Monday, April 28, 2003
THE FIRST AMERICAN MONTY PYTHON
THE FIRST AMERICAN MONTY PYTHON FAN OF MY GENERATION
I. My Generation, Baby
The Baby Boom is often described as the demographic surge associated with the post-WWII era here in the US, starting in 1946 and usually ending, for some reason, in 1964. ‘64 was a big year for a lot of things, but it was a small year for birthing babies. Gen X typically lays claim to ‘64 through ‘80, but, just as the BBoom was skewed forward and my ‘64 cohorts didn’t really connect with those 20 years senior to ourselves, most Gen X’ers (such as they are) are younger than I am. I’m the old man to kids, and a kid to old men. I think of those born in my birthyear as “trough babies” - few in number, unbound to any greater group, we fell through the demographic cracks. That being so, I “identify” young. My cousin, three months older than I am, is about 10 years older than I am in every non-chronological way. Hell, I’m a blogger. So I proceed on the premise that I’m one of the first members of the post-baby-boom generation, rather than the youngest boomer in the trailer park.
II. Thank You For Inviting Me Into Your Home
In 1970 I was 6 years old when dad’s sabbatical came up. (Not a euphemism.) He took us all with him for six months in warm and sunny Oxford UK, where I learned many useful facts, bad habits and neuroses. I had school every day and an appropriate bedtime, which I respected without the need for my parents to resort to strongarm tactics.
But shortly after our arrival something unanticipated, unprecedented happened. It was nine pm, half an hour after my bedtime. I was awake in my cot in my dark room. From the living room next door I suddenly heard an hysterical sound - laughter, choking, gasps, and the dull regular thump of dad’s fist against the arm of his chair. I carefully snuck out to see what was going on, but mom and dad caught me and hustled me back to bed. It was the very first episode of Monty Python and it had taken out my dad. I was duly impressed.
The next day I tried to wheedle some information about the show I’d missed. It was hard to learn much but the name, which I found cheerfully nonsensical; mom would say a few words and toss up her hands in a gigglefit. Dad just said ‘it’s for grown-ups, they show naked people.’ This irresistably compelled me - I had to learn more. But for the remainder of the season I could only sit by the closed door of my bedroom and try to imagine what could be so funny as to render my parents speechless as they watched every episode with religious fervor.
III. Silly English K-nig-g-g-ht
I cherished the notion that Monty Python existed for years upon my return to the land of left-hand drive and the designated hitter. Mom and dad were impressed with my staying power. I would find out about this program. In late ‘73, And Now For Something Completely Different came out and a piece of it aired on a late-night show one Saturday night. I stayed up till 1 am to see John Cleese reading the news as his desk skittered around the grey english countryside. Then there was an animated boobie. It was hilarious, but I was too fascinated to laugh. At first.
In ‘75, Holy Grail came out. I saw it early in its run at a big theater in Westwood that had the actual wooden rabbit model on display in the lobby (yes, it’s only a model).
Despite its theretofore having been securely fastened to me, I laughed my ass completely off. I’d never seen anything remotely as funny. I paid to see it again three more times and bought the script, which I substantially memorized (including a lengthy and bizarre first draft which barely tracked the actual film at all). The film did so well in the States that PBS started “educating” us with the series itself. It was crude, vulgar, offensive, and sometimes unclad. I was in fifth grade. Mom and dad let me watch every second and I watched like a junky watches skag melt in a spoon. I bought records, including the extremely rare three-sided Matching Tie and Handkerchief. I bought books. I would recite, from memory, not just scenes but whole episodes. I knew, not just the Rutles, but the Rutland Weekend Television album and the Rutland Dirty Weekend book - and that was just Eric and Neil Innes! I was at the ‘Live at the Hollywood Bowl’ shows. I began to alienate even myself.
IV. My Hovercraft is Full of Eels
The fever broke sometime while I was in college, and now it’s been a long time since I’ve seen Grail. Even though the canonical episodes still sound familiar, I can’t quote along with them any more. But that’s okay, I’ve made my mark. I was the only fifth-grader in 1975 to be whistling the Liberty Bell March every day on my way to school, start to finish with raspberry. I can hear that berry even now. It’s the sound of freedom. In rude translation from the Hungarian.
