Episode 12:Spam

Episode 12

The Hungarian Phrasebook

(Set: A tobacconist's shop.)

(Text on screen: In 1970, the British Empire lay in ruins, and foreign nationalists frequented the streets - many of them Hungarians (not the streets - the foreign nationals). Anyway, many of these Hungarians went into tobacconist's shops to buy cigarettes....)

A Hungarian tourist (John Cleese) approaches the clerk (Terry Jones). The tourist is reading haltingly from a phrase book.

Hungarian: I will not buy this record, it is scratched.

Clerk: Sorry?

Hungarian: I will not buy this record, it is scratched.

Clerk: Uh, no, no, no. This is a tobacconist's.

Hungarian: Ah! I will not buy this *tobacconist's*, it is scratched.

Clerk: No, no, no, no. Tobacco...um...cigarettes (holds up a pack).

Hungarian: Ya! See-gar-ets! Ya! Uh...My hovercraft is full of eels.

Clerk: Sorry?

Hungarian: My hovercraft (pantomimes puffing a cigarette)...is full of eels (pretends to strike a match).

Clerk: Ahh, matches!

Hungarian: Ya! Ya! Ya! Ya! Do you waaaaant...do you waaaaaant...to come back to my place, bouncy bouncy?

Clerk: Here, I don't think you're using that thing right.

Hungarian: You great poof.

Clerk: That'll be six and six, please.

Hungarian: If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?...... I...I am no longer infected.

Clerk: Uh, may I, uh...(takes phrase book, flips through it)...Costs six and six...ah, here we are. (speaks weird Hungarian-sounding words. Hungarian punches the clerk.)

(Meanwhile, a policeman (Graham Chapman) on a quiet street cups his ear as if hearing a cry of distress. He sprints for many blocks and finally enters the tobacconist's.)

Cop: What's going on here then?

Hungarian: Ah. You have beautiful thighs.

Cop: (looks down at himself) WHAT?!?

Clerk: He hit me!

Hungarian: Drop your panties, Sir William, I cannot wait 'til lunchtime. (points at clerk)

Cop: RIGHT!!! (drags Hungarian away by the arm)

Hungarian: (indignantly) My nipples explode with delight!

(scene switches to a courtroom. Characters are all in powdered wigs and judicial robes, except publisher and cop.)

Bailiff: Call Alexander Yalt!

(voices sing out the name several times)

Judge: Oh, shut up!

Bailiff: (to publisher) You are Alexander Yalt?

Publisher: (in a sing-songy voice) Oh, I am.

Bailiff: Skip the impersonations. You are Alexander Yalt?

Publisher: I am.

Bailiff: You are hereby charged that on the 28th day of May, 1970, you did willfully, unlawfully, and with malice of forethought, publish an alleged English-Hungarian phrase book with intent to cause a breach of the peace. How do you plead?

Publisher: Not guilty.

Bailiff: You live at 46 Horton Terrace?

Publisher: I do live at 46 Horton terrace.

Bailiff: You are the director of a publishing company?

Publisher: I am the director of a publishing company.

Bailiff: Your company publishes phrase books?

Publisher: My company does publish phrase books.

Bailiff: You did say 46 Horton Terrace, did you?

Publisher: Yes.

Bailiff: (strikes a gong) Ah! Got him!

(lawyer and cop applaud, laugh)

Judge: Get on with it, get on with it.

Bailiff: That's fine. On the 28th of May, you published this phrase book.

Publisher: I did.

Bailiff: I quote on example. The Hungarian phrase meaning "Can you direct me to the station?" is translated by the English phrase, "Please fondle my bum."

Publisher: I wish to plead incompetence.

Cop: (stands) Please may I ask for an adjournment, m'lord?

Judge: An adjournment? Certainly not!

(the cop sits down again, emitting perhaps the longest and loudest release of bodily gas in the history of the universe.)

Judge: Why on earth didn't you say WHY you wanted an adjournment?

Cop: I didn't know an acceptable legal phrase, m'lord.

(cut to ancient footage of old women applauding)

Judge: (banging + swinging gavel) If there's any more stock film of women applauding, I'll clear the court.

