactly," he giggles in satisfaction.
It appears as though you almost attempted to push the audience away, but whatever you did the audience came back for more.
"Look, in order to understand it you really need to have a good look at television at that time. It really went out of its way to play up to the audience. The presenters were extremely smug and the screen was full of smiles and positivity. And I thought that there must be a considerable audience, especially the young, which said to itself, 'Wait a second, it isn't really meant to be so artificially sweet or corny. What would happen if something were to go wrong during the broadcast? That is something we would really like to see.'"
And you provided them with that disruption. You took the trouble of traveling to the distant mountains just in order to film a shot of the view with a Viking, only for the announcer to declare: "We apologize for that unrelated scene. We shall now go back to the studio."
"We loved to do the most inexplicable things. On the other hand, the program was actually scripted from A to Z. We sat around the table and somebody would interject: 'Let's cut the scene with the Viking who says something stupid' – and that was the link to the next sketch. We did certain things very quickly too. For example, in one of the sketches I play a TV presenter, and when the camera moves to film him, it passes by a set with enormous lettering stating, 'Is the Queen sane?', just for the briefest of moments. If you blink you miss it. That might be why people tend to watch the 'Flying Circus' more than once."
But if there was no underlying logic to what you did then why was it such a success?
"Note that our work involved a strange mix: on the one hand we did have conventional, classic sketches, while on the other hand – there were short pieces, not fully hashed out, that might well have remained on the cutting room floor in other programs. We actually went out of our way to ensure that they were included. At the time, there were some extremely successful satires and sitcoms on television, but the 'Flying Circus' was assembled from a variety of disjointed scenes that were mixed up by us in a manner and structure that had not previously existed, and that nobody knew how to do."
Where it all began – in Oxford
Michael Palin was born in the gray industrial city of Sheffield in South Yorkshire. Already as a young boy he liked to appear and declaim Shakespearian monologues to his mother. He grew up with the famous BBC radio program "The Goon Show", starring Peter Sellers and Spike Milligan, and at school he gained a reputation as a skillful impersonator of the teachers. His conservative father feared that his son might end up as a theater actor lacking stability and any serious future, while his mother actually encouraged him to develop in the direction that he wanted.
His father was certainly comforted by the fact that the young Palin was accepted to study history at Oxford, but the truth is that his attention was diverted to another part of the university – the "Oxford Revue", the Oxford students' exclusive theater club. It was here that he met his good friend Terry Jones, and they began to appear together. In 1965, he was invited to appear on his first TV show "NOW!", and together with Jones he began to write for the acclaimed program of David Frost. Here the two first met the rest of the future Monty Python cast. Although the TV series that they went on to create in 1969 is now considered to be a masterpiece – the beginning was far from an easy one.
"When we began to create the 'Flying Circus', we were very concerned about the question of who would sit down and watch such content, to whom it would be relevant. The BBC invited an audience to watch us during filming in the studio, but they did not know what our content would be, so they brought in an audience that usually came to see conventional comedy programs – and it consisted of mainly elderly women, who were totally embarrassed by our jokes. So that the first three or four programs caused us to feel slightly uneasy. We thought that we would complete the first series and would not be asked to continue, that it would be a total flop. It took time for the program to win over an audience that like it, but in the end we managed to find our following."
On occasions, you would finish a sketch with one of the participants turning to the camera, saying: "This is the silliest sketch I've ever been in. I am going." Perhaps the most unique feature of your sketches was the fact that they contradicted themselves: on the one hand you had an urge to create a sketch, and on the other hand – there was an urge to destroy it, and it was this diametric struggle that attracted the audience.
"That is a completely accurate description of Monty Python. It is interesting – the program really did pull in opposing directions. On the one hand we thought what would make the audience laugh, but at the same time we also tried to think what would challenge it. Sometimes, sketches were born that appear as though they were leading somewhere, but eventually they were devoid of any meaning. For example, the extremely long sketch about the cheese shop. John Cleese enters the shop to buy and I am the seller. He asks if we have Camembert and I reply 'No, sorry.' He asks if we have Cheddar and I reply, 'Not today, sorry, sir.' After that he asks if we have Roquefort and I say to him 'The cat has eaten it, sorry.' For several minutes, he mentions the names of dozens of cheeses, and it slowly becomes apparent that the shop doesn't stock even a single type of cheese. Nothing. So, the sketch is gradually emptied of content until it remains devoid of meaning."
