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Whicker's World

[♪♪♪]

[WIND WHISTLING]

[CLEARS THROAT]

I, Erik--

[PLAYING BOLD MELODY]

And now--

It's...

[THEME MUSIC]

MAN: Monty Python's Flying Circuses.

Michael Norman Randall, you have been found guilty of the murder of Arthur Reginald Webster,

Charles Patrick Trumpington,

Marcel Agnes Bernstein,

Lewis Anona Rudd,

John Malcolm Kerr,

Nigel Sinclair Robinson,

Norman Arthur Potter,

Felicity Jayne Stone,

Jean-Paul Reynard,

Rachel Shirley Donaldson,

Stephen Jay Greenblatt,

Karl-Heinz Muller,

Belinda Anne Ventham,

Juan-Carlos Fernandez,

Thor Olaf Stensgaard,

Lord Kimberley of Pretoria,

Lady Kimberley of Pretoria,

The Right Honorable Nigel Warmsly Kimberley,

Robert Henry Noonan and Felix James Bennett on or about the morning of the 19th of December, 1972.

Have you anything to say before I pass sentence?

Yes, sir. I'm very sorry.

Very sorry?

Yes, sir. It was a very, very bad thing to have done, and I'm really very ashamed of myself.

I can only say it won't happen again.

To have murdered so many people in such a short space of time is really awful, and I really am very, very, very sorry that I did it.

And also, that I've taken up so much of the court's valuable time listening to the sordid details of these senseless killings of mine.

I'd particularly like to say a very personal and sincere sorry to you, my lord, for my appalling behavior throughout this trial.

I'd also like to say sorry too for the police for putting them to so much trouble.

For the literally hours of work they've had to put in collecting evidence and identifying corpses and so forth.

You know, I think sometimes we ought to realize the difficult and often dangerous work involved in tracking down violent criminals like myself, and I'd just like them to know that their fine work is at least appreciated by me.

Oh, no, no, we were only doing our job.

No, no, really.

It's very good of you to say that, but I know what you've been through.

Oh, no, no, we've had worse.

It was plain sailing, apart from the arrest.

I know and I'm grateful.

I'd like to apologize too to the prosecuting counsel for dragging him in here morning after morning in such lovely weather.

Well, I would've had to come in anyway.

Oh, good.

But, uh, what a presentation of a case.

-Oh, thank you. -Oh, no.

It's a privilege to watch you in action. I never had a chance.

Oh, but yes, you did.

Oh, not after that summing up. Great.

And now I must come to the jury.

What can I say?

I've dragged you in here, day after day, keeping you away from your homes, your jobs, your loved ones, just to hear the private details of my petty atrocities.

Uh, no, no. It was, uh, very interesting.

You could've had a much nicer case.

Oh, no, no, no. Murder's much more fun.

Yes, and so many of them.

-Excellent. -We've had a terrific time.

[ALL APPLAUD]

I'm sorry, I'm very moved.

So, my lord, it only remains for you to pass the most savage sentence on me that the law can provide.

Uh, well, uh, not necessarily--

No, my lord, the full penalty of the law is hardly sufficient.

I insist I must be made an example of.

Well, yes and no. I mean, society at large--

Oh, no, my lord. Not with mass murder.

Oh, but in this case, don't you think?

ALL: Yes, yes!

Oh, come on, my lord, you've gotta give me life.

ALL: No, no, no.

Well, ten years at least. Come on.

Ten years?

ALL: Shame, shame.

-Well, five then. Be fair. -JUDGE: No, no, no.

I'm giving you three months.

Oh, no, that's so embarrassing, I won't hear of it.

Give me six, please.

Well, all right. Six months.

-Thank you, my lord. -But suspended.

-Oh, no. -ALL: Hooray!

Three cheers for the defendant. Hip. Hip.

ALL: Hooray!

-Hip, hip. -ALL: Hooray!

-Hip, hip. -ALL: Hooray!