The Communist Quiz

CAPTION: 'WORLD FORUM'

(An important-looking current affairs set. On the back wall behind the presenter huge letters say: 'World Forum')

Presenter (Eric Idle): Good evening. Tonight is indeed a unique occasion in the history of television. We are very privileged, and deeply honoured to have with us in the studio, Karl Marx, founder of modern socialism, and author of the 'Communist Manifesto'. (Karl Marx is sitting at a desk; he nods) Vladimir Ilich Ulyanov, better known to the world as Lenin, leader of the Russian Revolution, writer, statesman, and father of modern communism. (shot of Lenin also at desk; he nods) Che Guevara, the Cuban guerrilla leader. (shot of Guevara) And Mao Tse-tung, leader of the Chinese Communist Party since 1949. (shot of Mao; the presenter picks up a card) And the first question is for you, Karl Marx. The Hammers - The Hammers is the nickname of what EEnglish football team? 'The Hammers? (shot of Karl Marx furrowing his brow- obviously he hasn't a clue) No? Well bad luck there, Karl. So we'll go onto you Che. Che Guevara - Coventry City last won the FA Cup in what year? (cut to Che looking equally dumbfounded) No? I'll throw it open. Coventry City last won the FA Cup in what year? (they all look blank) No? Well, I'm not surprised you didn't get that. It was in fact a trick question. Coventry City have never won the FA Cup. So with the scores all equal now we go onto our second round, and Lenin it's your starter for ten. Teddy Johnson and Pearl Carr won the Eurovision Song Contest in 1959. What was the name of the song? ... Teddy Johnson and Pearl Carr's song in the 1959 Eurovision Song Contest? Anybody? (buzzer goes as in 'University Challenge'.' zoom in on Mao Tse-tung) Yes, Mao Tse-tung?

Mao Tse-tung: 'Sing Little Birdie'?

Presenter: Yes it was indeed. Well challenged. (applause) Well now we come on to our special gift section. The contestant is Karl Marx and the prize this week is a beautiful lounge suite. (curtains behind the presenter sweep open to reveal a beautiful lounge suite; terrific audience applause; Karl comes out and stands in front of this display) Now Karl has elected to answer questions on the workers control of factories so here we go with question number one. Are you nervous? (Karl nods his head; the presenter reads from a card) The development of the industrial proletariat is conditioned by what other development?

Karl: The development of the industrial bourgeoisie.

(applause)

Presenter: Yes, yes, it is indeed. You're on your way to the lounge suite, Karl. Question number two. The struggle of class against class is a what struggle? A what struggle?

Karl: A political struggle.

(Tumultuous applause.)

Presenter: Yes, yes! One final question Karl and the beautiful lounge suite will be yours... Are you going to have a go? (Karl nods) You're a brave man. Karl Marx, your final question, who won the Cup Final in 1949?

Karl: The workers' control of the means of production? The struggle of the urban proletariat?

Presenter: No. It was in fact, Wolverhampton Wanderers who beat Leicester 3-1.

(Cut to stock film of goal bring scored in a big football match. Roar from crowd. Stock footage of football crowds cheering.)

Voice Over: and CAPTION: 'IN WORLD FORUM TODAY: KARL MARX, CHE GUEVARA, LENIN AND MAO TSE-TUNG. NEXT WEEK, FOUR LEADING HEADS OF STATE OF THE AFRO-ASIAN NATIONS AGAINST BRISTOL ROVERS AT MOLINEUX'

Ypres 1914

(A stock drawing of a First World War trench scene - barbed wire against the sky with a helmet stuck on a bayonet.)

Voice Over: (and caption) 'IN 1914, THE BALANCE OF POWER LAY IN RUINS. EUROPE WAS PLUNGED INTO BLOODY CONFLICT. NATION FOUGHT NATION. BUT NO NATION FOUGHT NATION MORELY THAN THE ENGLISH HIP HIP HOORARY! NICE, NICE YAH BOO. PHILLIPS IS A GERMAN AND HE HAVE MY PEN'

Different Voice Over: (and caption) 'START AGAIN'

Voice Over: (and caption) 'IN 1914, THE BALANCE OF POWER LAY IN RUINS...'

