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Sex & Violence

[PANTING]

[FOOTSTEPS ON ROCK SURFACE]

[DOOR CLOSES]

[PANTING]

[POTS AND PANS RATTLING]

[PANTING]

It's...

ANNOUNCER: Monty Python's Flying Circus.

[♪]

[SHEEP BLEATING]

Ah. Good afternoon.

Afternoon.

Ah. Lovely day, isn't it?

Ah. 'Tis that.

Are you, uh, here on holiday or...?

No, no. I live here.

Oh, heh. Jolly good. Heh, heh.

I-I say, uh, those--

Those are sheep, aren't they?

Ah.

Yes, yes, of course, I thought so. Heh-heh.

Only, uh, why are they up in the trees?

A fair question. And one that, in recent weeks, has been much on my mind.

It's my considered opinion that they're nestin'.

Nesting?

-What? -Arr.

-L-like birds? -Arr.

Exactly. Birds is the key to the whole problem.

It's my belief that these sheep are laboring under the misapprehension that they're birds.

Observe their behavior.

Take for a start the sheep's tendency to hop about the field on their back legs.

[SHEEP BLEATING]

Now witness their attempts to fly from tree to tree.

Notice they do not so much fly as plummet.

[LEGS FLAPPING, SHEEP THUDDING]

Observe, for example, that ewe in that oak tree.

She is clearly trying to teach her lamb to fly.

[LAMB BLEATS]

[THUDS]

Talk about the blind leading the blind.

But-- But why do they think they're birds?

Another fair question.

One thing is for sure: a sheep is not a creature of the air.

-It has enormous difficulty... -[THUD]

...in the comparatively simple act of perching.

-[SHEEP THUDDING] -As you see.

As for flight, its body is totally unadapted to the problems of aviation.

Trouble is, sheep are very dim.

And once they get an idea into their heads, there's no shifting it.

But where did they get the idea from?

From Harold. He's that sheep over there under the elm.

He's that most dangerous of animals, clever sheep.

He's the ringleader.

He's realized that a sheep's life consists of standing around for a few months, and then being eaten.

And that's a depressing prospect for an ambitious sheep.

He's patently hit on the idea of escape.

Well, why don't you just get rid of Harold?

Because of the enormous commercial possibilities should he succeed.

MAN: And what exactly are the commercial possibilities of ovine aviation?

[speaking in French]

Good evening, here is the diagram of a French-English sheep.

It's not... I eat or baa... Ah, pompom, ham or not.

Now, when its eyes are up over there. Rrr, baa, like that...

...in our head, we've got the cockpit!

Really?

Right here, where stands the small English captaine,

Mr. Trubshaw!

Vive, Brian, wherever you are.

Alright, OK.

Now, let me introduce you to my colleague, Professor...

...Jean-Brian Zatapathique.

Here's the sheep. Wanted to book it, the landing, during...

...les "wheels." Bon!

Bon. Les "wheels" ici.

It's wonderful, isn't it? Well, ah!

Bere saloo et bahjin of the machine the plane, baa.

Behind the sheep of... well, good.

...chug, chug, chug.

Thanks a lot. Well, er, follow the track.

-Come on, shut up. -Er, sorry.

But... Where is our luggage?

Where is the travelers?

-Gaspard. -Please.

Merci.

Luggage!

Here it is!

First class, second, luggage.

And now, baa, like that... baa.

Fantastic demo... At three...

One, two, three, baa!

[both bleating]

We get a lot of French people 'round here.

-Yes. -Oh, yes. All over. Yes.

MAN: And how do you get on with these French people?

-Oh, very well. -So do I, yeah.

-Me too. -So does Mrs. Ape.

-Yes. Yes. -Oh, yes, I like them.

I mean, they think well, don't they?

I mean, be fair. Pascal.

Blaise Pascal.

Jean-Paul Sartre.

Yes, Voltaire.

-Ooh! -René Descartes.

Hmm. Hmm.

Mmm!

[POPS, HISSES]

And now for something completely different.

A man with three buttocks.

Good evening.

I have with me Mr. Arthur Frampton, who has...

Mr. Frampton, I understand, uh,

-that, uh, you, as it were... -Mm.

...have...

Uh, well, let me put it another way.

I believe, Mr. Frampton, that, uh, whereas most people have, uh, two...

Two. Uh, you...

-You. -I'm sorry?

Ah. Yes. Yes, I see.

Um, are you quite comfortable?

Yes, fine, thank you.

Uh, Mr. Frampton... vis-a-vis your rump.

I beg your pardon?

-Uh, your rump. -What?

Your, ahem, posterior.