♪ For he's a jolly good fellow For he's a jolly good fellow ♪

♪ For he's a jolly good fellow ♪

♪ Which nobody can deny ♪

It's no good, Spider, you can't escape that easily.

We're coming in after you.

Whoop!

[GRUNTS]

DETECTIVE: This way, Davis.

Hmm, we'd best separate.

I'm going down there. You check the right ventricle.

Whoop!

Any sign of him, Davis?

There's nothing here.

All right, we'll check the spleen.

-Wait! -[BRISK FOOTSTEPS]

Oh, my God, he's doubled back on us.

Quick, we've got to catch him before he reaches the neck.

Oh, no, too late, Davis. He's got out.

[CHOMPING]

DAVIS: Oh, he's eating!

DETECTIVE: Run for it!

BOTH: Ooh! Ah! Oh! Ooh!

Oh, my God! Remember not to struggle.

Oh!

[♪♪♪]

ANNOUNCER: This little-known Icelandic saga, written by an unknown hand in the late 13th century, has remained undiscovered until today.

Now it comes to your screens for the first time.

Fresh from the leaves of Iceland's history.

The terrible Njorl's Saga.

It's not that terrible.

No, I meant terribly violent.

Oh, yeah, yeah.

NARRATOR: Erik Njorl, son of Frothgar, leaves his home to seek Hangar the Elder at the house of Thorvald Nlodvisson.

The son of Gudleif, half-brother of Thorgier, the priest of Ljosa Water, who took to wife Thurunn, the mother of Thorkel Braggart, the slayer of Gudmund the Powerful, who knew Howal, son of Geernon, son of Erik from Valdalesc, son of Arval Gristlebeard, son of Harken who killed Bjortguaard in Sochnadale in Norway over Cudreed, daughter of Thorkel Long, the son of Kettle-Trout, the half son of Harviyoun Half-troll, father of Ingbare the Brave, who, with Isenbert of Gottenberg, the daughter of Hangbard the Fierce...

VOICE-OVER: We apologize for an error in the saga.

Evidently, Thorgier, the priest of Ljosa Water,

who took to wife Thurunn, the mother of Thorkel Braggart,

the slayer of Gudmund the powerful,

who knew Howal, son of Geernon,

son of Erik from Vadalesc--

ANNOUNCER #3: I'm afraid we're having trouble

getting this very exciting Icelandic saga started.

If any of you at home have any ideas

about how to get this exciting saga started again,

here's the address to write to.

Help the Exciting Icelandic Saga.

18-B MacNorton Buildings, Oban.

Hello. Um, well, I was the third voice you heard just now.

Uh, I'm sorry about that terrible mess.

It wasn't all that terrible.

No, no, I meant terrible in the sense of unfortunate.

-Oh. -Anyway, um, our plea for assistance has been answered by the North Malden Icelandic Saga Society who've given us some very useful information about the saga.

And so, uh, we carry on now with Njorl's Saga with our thanks going, uh, once again to the North Malden Icelandic Saga Society.

NARRATOR: Erik Njorl, son of Frothgar,

rode off into the desolate plain.

Day and night he rode,

looking neither to right nor left.

Stopping neither for food nor rest.

Twelve days and nights he rode.

Through rain and storm.

Through wind and snow, beyond the enchanted waterfall,

through the elfin glades until he reached his goal.

He had found the rich and pleasant land

beyond the mountains.

The land where golden streams sang their way

through fresh green meadows.

Where there were halls and palaces,

an excellent swimming pool

and one of the most attractive bonus-incentive schemes

for industrial development in the city.

Only 15 miles from excellent Thames-side docking facilities,

and within easy reach of the proposed M25.

Here it was that Erik Njorl, son of Frothgar, met the mayor.

Mr. Arthur Huddinut, a local solicitor.

Uh, welcome to North Malden.

Yes, everyone is welcome to North Malden, but none more so than the businessmen and investors who shape our society of the future.

Here at North Malden--

VOICE-OVER: We apologize to viewers of Njorl's Saga

who may be confused by some of the references to North Malden.