(Mix through to close up of a harmonica bring played by a British Tommy. CAPTION: 'YPRES 1914' The camera pulls slowly out, with the plaintive harmonica still playing, to reveal the interior of a bunker in the trenches. Sitting around on old ammunition boxes etc. are the harmonica player, Private Jenkins, Sergeant Jackson, a padre with no arms, a sheikh, a Viking warrior, a male mermaid, a nun, a milkman and a Greek Orthodox priest. Sounds of warfare throughout, shells thudding, explosions etc.)

Sergeant: (looking round rather uncomfortably at the strange collection) Jenkins?

Jenkins: (equally uncomfortable about playing such a tender scene in front of sheiks etc.) Yes, sir.

Sergeant: What are you going to do when you get back to Blighty?

Jenkins: I dunno, surge... I expect I'll be looking after me mum. She'll be getting on a bit now.

Sergeant: Got a family of your own 'ave you?

Jenkins: No, she's ... she's all I got left now. My wife, Doreen ... she ... I got a letter.

Sergeant: You don't have to tell me, son.

Jenkins: No, sarge, I'd like to tell you, see this place....

(Cut to long shot of bunker. Floor manager strides on to set.)

Floor Manager: Hold it. Hold it. Look, loves ... can anyone not involved in this scene, please leave the set. (he starts to herd out anyone not in First War costume) Now! Come on please. Anyone not concerned in this scene, the canteen's open upstairs. (sheikh, male mermaid etc. troop off) Now come on please. (to soldiers) Sorry loves. Sorry. We'll have to take it again, from the top. All fight. OK... Cue!

(Back to identical shot of harmonica-playing tommy; he plays a few bars. CAPTION: 'KNICKERS 1914' Cut to long shot. The floor manager rushes on again. The caption remains superimposed.)

Floor Manager: Hold it. Hold it. Now, who changed the caption? Can whoever changed the caption put the right one back immediately please.

(CAPTION: 'YPRES 1914')

Floor Manager Right. All right, we'll take it again from the top. Cue. (back to identical shot of harmonica-playing tommy with caption superimposed; slow pull out as before, then floor manager rushes on again) Hold it. Hold it. (he goes behind some sandbags looking extremely irritated) Come on. Come on, out of there. (he hauls a spaceman and hustles him off the set) You're not in this ... you're only holding the whole thing up. (turning to studio as a whole) Come on please. It's no good, loves. It's no good. We'll have to leave it for now. Come back when everyone's settled down a bit. So-that means we go over to the Art Room, all right. So cue camera three! (cut to Che Guevara caught in a hot embrace with Karl Marx) Sorry, camera four.

Art Gallery Strike

(Cut to An Gallery. A large sign says: 'Italian Masters of the Renaissance'. Two art critics wandering through. They stop in front of a large Titian canvas. The canvas is about ten foot high by six foot wide.)

First Critic: Aren't they marvelous? The strength and boldness... life and power in those colours.

Second Critic: This must be Titian's masterpiece.

First Critic: Oh indeed - if only for the composition alone. The strength of those foreground figures ... the firmness of the line...

Second Critic: Yes, the confidence of the master at the height of his powers.

(At this point a man in a country smock and straw hat and a straw in his mouth comes up to the painting and with a very businesslike manner presses the nipple of a nude in the painting. Ding dong sound of a front doorbell. He stands tapping his feet and whistling soundlessly beside the painting. He nods at the critics. Cut to the top of the painting to see that one of the figures has disappeared leaving a blank. The camera pans down the painting as we hear footsteps; as if coming down a lot of stone steps. Eventualy the camera comes to rest beside where the country bumpkin is standing and a door opens in the painting. We do, not see who has opened it, but can assume it is the cherub.)

Cherub: Yes?

Bumpkin: Hello sonny, your dad in?

Cherub: Yes.

Bumpkin: Could I speak to him please? It's the man from 'The Hay Wain'.

Cherub: Who?

Bumpkin: The man from 'The Hay Wain' by Constable.

Cherub: Dad... it's the man from 'The Hay Wain' by Constable to see you.