Derrière.

[WHISPERS] Sit-upon.

-What's that? -[WHISPERS] Buttocks.

-Oh, me bum! -Shh!

Well, Mr. Frampton. I understand, Mr. Frampton, you have a, um, 50 percent bonus... in the... in the region of, uh, what you said.

-I've got three cheeks. -Yes. Splendid, splendid.

Well, we were wondering, Mr. Frampton, if you could, uh, see your way clear--

-Here, what's that camera doing? -Uh, nothing.

-Hey! -Nothing at all, sir.

We were wondering if you could see your way clear to giving us a quick...

A quick visual...

Mr. Frampton, will you take your trousers down?

What? Here! Here, get off!

I'm not taking me trousers off on television. Who do you think I am?

-Please take them down. -No.

-Just a little bit. -No.

Now, uh, ahem-- Now, look here, Mr. Frampton.

It's, uh, perfectly easy for somebody just to come along here to the BBC, um, simply claiming that they have a bit to spare in the botty department.

The point is, Mr. Frampton, our viewers need proof.

I've been on Persian Radio. Get off!

Arthur Figgis knows I've got three buttocks.

How?

We go cycling together.

Strewth!

And now for something completely different.

A man with three buttocks.

Good evening.

I have with me, Mr. Arthur Frampton, who...

Mr. Frampton...

I understand that you, as it were, have, uh...

Well, uh, let me put it another way.

I believe, Mr. Frampton, that whereas most people...

-Didn't we do this just now? -Well, yes.

Well, why didn't you say so?

I thought it was a continental version.

And now for something completely the same.

A man with three buttocks.

[RINGS]

Hello?

Oh, did we?

And now for something completely different.

A man with three noses.

MAN: He's not here yet!

Two noses?

[APPLAUSE]

[BLOWING NOSE]

[BLOWING NOSE]

[APPLAUSE]

Ladies and gentlemen, wasn't she just great?

Eh? Wasn't she just great?

[LAUGHING]

And she can run as fast as she can sing.

[LAUGHING]

And I'm telling ya 'cause I know.

[LAUGHING]

No, only kidding.

[LAUGHING]

Ehh. Ugh.

Seriously now, ladies and gentlemen, we have for you one of the most unique acts in the world today.

He's-- Well, I'll say no more, just let you see for yourselves.

Ladies and gentlemen, my very great privilege to introduce

Arthur Ewing and his musical mice!

Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.

Uh, ladies and gentlemen,

I have in this box 23 white mice.

Mice which have been painstakingly trained over the past few years to squeak at a selected pitch.

Uh, this is E sharp.

And, uh, this one is G.

Uh, you get the general idea.

Now, these mice are so arranged upon this, uh, rack that when played in the correct order they will squeak "The Bells of St. Mary."

Ladies and gentlemen,

I give you on the mouse organ

"The Bells of St. Mary".

Thank you. [HUMS]

[MICE SQUEAKING "BELLS OF ST. MARY'S"]

[HUMMING]

MAN: Oh, my God!

Oh, stop him!

Stop him!

MAN 2: Oh, no! Stop him!

Stop him! Stop him!

Next.

[CLEARS THROAT]

[TAPS]

[SNAPS]

Are you the marriage guidance counselor?

-Yes. Good morning. -Morning, sir.

And good morning to you, madam.

Name?

Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Pewtey. Pewtey.

And what is the name of your... ravishing wife?

Wait. Don't tell me.

It's something to do with moonlight.

It goes with her eyes.

It's soft and gentle, warm and yielding.

Deeply lyrical and yet tender and frightened,

-like a tiny white rabbit. -It's Deirdre.

Deirdre.

-What a beautiful name. -ARTHUR: Heh.

What a beautiful... beautiful name.

And what seems to be the trouble with your marriage, Mr. Pewtey?

Well, it all started about five years ago.

We started going on holiday to Brighton.

Deirdre, my wife, has always been a good companion to me, and I never particularly anticipated any marital strife.

Indeed, the very idea of consulting a professional marital adviser has always been of the greatest repugnance to me.

Although, far be it from me to impugn the nature of your trade or profession.

Do go on.

Well, we've always been good friends, sharing interests.

Gardening, model airplanes, the sixpenny bottle for the holiday money.

And twice a month, settling down at night to do the accounts.

Something which, uh, Deirdre,

Deirdre, that's my wife, uh, particularly looked forward to on account of her feet.

I should probably have said at the outset that I'm noted for having a sense of humor, although I've kept to myself over the last two years, notwithstanding as it were, and it's only comparatively recently that I have begun to realize, well--

Uh, perhaps "realize" is not the correct word.