And after a frank exchange of views,

we have agreed to carry on showing this version

supplied to us by the North Malden Icelandic Saga Society

on the undertaking that future scenes will adhere more closely

to the spirit of 12th-century Iceland.

NARRATOR: With moist eyes,

Erik leaves this happy land

to return to the harsh uneconomic realities

of life in the land of Ljosa Water.

On his way, Erik rested a while in the land of Bjornsstrand,

the land of dark forces where Gildor was king.

These were the dukes of the land of Bjornsstrand.

Proud warriors, who bore on their chests

the letters of their dread name.

[PHONE RINGS]

MILLS: Hello? Is that the North Malden Icelandic Society?

-NARRATOR: Yes, that's right. -MILLS: It's about this saga.

NARRATOR: Oh, yes, the Icelandic saga. Good, isn't it?

MILLS: Well, um, well, I don't know.

But you promised us you would stick to the spirit

-of the original text. -NARRATOR: Yes, that's right.

MILLS: These things that are happening

just don't quite ring true.

NARRATOR: It's a new interpretation.

MILLS: We didn't want a new-- We wanted the proper thing.

Look what's happening now.

NARRATOR: Banners were an important part

of Icelandic lore, Mr. Mills.

MILLS: I'm sorry, I can't accept that.

It's gone too far. I'm very sorry,

but we'll have to terminate the agreement.

You're just trying to cash in

on the BBC's exciting Icelandic saga.

NARRATOR: That's business, Mr. Mills.

MILLS: That may be, but it's not

the way the BBC works.

NARRATOR: I'm sorry you feel that way,

but, uh, you know, if you ever want to come to Malden--

[HANGS UP PHONE]

[♪♪♪]

Eight o'clock is a peak viewing hour, so naturally we tend to stick to our comedy output.

Unless of course there's sport. Because we know this is popular, and popularity is what television is about.

Quite frankly, I'm sick and tired of people accusing us of being ratings conscious.

-Ratings conscious? -Transmitting bland garbage, my lord.

-Oh, thank you. -Now, I'm really cheesed off.

I mean, it's not your highbrow bleeding plays

-that pull in the viewers. -Thank you.

Joe Public doesn't want to watch three hours of documentaries.

-Thank you. -He wants to sit down and he wants to be entertained.

He doesn't want a load of--

No, look, really, I'm fed up with this, I really am!

-Case dismissed. -[BANGS GAVEL]

Case dismissed, my lord?

Oh, all right, five years.

Thank you, my lord.

Call the next case, please.

Call Erik Njorl, son of Frothgar, brother of Hangnor,

-son of-- -Call Erik Njorl, son of Frothgar, brother of Hangnor...

WOMAN: Call Erik Njorl...

[ALL OVERLAPPING EACH OTHER]

MAN: ...the mother of Thorkel Braggart, the slayer of Gudmund, son of--

-[THUMP] -MAN: Ooh!

You are Erik Njorl, son of Frothgar--

Get on with it.

Will you raise your right hand?

He obviously can't raise his right hand, you silly usher person.

Can you raise your right leg, Mr. Njorl?

Can you raise any part of your body, Mr. Njorl?

I see. Well, we'll skip that.

If you'll just take the book in your right hand, Mr. Njorl, without raising any part of your body.

Oh.

What is it now, you persistently silly usher?

He can't hold the Bible, my lord.

Oh, screw the Bible! Let's get on with this bleeding trial.

I've got a Gay Lib meeting at 6:00.

Superintendent Lufthansa, will you please read the charge?

Is a charge strictly necessary, my lord?

The press is here.

Oh! Oh, sorry.

Um, right, here we go.

You are hereby charged: one, that you did, on or about 11/26 conspire to publicize a London borough in the course of a BBC saga.

Two, that you were willfully and persistently a foreigner.

Three, that you conspired to do things not normally considered illegal.

Four, that you were caught in possession of an offensive weapon viz., the big brown table down at the police station.

The big brown table down at the police station?