Solomon: Coming.

(Sound of footsteps. Cut to another close up on the painting and we see the main figure disappearing. This figure suddenly puts his head round the door.)

Solomon: Hello? How are you? Come on in.

Bumpkin: No, no can't stop, just passing by, actually.

Solomon: Oh, where are you now?

Bumpkin: Well may you ask. We just been moved in next to a room full of Brueghels ... terrible bloody din. Skating all hours of the night. Anyway, I just dropped in to tell you there's been a walk-out in the Impressionists.

Solomon: Walk-out, eh?

Bumpkin: Yeah. It started with the 'Deieuner Sur L'Herbe' lot, evidently they were moved away from above the radiator or something. Anyway, the Impressionists are all out. Gainsborough's Blue Boy's brought out the eighteenth-century English portraits, the Flemish School's solid, and the German woodcuts are at a meeting now.

Solomon: Right. Then I'll get the Renaissance School out.

Bumpkin: OK, meeting 4.30 - 'Bridge at Arles'.

Solomon: OK, cheerio - good luck, son.

Bumpkin: OK.

(The door shuts and we hear Solomon's voice over.)

Solomon: Right - everybody out.

(We see various famous paintings whose characters suddenly disappear.)

Voices: I'm off. I'm off. I'm off, dear. (etc.)

(Mix through to front room of a suburban house. A man is sawing his wife in two in the classic long box.)

Radio: Here is the News... (the man pauses for a moment and looks at radio, then resumes sawing; we zoom in to close up on the radio. There is a window behind it; as the radio talks, a group of paintings with picket signs pass by) by an almost unanimous vote, paintings in the National Gallery voted to continue the strike that has emptied frames for the last week. The man from Constable's 'Hay Wain' said last night that there was no chance of a return to the pictures before the weekend. Sir Kenneth Clarke has said he will talk to any painting if it can help bring a speedy end to the strike (a ghastly scream out of vision; the sawing stops abruptly) At Sotheby's, prices dropped dramatically as leading figures left their paintings. (Cut to Sotheby's)

Auctioneer: What am I bid for Vermeer's 'Lady Who Used to be at a Window'? Do I hear two bob?

Voice: Two bob!

Auctioneer: Gone. Now what am I bid for another great bargain? Edward Landseer's 'Nothing at Bay'.

(Pull out to reveal man standing beside auctioneer with the painting [the stag is missing]. Cut to a group of famous characters from famous paintings who are clustered round the camera. Botticelli's Venus is in the centre jabbing her fingers at camera.)

Venus: All we bloody want is a little bit of bloody consultation.

(Fade sound of them all shouting and jostling etc. Bring up sound of radio out of vision.)

Radio: At a mass meeting at Brentford Football Ground, other works of art voted to come out in support of the paintings. (animation cut to Brentford football ground with famous statues in the stands) The vote was unanimous. (they all put their hands up) with one abstention. (cut to close up of 'Venus De Milo'; cut to TV Centre and slow zoom in) Meanwhile, at Television Centre work began again on a sketch about Ypres. A spokesman for the sketch said that he fully expected it to be more sensible this time.

Ypres 1914

(Cut to usual opening shot of close up of harmonica being played by tommy. CAPTION: YPRES 1914 Slow zoom out to reveal set-up as before with no extraneous characters.)

Sergeant: Jenkins.

Jenkins: Yes, sarge?

Sergeant: What are you going to do when you get back to Blighty?

Jenkins: I dunno, sarge. I expect I'll look after my mum. She'll be getting on a bit now.

Sergeant: Got a family of your own, have you?

Jenkins: No - she's all I got left now. My wife, Doreen ... she... I got a letter.

Sergeant: You don't have to tell me, son.

Jenkins: No, sarge, I'd like to tell you. You see, this bloke from up the street...

(Enter a young major.)

Major: OK, chaps, at ease. I've just been up the line...

Sergeant: Can we get through, sir?

Major: No, I'm afraid we'll have to make a break for it at nightfall.

Sergeant: Right, sir. We're all with yer.

Major: Yes I know, that's just the problem, sergeant. How many are there of us?