So perhaps this approach of ruining your own sketch actually helped you to become non-didactic comedians, as you were not obliged to convey any message or arrive at any moral.
"Precisely, we did not seek to be didactic. We told the directors at the BBC 'We don't wish to be didactic,' and they replied: What do you mean by didactic?' We had apparently completely lost them."
At first glance, Palin appears to be a courteous British gentleman, a typical Oxford graduate who acts in accordance with the kingdom's code of manners or etiquette. But that impression is not indicative of his history, as the person who moved the cheese of the British nation and served them content that nobody had dared to deal with beforehand.
One of the most famous sketches that is identified with him is the "Gay Lumberjack" sketch, about a hairdresser who leaves his job and begins to sing: "I'm a lumberjack and I'm ok," with a choir of Canadian Mounties (mounted police) accompanying him in the background. During the song he tells of how at nights he wears women's clothing, and the choir is forced to repeat this in the chorus. As the text becomes even more explicit ("I wear high heels, suspenders and a bra...and hang around in bars"), the choir feels extremely uncomfortable and leaves. There isn't a single Briton who cannot hum this tune unaided.
How did you write it?
"First of all, you sit down and write. We used to work in pairs and I wrote with Terry Jones. I liked the idea of a hairdresser attending to clients at his salon but you could see that he has a pathological homicidal problem. He is smeared in blood and his hands are shaking due to a strong desire to murder his clients. And then we asked ourselves where this will lead in the end, and we took it towards the direction of the lumberjacks."
Why on earth did you take it in that direction?
"I'll tell you why – because we didn't know how to lead into the next sketch. Suddenly, we thought that perhaps the homicidal barber would turn to the audience and say: 'I didn't want to be a barber anyway... I wanted to be...' And then we asked ourselves – what is the most ridiculous thing that a barber might want to be? So, we replied to ourselves – what about a lumberjack?"
So, it just came into your head?
"Yes, it just came into our heads. And then you think to yourself: What does a lumberjack actually do? He goes out into the forest and cuts down trees. So maybe that's worth a song? Yes! Let's go and turn it into a nice small musical! So, essentially, the lumberjack song was born out of the fact that we had no end to the story of the homicidal barber. And that is how it developed, with his girlie by his side. And if we are to apply your theory regarding our brand of humor, the internal tension inside the sketch itself – then everything ends with the fact that the crowd throws eggs at him shouting 'Get out of here!'".
And immediately you read out a letter sent to the BBC with a complaint about broadcasting your own sketch.
"Exactly, we used to read out lots of letters of complaint against ourselves during the program. That was a refreshing little technique that we would use. It preempted the audience by the very fact that we would initiate the complaint against ourselves."
And thus, you took the sting out of any genuine complaints against you.
"Exactly," Palin smiles merrily.
Your material included quite a lot of references to LGBT issues, which was relatively rare back in 1969.
"I think that we addressed this as it was the sort of topic that would shock people, and one of my favorite sketches is the one with the police officer whom I invite to come back to my place. It's interesting to think about this in the context of what is going on nowadays. As we may definitely say that many police officers at the time were from the gay community, so what is actually strange about that? But, back then, it was the accepted approach that police officers could not be homosexuals, and they were even possibly perceived as being anti-gay. So, seeing such a dialogue take place – that was probably a serious shock to the viewers. I knew that it would make the audience laugh. We tried to push the boundaries and test the limits without being too insulting, but by way of creating extremely stupid situations."
People are more easily insulted today in the era of the politically correct.
"PC is a new type of establishment. When we founded the Monty Python comedy troupe in the late 1960's, the establishment was the military, the church, politicians, members of government. These were the people who had brought us out of the war and rebuilt the state, and so they were considered to be respectable. But for the young people at that time, it was most boring to hear the same voices telling you time and time again what is right and what is good. Laughing at them was definitely a daring act of audacity.
"Now there is a different type of establishment: People are able to broach any topic, but they speak about it with a considerable degree of seriousness. In other words, they can watch the sketch and then say, 'Why can't a police officer do what he wants in terms of his sexuality?' And so on. That is the new establishment. Therefore, I think that if you desire to create new comedy – it will now be extremely difficult for you. You will have to take into account the fact that there are people who might be easily hurt from what you have to say."