It's the best we could find, my lord.

And five-- All together, now.

ALL: Assaulting a police officer.

SUPER: Thank you.

Call Police Constable Pan-Am.

Oh! Ow!

In-- Into the witness box, constable.

There will be plenty of time for that later on.

Now, you are Police Constable Pan-Am?

No, I deny that to the last breath in my body.

Oh, sorry, yes.

Police constable, do you recognize the defendant?

No. Never seen him before in me life.

Oh, yes, yes, he's the one! He done it.

I'd recognize him anywhere.

Sorry, super.

Constable, uh, will you please tell the court in your own words what happened?

Oh, yes!

I was proceeding in a northerly direction up Alitalia Street when I saw the deceased standing at an upstairs window baring her bosom at the general public.

She then took off her--

Wait a tick. Wrong story.

Oh, yes.

There were three nuns in a railway compartment and the ticket in--

No? Anyway, I clearly saw the deceased--

-Defendant. -Defendant. Sorry.

Sorry, super. I clearly saw the defendant doing whatever he's accused of, uh, red-handed.

When kicked a caution, he said:

"It's a fair. Cop, I done it all.

Right no. Doubt about. That."

Then, bound as he was to the chair, he assaulted myself and three other constables while bouncing around the cell.

The end.

[ALL APPLAUD]

Thank you. Thank you. And for my next piece of evidence--

Uh, I think we'd better leave it there.

-All right. -COUNSEL: Excellent evidence.

Thank you very much.

Now, Mr. Njorl, will you tell the court, please, uh, where were you on the night of 11/26?

Move any part of your body if you were north of a line from the Humber to the Mersey.

Is he in there, do you think?

Hello? Hello? Defendant, are you there?

Coo-ee! Defendant?

Uh, I think you'd better go and have a look, Maurice.

-Don't call me Maurice in court. -I'm sorry.

Are you in there? Mr. Njorl?

This way, Davis. He's not getting away this time.

We'll try and trap him in the left lung.

If we surround the left lung then we can get in the kidney and get in the left, okay?

[SNICKERS]

Once again, I've proved too clever for--

ANNOUNCER: And now the Stock Market Report

by Exchange Telegraph.

Trading was crisp at the start of the day with some brisk business on the floor.

Rubber hardened and string remained confident.

Little bits of tin consolidated, although biscuits sank after an early gain and stools remained anonymous.

Armpits rallied well after a poor start.

Nipples rose dramatically during the morning, but had declined by mid-afternoon, while teeth clenched and buttocks remained firm.

Small, dark, furry things increased severely on the floor whilst rude jellies wobbled up and down and bounced against rising thighs, which had spread to all parts of the country by mid-afternoon.

After lunch, naughty things dipped sharply, forcing giblets upwards with the nicky nacky noo.

Ting tang tong rankled dithely, little tipples pooped, and poppy things went pong.

Gibble gabble gobble went the rickety rackety roo as the--

Mm, that'll teach you to be normal.

Oh!

[FOOTSTEPS]

[DOOR OPENS]

[HUMS]

Hmm?

Oh!

Hm. Mm.

Oh, hello, Mrs. Premise.

Hello, Mrs. Conclusion.

-Busy day? -Busy?

I just spent four hours burying the cat.

Four hours to bury a cat?

Yes. It wouldn't keep still.

Wiggling around, howling its head off.

Oh, it wasn't dead, then?

Well, no, no, but it's not at all a well cat.

So, uh, as we were going away for a fortnight's holiday

I thought I better bury it just to be on the safe side.

Quite right. You don't want to come back from Sorrento to a dead cat.

-Nope. -It'd be so anticlimactic.

Yes, kill it now, that's what I say.

-Yes. -We're going to have to have our budgie put down.

Really? Is it very old?

No. We just don't like it.

We're going to take it to the vet tomorrow.

Oh. Tell me, how do they put budgies down, then?

Well, it's funny you should ask that because I've just been reading a great big book about how to put your budgie down.

