I feel presumptuous, questioning the motives or actions of someone who is, without argument or equivocation, enshrined in the absolute comedy empyrean. The man, I hardly need to remind you, gave us "Wink wink, nudge nudge" as well as brave Sir Robin. And "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life". If none of these have ever tickled your funny bone then you are pretty much a complete loser.
But for the love of Terry Gilliam's animated God, he needs to give it a rest. There's something depressing, something I find really disheartening, in Idle's relentless flogging of the Python mythos for various mass-media projects. I don't care if he relies on the reputation of his previous work-- holy Christ, is he ever entitled. But by continually churning it up, repackaging it, and presenting it in new (actually not-so-new) guises, he's watering down one of the things that made Python so incredibly... incredible.
After The Eric Idle Exploits Monty Python Tour, The Greedy Bastard Tour, Spamalot, and the Not the Messiah (He's a Very Naughty Boy) cavalcade, not to mention Python getting its own Ben & Jerry's ice cream flavor, it's all no longer even close to strange. It's certainly no longer surprising. (Well, obviously. That happens to all work, given time. But I think you get my point). The original motivation behind Python was an exasperated raspberry blown at the boring, repetitive structure of scene, setup, punchline, scene, setup, punchline. Not to mention the almost surreal levels of inanity in the British power and social structure. In a nutshell, it was supposed to be subversive, bizarre, flirting with inaccessible. All the writers of the show were determined to avoid the knee-jerk, catchphrase writing they had been exposed to growing up.
But now, well, look:
Oh goody! "An Evening Without Monty Python"! Another chance to hear the same damn sketches over and over and over again, stripped of context and pigeonholed into the exact same fucking format they were trying to break in the first place. The reviewer seems to get the exact same sense of vague nausea that I do off the whole thing, citing Terry Jones: "The fact that Pythonesque is now a word in the Oxford English Dictionary shows the extent to which we failed."
I'm being hidebound and reactionary, I can tell. My nose is pointing up towards the ceiling. But look at Michael Palin. You wouldn't exactly imagine "An Evening With Michael Palin: He Does His Compere Impression For an Hour and a Half". Or the Spanish Inquisition Revue. Nope. He dropped the whole thing, worked on "Ripping Yarns" (well worth a look in its own right), and is now primarily known for his funny and engaging travelogues. Point is, he's doing his own thing. Terry Gilliam works on his ever-so-slightly unusual films. Graham Chapman died. All original, fresh moves. But Idle's still mining the same ore. At this rate, I sullenly (with the tinge of satisfaction everyone gets from being in dudgeon) predict the Meaning of Life off-Broadway show, musical, dance cycle, placemat, or home entertainment board game.
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