Sergeant: Well there's you, me, Jenkins, Padre, Kipper, there's five, sir.

Major: And only rations for...

Sergeant: Four, sir.

Major: Precisely. I'm afraid one of us will have to take the 'other' way out.

(Crash zoom into revolver which the major has brought out. Jarring chord. Close up of faces looking tense from one to the other. Tense music.)

Padre: I'm a gonner, major. Leave me, I'm ... I'm not a complete man anymore.

Major: You've lost both your arms as well.

Padre: Yes. Damn silly really.

Major: No, no, we'll draw for it. That's the way we do things in the army. Sergeant, the straws!

(The sergeant gives him the straws. The major arranges them and hands them round)

Major: Right now, the man who gets the shortest straw knows what to do

(They all take the long straws. Including the padre who takes one in his teeth. The major is left with a tiny straw. A pause.)

Sergeant: Looks like you, sir.

Major: Is it? What did we say, the longest straw was it?

Sergeant: No, shortest, sir.

Major: Well we'd better do it again, there's obviously been a bit of a muddle. (they do it again and the same thing happens) Oh dear. Best of three? (they go through it again and he gets left with it again) Right, well I've got the shortest straw. So I decide what means we use to decide who's going to do... to... to... to er .... to do the thing ... to do the right thing. Now rank doesn't enter into this, but obviously if I should get through the lines, I will be in a very good position to recommend anyone, very highly, for a posthumous VC. (he looks round to see if there are any takers) No? Good. Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. Right. (counting out) Dip, dip, dip, my little ship sails on the ocean, you are (comes back to himself)... no wait, wait a minute, no I, I must have missed out a dip. I'll start again. Dip, dip, dip, dip, my little ship, sails on the ocean, you are ... (it's back on him again) No, this is not working out. It's not working out. What shall we do?

Jenkins: How about one potato, two potato, sir?

Major: Don't be childish, Jenkins. No, I think, I think fisties would be best. OK, so hands behind backs. After three, OK, one, two, three. (everyone except the padre who has no arms puts out clenched fist) Now what's this... stone, stone, stone, (looks down at his hand) and scissors. Now. Scissors cut everything, don't they?

Sergeant: Not stone, sir.

Major: They're very good scissors (then he suddenly sees the padre) Padre hasn't been!

Sergeant: No arms, sir.

Major: Oh, I'm terribly sorry, I'm afraid I didn't... tell you what. All those people who don't want to stay here and shoot themselves raise their arms.

Padre: Stop it! Stop it! Stop this ... this hideous facade.

Sergeant: Easy, padre!

Padre: No, no, I must speak. When I, when I came to this war, I had two arms, two good arms, but when the time came to... to lose one, I .. I gave it gladly, I smiled as they cut if off, (music under: 'There'll Always Be An England) because I knew there was a future for mankind. I ... I knew there was hope... so long as men were prepared to give their limbs (emotionally) And when the time came for me to give my other arm I... I gave it gladly. I... I sang as they sawed it off. Because I believed... (hysterically) Oh you may laugh, but I believed with every fibre of my body, with every drop of rain that falls, a... a flower grows. And that flower, that small fragile, delicate flower... (two modern-day ambulance attendants come in with a trolley which they put the padre onto and wheel him away; he is still going on)... shall burst forth and give a new life. New strength! (cut to a present-day ambulance racing out of TV Centre in speeded-up motion; it man through the streets, and arrives at the casualty entrance of a hospital; the doors swing open and the padre is rushed out on stretcher [still in fast motion] totally under a blanket; we hear his voice) ... freedom. Freedom from fear and freedom from oppression. Freedom from tyranny. (the camera picks up on sign which reads: 'Royal Hospital for Over-acting) A world where men and women of all races and creeds can live together in communion and then in the twilight of this life, our children, and our children's children and . .. (by this time he has disappeared in through the doors of the hospital for over actors)

The Hospital for Over Actors

(Cut to the interior of hospital and see specialist as he walks down a corridor.)