And apparently, you can either hit them with a book or you can shoot them just there, just above the beak.

-Just there? -Yes.

-Well, well, well. -Mm.

Of course, Mrs. Essence flushed hers down the loo.

Oh! No, you shouldn't do that. No, that's dangerous.

Yes, they breed in the sewers.

Yes, eventually you get evil-smelling flocks of huge soiled budgies flying out of people's lavatories, infringing their personal freedom.

Good morning, Mrs. Cutout.

Morning, Mrs. Cutout.

-It's a funny thing, freedom. -Yes.

I mean, how can any of us be really free when we still have personal possessions?

You can't. You can't. How can I go off and join FRELIMO when I've got nine more installments to pay on the fridge?

-No, you can't. -No.

Well, this, of course, is the whole crux of Jean-Paul Sartre's Roads to Freedom.

No, it bloody isn't.

The nub of that is, his characters stand for all of us in their desire to avoid action.

Mind you, the man at the off-license says it's an everyday story of French country folk.

-What does he know? -Nothing.

Sixty new pence for a bottle of Maltese claret.

-Mm. -Ha! Well, I personally think--

Oh, beg your pardon. I personally think that Jean-Paul's masterwork is an allegory of man's search for commitment.

-No, it isn't. -Yes, it is.

-Isn't. No, it isn't! -'Tis.

All right. We'll soon settle this.

We'll ask him.

-Do you know him? -Yes.

We met on holiday last year.

-In Ibiza? -Yes.

He was staying there with his wife and Mr. and Mr. Genet.

Oh, I did get on well with Madame S.

We were like that.

What was Jean-Paul like?

Well, you know, a bit moody.

-Yes. -Yes, he didn't join in the fun much.

-No. -Just sat there, thinking.

Still, Mr. Rotter caught him a few times with a whoopee cushion.

[BOTH LAUGH]

[SPEAKS FRENCH]

-[IMITATES FARTING] -[BOTH LAUGH]

-Oh, we did laugh. -Oh, dear.

Uh, well, we'll give him a tinkle, then.

Yes, all right. She said they were in the book.

Hmm-- Oh! Where's the Paris telephone directory?

MRS. INFERENCE: It's on the dryer.

Oh. No, no, that's Budapest. Oh, here we are.

Sartre, Sartre...

It's 621036.

Oh, thank you, Mrs. Varley.

Hello. Uh, Paris 621036, please, and make it snappy, buster.

[BOTH SING IN FRENCH]

Hello? Hello, Mrs. Sartre. It's Beulagh Premise here.

Oh, pardon. C'est Beulagh Premise ici.

Oui! Oui! Dans Ibiza. Oui.

Uh, we met--

[SPEAKS FRENCH]

Hotel Mirimar.

Oui! A la barbecue.

C'est vrai. Madame S.,

est-ce que Jean-Paul est chez vous ?

Oh, merde.

Well...

Uh, when will he be free?

[SPEAKS FRENCH]

[CACKLES] Oh!

She says he's spent the last 60 years trying to work that one out.

[BOTH LAUGH]

[SPEAKS FRENCH]

Well, he's out distributing pamphlets to the masses, but he'll be in at six.

Oh, well, I'll ring BEA then.

Oh, look, Paris!

MRS. CONCLUSION: That's not Paris.

Jean-Paul wouldn't live here.

It's a right old dump.

But this is where they were wrong.

For this was no old dump, but a town with a future.

An urban El Dorado where the businessmen of today can enjoy the facilities of tomorrow in the comfort of yesterday.

Provided by a go-getting, go-ahead council who know just how loud money can talk.

Interest rates--

Well, it's none of my business, but we had the same trouble with our Icelandic saga.

Now, these people are terribly keen, but they do rather tend to take over.

Um, I think I'd stick to Caribbean Islands if I were you.

Fine.

And now, uh, back to the saga.

[♪♪♪]

Here. This is not Paris. This is Iceland.

Oh.

Well, Paris must be over there, then.

Oh.