Uh, imagined.

Imagine that I was not the only thing in her life.

You suspected your wife?

Well, yes. Yes.

At first, frankly, yes.

Her behavior did seem at the time to me, who was after all, there to see, to be a little odd.

-Odd? -Yes. Well, I mean, uh, to a certain extent, yes.

I'm not by nature a suspicious person. Far from it.

I have a reputation as an after-dinner speaker, if you take my meaning.

-Yes, I certainly do. -Yeah.

Anyway, in the area where I'm known, the people, in fact, know me extremely well.

-Right. -Heh.

Would you hold this? Thank you.

Yes. Anyway, as I said,

I must learn to face up to the facts, stop beating about the bush, or I'd never look myself in the bathroom mirror again.

Anyway. So--

Would you mind running along for 10 minutes?

-No. -Make it half an hour.

Right. Oh, fine.

Yes. I'll wait outside, shall I?

Yes, well, that's perhaps the best thing. Yes.

Certainly put my mind at rest on-- on one or two points there.

Now, wait there, stranger.

A man can run and run for year after year... until he realizes that what he's running from is hisself.

Gosh.

Now, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, and there ain't no sense in runnin'.

Now, you gotta turn, and you gotta fight.

And you gotta hold your head up high.

Yes.

Now, you go back in there, my son, and be a man.

Walk tall.

Yes.

Oh, I will.

I will.

I've been pushed around long enough.

This is it!

This is your moment, Arthur Pewtey.

This is it, Arthur Pewtey.

At last... you're a man!

[DEIRDRE GIGGLING]

All right, Deirdre, come out of there!

-COUNSELOR: Go away. -Right, right.

DEIRDRE: Oh. Oh. Oh.

[GIGGLES]

ANNOUNCER: So much for pathos.

NARRATOR: These historic pictures of Queen Victoria,

taken in 1880 at Osborne,

show the Queen with Gladstone.

This unique film provides a rare glimpse

into the private world of a woman who ruled half the earth.

The commentary, recorded on the earliest wax cylinders,

is spoken by Alfred Lord Tennyson, the poet laureate.

TENNYSON: Well, hello, it's the wacky queen again.

And who's the other fella? It's Willie Gladstone.

And when these two way-out, wacky characters get together,

there's fun aplenty.

And, uh-oh, there's a hosepipe.

This means trouble for somebody.

Uh-oh. Charlie Gardener's fallen for that old trick.

Queenie's put him in a heap of trouble.

Uh-oh! That's one in the eye for Willie.

Here, you have a look.

[♪]

Well, doggone it, where's that water?

Uh-oh! There it is, all over his face.

Well, hello. What's Britain's wacky queen up to now?

Well, she's certainly not sitting on the fence.

She's painting it.

Surely, nothing can go wrong here.

Uh-oh. Here's the PM coming back for more.

And he certainly gets it.

Well, that's one way to get the housework done.

[♪]

[KNOCK ON DOOR]

Oh, Dad, look who's come to see us.

It's our Ken.

[SPITS]

Aye, and about bloody time if you ask me.

Aren't you pleased to see me, Father?

Yes, of course he's pleased to see you, Ken.

All right, woman. All right. I've got a tongue in me head.

I'll do the talking.

Blimey.

I like your fancy suit.

Is that what they're wearing up in Yorkshire now?

-It's just an ordinary suit, Father. -Ah.

It's all I've got apart from the overalls.

How are you liking it down the mine, Ken?

Oh, it's not too bad, Mum.

We're using some new tungsten carbide drills for the preliminary coal-face scouring operations.

Ooh, that sounds nice, dear.

Tungsten carbide drills?

What in the bloody hell is tungsten carbide drills?

It's something they use in coal mining, Father.

"It's something they use in coal mining, Father."

You're bloody fancy talk since you left London.

Not that again.

Oh. He-- He's had a hard day, dear.

His new play opens at National Theatre tomorrow.

Oh. That's good.

Good? Good? What do you know about it?

What do you know about getting up at 5:00 in the morning to fly to Paris, back at the Old Vic for drinks at 12, sweating the day through press interviews, television interviews, then getting back here at 10 to wrestle with the problem of a homosexual nymphomaniac drug addict involved in the ritual murder of a well-known Scottish footballer?

That's a full working day, lad.

And don't you forget it!

-Oh, don't shout at the boy, Father. -Aye.

Hampstead wasn't good enough for you, was it?

You had to go poncing off to Barnsley.

You and your coal-mining friends.

-[SPITS] -Coal mining is a wonderful thing, Father.

-Yeah. -But it's something you'll never understand.