Specialist: (Graham Chapman) All our patients here are suffering from severe over-acting. (a nurse goes past leading a Long John Silver who keeps going 'Aha! Jim Lad') When they're brought in they're all really over the top. (he passes a whole group of Long John Silvers) And it's our job to try and treat the condition of over-acting ... (he passes a group of King Rats, and indicates the worst case) rather serious. (he walks on through a door) This is the Richard III Ward.

(Pull out to reveal a crowd of Richard III's. The specialist indicates one who is really over the top.)

Richard III: (Michael Palin) A horse. A horse. My kingdom for a horse.

Specialist: Most of these cases are pretty unpleasant. Nurse... (a nurse comes in and sedates Richard III) But the treatment does work with some people. This chap came to us straight from the Chichester Festival; we operated just in time, and now he's almost normal.

(He walks over to a very ordinary Richard III, who smiles disarmingly and says quite chatlily)

Second Richard: (Eric Idle) A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse.

(Shaking his head sadly, the specialist leaves the ward and opens a door to another one.)

Specialist: But in here we have some very nasty cases indeed.

(ANIMATION: involving grotesque Hamlets.)

Hamlets: To be or not to be. That is the question. To be...

(Animation leads to close up of flowers.)

Gumby Flower Arranging

(Superimposed caption: 'FLOWER ARRANGEMENT')

(Pull back to show Gumby in studio with piles of flowers on a table.)

(Superimposed caption: 'INTRODUCED BY D. P. GUMBY')

Gumby: Good evening. First take a bunch of flowers...

(He grabs flowers from the table.)

Gumby: Pretty begonias, irises, freesias and cry-manthesums, then arrange them nicely in a vase. (he thrusts the flowers head downwards into the vase and stuffs them in wildly; he even bangs them with a mallet in an attempt to get them all in) Get in! Get in! Get in!

Spam

Scene: A cafe. One table is occupied by a group of Vikings with horned helmets on. A man and his wife enter.

Man (Eric Idle): You sit here, dear.

Wife (Graham Chapman in drag): All right.

Man (to Waitress): Morning!

Waitress (Terry Jones, in drag as a bit of a rat-bag): Morning!

Man: Well, what've you got?

Waitress: Well, there's egg and bacon; egg sausage and bacon; egg and spam; egg bacon and spam; egg bacon sausage and spam; spam bacon sausage and spam; spam egg spam spam bacon and spam; spam sausage spam spam bacon spam tomato and spam;

Vikings (starting to chant): Spam spam spam spam...

Waitress: ...spam spam spam egg and spam; spam spam spam spam spam spam baked beans spam spam spam...

Vikings (singing): Spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam!

Waitress: ...or Lobster Thermidor au Crevette with a mornay sauce served in a Provencale manner with shallots and aubergines garnished with truffle pate, brandy and with a fried egg on top and spam.

Wife: Have you got anything without spam?

Waitress: Well, there's spam egg sausage and spam, that's not got much spam in it.

Wife: I don't want ANY spam!

Man: Why can't she have egg bacon spam and sausage?

Wife: THAT'S got spam in it!

Man: Hasn't got as much spam in it as spam egg sausage and spam, has it?

Vikings: Spam spam spam spam (crescendo through next few lines)

Wife: Could you do the egg bacon spam and sausage without the spam then?

Waitress: Urgghh!

Wife: What do you mean 'Urgghh'? I don't like spam!

Vikings: Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!

Waitress: Shut up!

Vikings: Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!

Waitress: Shut up! (Vikings stop) Bloody Vikings! You can't have egg bacon spam and sausage without the spam.

Wife (shrieks): I don't like spam!

Man: Sshh, dear, don't cause a fuss. I'll have your spam. I love it. I'm having spam spam spam spam spam spam spam beaked beans spam spam spam and spam!

Vikings (singing): Spam spam spam spam. Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!

Waitress: Shut up!! Baked beans are off.

Man: Well could I have her spam instead of the baked beans then?

Waitress: You mean spam spam spam spam spam spam... (but it is too late and the Vikings drown her words)

Vikings (singing elaborately): Spam spam spam spam. Lovely spam! Wonderful spam! Spam spa-a-a-a-a-am spam spa-a-a-a-a-am spam. Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Spam spam spam spam!