A direct confrontation with the bishop
And when Palin talks about humor that might hurt the audience's feelings – he knows what he's talking about, as this is his specialty. Among others, thanks to the box office hit that he created, "The Life of Brian", that ridicules the clergy and those people who blindly follow spiritual leaders. The movie stirred up a global fuss, causing the clergy's best to come together and issue decrees prohibiting its followers from watching it. In practice, this prohibition generated excellent public relations for the film and it became the group's most profitable venture.
One of the most famous scenes features an inflamed and frenzied crowd, which mistakenly believes that an innocent nobody by the name of Brian is the Messiah. When he tries to explain to this crowd that he is not a holy person, the following, memorable dialogue takes place:
Brian: Look, you've got it all wrong! You don't need to follow me. You don't need to follow anybody!
You've got to think for yourselves! You're all individuals!"
Crowd: [in unison] "Yes! We're all individuals!"
Brian: "You're all different!
Crowd: [in unison]: "Yes! We are all different!"
Man in crowd: "I'm not!"
"When the film was first released in 1979, I was invited along with John Cleese to appear on a late-night talk show to discuss it and to confront two additional guests: a bishop and a satirist by the name of Malcom Muggeridge, who changed his spots completely from a liberal art-loving person to a radical religious conservative. And what then happened in this broadcast was extremely interesting – the bishop slammed us and scoffed at us. He leaned back arrogantly and gave off an air of 'Well, dear audience, after all, I am the bishop! I am the man that you should all believe in. The men sitting opposite me might be quite pleasant, but they are foolish children engaged in buffoonery, and you shouldn't attribute any importance to them.' The thing is that he was completely wrong," stresses Palin.
"At that time, the audience did not believe that a bishop should be the one to tell them what is funny and what is not, or what should be considered to be good taste. At that point, I felt that something significant had changed in England, and that the audience was on our side. I understood that this bishop would never be able to convince the audience with the sort of arguments he was putting forward. It was a crowning moment."
Weren't you afraid to create such a movie?
"Maybe a bit, but that is precisely the sort of thing that spurs us on to move ahead and create."
Today's trend of political correctness appears to be unsure as just how to deal with the Pythons of yesteryear. A few years ago, the BBC's director of comedy said: ""If you're going to assemble a team now, it's not going to be six Oxbridge white blokes. It's going to be a diverse range of people who reflect the modern world."
Palin responds to this with some degree of unease: "What can I say about something like that? That's apparently true. Here, you hear what the program director has to say. It is something that apparently he let slip, and he is probably right. 'Diversity' means allowing people from different backgrounds to take part. I assume that this is what he was referring to. So, there you are, we are six blokes who all come from the same background, and don't forget – we are also from the privileged classes!"
Precisely, you all came from Oxford and Cambridge.
"It's actually even worse than that. I assume that if we had been six plumbers from the West End, then the BBC would have said 'Oh, that's an interesting idea.'"
It sounds like one of your sketches.
"Correct. I think that that might me the reason why Monty Python are still relevant."
Reunion for septuagenarians
After the Monty Python period came to an end, Palin became the presenter of a travelog series, "Around The World In 80 Days", which was broadcast on the BBC, and appeared in acclaimed movies such as "Brazil" and "A Fish Called Wanda." Later on, he presented an exclusive documentary series on his favorite artists. Following the death of Graham Chapman in 1989, the Pythons swore that they would never get back together again. In 2014, they broke this oath when they put on ten shows at the O2 arena in London. The 16 thousand tickets for the first show were sold out within 43 seconds, and all the other shows too were sold out within similar short periods of time.
When I ask him about the event, Palin beams: "That was an extraordinary experience, first and foremost in terms of the audience. The number of people there was simply huge. Monty Python had never appeared before so many people. Initially I was concerned, I thought to myself: How in hell will we be able to appear in such a giant stadium with our intimate sketches such as the 'Dead Parrot' sketch and the 'Argument Clinic'? After all, these are sketches that are built on fine nuances. But, once we got up on stage there was a tremendous roar from the crowd, and I understood that they were simply overjoyed to see us all there. We hadn't appeared together since 1980. I also came to understand that attaining the required level of precision with the text is perhaps not the most important thing – what is really important is simply going out and enjoying yourself. It is important to remember that we were all already 70 years-old or more, and for some of us the very act of climbing the steps onto the stage was tiring in itself. But we did feel that we were returning to our days as young men.