-Just look at you! -Oh, Ken, be careful.

You know what he's like after a few novels.

What? What? What?

Come on, lad. Come on.

Out with it. What's wrong with me?

You tit!

I'll tell you what's wrong with you.

Your head's addled with novels and poems.

You come home every evening reeling of Château Latour.

-Don't, don't. -Look what you've done to Mother.

She's worn out with meeting film stars, attending premieres and giving gala luncheons.

There's nowt wrong with gala luncheons, lad!

I've had more gala luncheons than you've had hot dinners.

-[CRYING] Oh, please, please. -Ahh! Aahh!

-Oh! Oh, no! -What is it?

Oh, it's his writer's cramp.

You never told me about this.

No, we didn't like to, Kenny.

I'm all right. I'm all right, woman. Just get him out of here.

Oh, Ken. You'd better go.

All right. I'm going.

After all we've done for him.

One day you'll realize there's more to life than culture.

There's dirt and smoke,

-and good honest sweat! -Get out!

Get out, you laborer!

Hey. You know, Mother, I think there's a play there. Get agent on the phone.

Aye, I think you're right, Frank.

-It could express-- -[KNOCKING ON FLOOR]

-It could express a vital theme of our age. -Ah.

Oh, shut up! Shut up!

Well, that's better.

Now, for something completely different.

A man with three buttocks.

DAD AND MOM: We've done that!

Oh, all right! All right!

A man with... nine legs.

-MAN: He ran away. -Oh, bloody hell.

Uh...

A-- A Scotsman on a horse.

[BAGPIPE PLAYING LIVELY TUNE]

[HORSE SNORTS]

[APPLAUSE]

[BLOWING NOSE]

[APPLAUSE]

MAN 1: Harold! Come back, Harold!

Harold! Come back, Harold!

Oh, blast!

MAN 2: Sir.

[RASPBERRY BLOWS]

[♪]

Good evening, and welcome once again to The Epilogue.

On the program this evening we have Monsignor Edward Gay, visiting pastoral emissary of the Somerset Theological College and author of a number of books about belief, the most recent of which is the bestseller, My God.

Good evening.

And opposite him, we have Dr. Tom Jack, humanist, broadcaster, lecturer, and author of the book, Hello Sailor.

Good evening.

Tonight... Tonight, instead of, uh, discussing the existence or nonexistence of God, they have decided to fight for it.

The existence, or nonexistence to be determined by two falls, the two submissions or a knockout.

All right, boys, let's get to it.

Your master of ceremonies for this evening,

Mr. Arthur Waring.

WARING: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to a three-round contest of The Epilogue.

Introducing on my right in the blue corner, appearing for Jehovah, the ever-popular Monsignor Eddie Gay.

And on my left in the red corner, author of the books The Problems of Kierkegaard and Hello Sailor, and visiting professor of Modern Theological Philosophy at the University of East Anglia, from Wigan, Dr. Tom Jack.

[CROWD CHEERING]

[SPEAKING INDISTINCTLY]

EPILOGUE HOST: Now Dr.-- Dr. Jack's got the flying mare there.

A flying mare there. Um, what's he doing?

And this is gonna be a full body slam. A full body slam.

And he's going in to pin-- No, he's-- He's standing back.

Well, uh, there we, uh--

There we are leaving The Epilogue for the moment.

We'll be bringing you the result of this discussion later on in the program.

-[GUNSHOT] -[MAN GRUNTS]

My God.

Ugh!

Oof!

[HUMMING]

Oh, isn't he an impressive figure of a man?

Now, people of the country,

I want to say a word about defacement of public property.

Anyway, this sort of thing has got to be stopped.

Ebbing the destruction. Defacement has got to be put to an end.

This country is not standing for vandals and hooligans running about.

-[FOOTSTEPS RACING] -But for the moment, things will probably be a little loud.

[SAW BUZZING]

WOMAN: Oh, yes, that's much better.

[MUTTERING]

Oh, isn't he a lovely little--?

[MUNCHING]

[BELCHES]

Oh, isn't he a lovely little--?

[MUNCHING]

[BELCHES]

Oh, isn't he a lovely little--?

MAN: Wait a minute, buckaroos.

This has gone far enough.

Oh, no! Take it away from me.

Take it away!

Oh, no. No. Get it away. Get it away!

[DRUMROLL]

[FANFARE PLAYING]

[WHISTLE TOOTING]

[CHATTERING INDISTINCTLY]

[♪]

Yes. The mouse problem.

This week, The World Around Us looks at the growing social phenomenon of mice and men.

What makes a man want to be a mouse?