[BOTH HUM]

[♪♪♪]

Oh, here we are, number 25.

Oh, yes.

"Flat 1, Yves Montand, Flat 3, Jacques Cousteau.

Flat 4, Jean Genet and friend."

BOTH: Ooh! Ah! Yes.

MRS. CONCLUSION: "Flat 5, Maurice Leroux"?

-Who's he? -Never heard of him.

"Flat 6, Marcel Marceau, Walking Against the Wind Ltd.

Flat 7, Indira Gandhi"?

She gets about a bit, doesn't she?

BOTH: Yes.

"Flat 8, Jean-Paul and Betty-Muriel Sartre."

[INTERCOM BUZZES]

BETTY [OVER INTERCOM] Oui?

[SPEAKS FRENCH]

Okay.

Oui, merci.

[MAN SINGS IN FRENCH OVER RADIO]

[RASPY COUGH]

[KNOCK] Oh, rubbish.

[CLEARS THROAT]

Bonjour.

Parlez-vous anglais ?

Oh, yes. Good day.

Hello, love.

Hello, how are you?

Oh, this is Mrs. Conclusion from number 46.

-Oh, nice to meet you, dear. -Hello.

How's the old man, then?

Oh, don't ask. He's in one of his bleeding moods.

"The bourgeoisie this is the bourgeoisie that."

He's like a little child sometimes.

[COUGHS]

I was only telling the Rainiers the other day--

Of course, he's always rude to them, only classy friends we got.

I was saying, "Solidarity with the masses."

I said, "Pie in the sky!"

[LAUGHS]

Oh, you're not a Marxist, are you, Mrs. Conclusion?

No, I'm a Revisionist.

Oh, good. I mean, look at this place.

I'm at my wits' end.

Revolutionary leaflets everywhere.

One of these days I'll revolutionary leaflets him.

[ALL LAUGH]

If it wasn't for the goat, you couldn't get in here for propaganda.

Oh, very well. Can we, uh, pop in and have a word with him?

-Yes, come along. -Thank you.

But be careful. He's had a few.

Mind you, he's good as gold in the morning,

I've got to hand it to him.

But come lunchtime, it's a bottle of vin ordinaire.

Six glasses and he's ready to agitate.

Uh, coo-ee!

Jean-Paul?

Jean-Paul? Uh, it's only us.

Oh, pardon. C'est mêême nous.

-JEAN-PAUL: Oui. -Jean-Paul, your famous trilogy Rues àà Liberté.

Is it an allegory of man's search for commitment?

-JEAN-PAUL: Oui. -Told you so.

Oh, coitus.

[♪♪♪]

Today, we look at a vanishing race.

A problem people who are fast disappearing off the face of the earth.

A race who, one might say, are losing a winning battle.

They live in a sunshine paradise, a Caribbean dream, where only reality is missing.

For this is Whicker Island.

An island inhabited entirely by ex-international interviewers in pursuit of the impossible dream.

The whole problem of Whicker Island is here in a nutshell.

There are just too many whickers.

The lightweight suits.

The old-school tie.

The practiced voice of the seasoned campaigner...

Cannot hide the basic tragedy here.

There just aren't enough rich people left to interview.

You can't teach an old dog new tricks, and so you find them...

Sitting beside elegant swimming pools...

Sipping martinis...

And waiting for the inevitable interview.

I talked to the island's only white man, Father Pierre.

Father Pierre, why did you stay on in this colonial Campari-land where the clink of glasses mingles with the murmur of a million mosquitoes, where waterfalls of whisky wash away the worries of a world-weary whicker?

Where gin-and-tonics jingle in a gyroscopic jubilee of something beginning with J?

Father Pierre, why did you stay on here?

Well, mainly for the interviews.

Well, there you have it.

A crumbling...

Empire in the sun-drenched...

Caribbean, where the clichés sparkle on the waters...

Like the music of repeat fees.

And so...

From Whicker Island...

-It's... -Fare...

-Well and... -Bon...

-Voy... -Age.

[♪♪♪]