"Listen, it was absolutely inconceivable. Seeing the audience giving us a standing ovation that lasted for so long... It is something that doesn't really happen, like in a bizarre dream. Most of my dreams are usually just the opposite – I dream that I am on stage and can't remember my lines, but on that occasion I felt as close as possible to genuinely understanding just what Monty Python meant for many people. My wife, Helen, who only rarely came to see productions that I was involved in, came almost on every evening."
When we met before the performance back in 2014, you told me that you had all decided to get back together so that Terry Jones would be able to pay off his mortgage, that the reunion was driven by financial needs.
"Yes, the truth is that this was indeed the main reason why we did it. But in this case, Terry Jones' mortgage actually turned out to be something positive."
Did you know that this would mark the end of Monty Python?
"Yes, absolutely. I am probably the most extreme of the entire Python troupe in this respect. I thought that the curtain had come down on Monty Python back in 1983, following our last film, 'The Meaning of Life'. So, at the end of our reunion shows I said to myself that this was in essence a farewell tour. I think that during the eighth show, I stood with John Cleese behind the scenes and he said to me: 'Listen, I don't think I want to continue doing many more of these, I am starting to get a bit bored.' But in the end we didn't get bored. We stopped at the right time."
Although the Pythons have ceased performing their humor is still considered to be cult classic, in Israel too. The Monty Python's Flying Circus TV series is streaming on Netflix, and an extremely lavish and well-produced show named "The Passion of Monty Python" put on by Israel's Revolution Orchestra has just premiered, featuring virtuoso orchestral adaptations of the famous sketches, conducted by Roy Oppenheim and with original music by Zohar Sharon, with the approval of the original troupe. This is an absolute must for all Python fans. Palin; however, is already busy working on other projects.
What are you working on at the moment?
"I spent the last three years, during the pandemic, writing a book entitled "Great Uncle Harry". It tells the story of a relative with whom I was not at all familiar – my grandfather's brother. I first stumbled across his name when I was going through a collection of family documents and suddenly a photo emerged of a man with a wide-brimmed hat known as a 'lemon-squeezer', looking at the camera. I remember asking the family who this was and they replied that they don't know much about him. He was killed in the First World War. I asked myself what is going on here? How could we not know about a war hero in our own family? So, then I was faced with the challenge of attempting to research and find out what happened to him. The more I looked into it, the more fascinating the story became."
This last year has been the saddest in Palin's life. His wife Helen, to whom he was married for 57 years, passed away after a long struggle with chronic disease and suffering. She passed away only a few days prior to Michael Palin's 80th birthday, and instead of engaging in celebrations, Palin was forced to 'recalculate his route'.
"You have to reexamine what your function in life now is. I have known my wife for almost 60 years. I was half of 'Michael and Helen' – and now it's just me. She was such a deeply significant part of my life. Apart from our life together as a couple, she was the one person with whom I would always consult, and suddenly I am alone on this voyage. So, I ask myself: Where will I go now? In which direction?
"I know for certain that I wish to carry on working, it is very important, as my brain is still functioning, I hope," he chuckles. "And I am really fortunate that my work is so diverse, so that I receive interesting proposals of all types. Perhaps a film about an artist or a new book. I just hope that I will continue to do interesting things. I am extremely luck that there is much going on, that I don't have to stop working and that others don't allow me to stop working, which is equally as important. So that I assume that in a few years' time you and I will be able to sit down here again and talk."
For another interview.
"Yes, but I will probably come with a doctor to stand by my side."
I was just about to ask you how you are going to prepare for our next interview.
"I will prepare the coffin," he laughs.
Heaven forbid!
As we end our conversation, I surprise Palin with a birthday cake. He smiles with the innocent grin of a child before blowing out the candles. Before parting, I ask him something that only he would agree to – to autograph a book. Not his book, but the book of his colleague John Cleese. He laughs and does so happily, and we part with a hug. He takes another glance at the signed copy of the book that I am holding and says with a wry smile: "Well, that's probably the most valuable copy that Cleese will ever sell."
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