Well, uh... it's not a question of wanting to be a mouse.

It just sort of happens to you.

Um... all of a sudden you realize... that's what you want to be.

And when did you first notice these, shall we say, tendencies?

Well, I was about 17, and some mates and me went to a party.

And, uh...

Well, we had quite a lot to drink, and then... some of the fellows there... started handing... cheese around.

Well, just out of curiosity I tried a bit and...

-Well, that was that. -Yes.

And what else did these fellows do?

Well, uh... some of them started dressing up as mice a bit, um...

And then when they got the costumes on, they... started... squeaking.

-And was that all? -That was all.

And what was your reaction to this?

-Well, I was shocked. -Yes.

But, uh...

Gradually I came to feel... that I was more at ease with other mice.

A typical case, whom we shall refer to as "Mr. A".

Although his real name is this:

ANNOUNCER: Arthur Jackson, 32a Milton Avenue,

Hounslow, Middlesex.

What is it that attracts someone like Mr. A to this way of life?

I have with me a consultant psychiatrist.

Well, we've just heard a typical case history.

I myself have over 700 similar histories, all fully documented. Would you care to choose one?

Mr. Arthur Aldridge of Lamington.

-Well, that's amazing. -Thank you.

Amazing. Thank you, Janet.

[FANFARE PLAYS]

Kargol, speaking as a psychiatrist, as opposed to a conjuror...

Oh.

...what makes certain men want to be mice?

Well, we psychiatrists have found that over eight percent of the population will always be mice.

I mean, after all, there's something of the mouse in all of us.

I mean, how many of us could honestly say that at one time or another he hasn't felt sexually attracted to mice?

I know I have.

I mean, most normal adolescents go through a stage of squeaking two or three times a day.

Most youngsters on the other hand, some youngsters, are attracted to it by its very illegality.

It's like murder.

Make a thing illegal, and it acquires a mystique.

Look at arson.

I mean, how many of us could honestly say that at one time or another he hasn't set fire to some great public building?

-I know I have. -[RINGS]

The only way--

The only way to bring the crime figures down is to reduce the number of offenses.

Get it out in the open.

-I know I have. -Hm.

The Amazing Kargol and Janet.

What a lot of people don't realize is that a mouse, once accepted, can fulfill a very useful role in society.

Indeed, there are examples throughout history of famous men now known to have been mice.

Veni, vidi, vici.

[SQUEAKS]

And of course, Hilaire Belloc.

But what is the-- But what is the attitude...

Of the man in the street towards...

This growing social problem?

Clamp down on 'em.

-MAN: How? -I'd strangle them.

Well, speaking as a member of the stock exchange,

I would suck their brains out with a straw, uh, sell the widows and orphans, and go into South American zinc.

Yeah. I'd, uh, stuff sparrows down their throats, uh, until the beaks stuck out through the, uh, stomach walls.

Oh, well, I'm a chartered accountant, and consequently too boring to be of interest.

I feel that these poor, unfortunate people should be free to live the lives of their own choice.

I'd, uh, split their nostrils open with a boat hook, uh, I think.

Oh, well, I mean, uh. they can't help it, can they?

But, I mean, there's nothing you can do about it, so, uh, I'd kill 'em.

Clearly, the British public's view is a hostile one.

Hostile.

WOMAN: Hostile.

But perhaps this is because so little is generally known of these mice men.

We have some film now taken at one of the notorious weekend mouse parties, where these disgusting little perverts meet.

Mr. A tells us what actually goes on at these mouse parties.

Well, uh, first of all, you get shown to your own private hole in the skirting board.

Uh, then you put the mouse skin on, uh...

Then you... scurry into the main room.

Oh, and perhaps, uh, take a run in the wheel.

The remainder of this film was taken secretly at one of these mouse parties by a BBC cameraman posing as a vole.

As usual, we apologize for the poor quality of the film.

MR. A: Well, uh...

then you steal some cheese.

Uh, Brie or Camembert.

Or Cheddar or Gouda, if you're on the harder stuff.

Um, you might go and see one of the blue-cheese films.

Then... there's a big clock in the middle of the room,

and about 12:50, you climb up it.

And then...

eventually, it strikes one, and you all run down.

INTERVIEWER: And what-- What's that?

MR. A: That's the farmer's wife.

INTERVIEWER: Yes.

Perhaps we need to know more of these mice men before we can really judge them.

Perhaps not.

Anyway, our 30 minutes are up.

[SHEEP BLEATING]

Good night.

[PANTING]

[♪]

EPILOGUE HOST: And here is the result of The Epilogue:

God exists, by two falls to a submission.

[♪]