The Complete Fawlty Towers

by John Cleese

  In the Fawltys’ bedroom, Sybil is now off the phone, back into her magazine and testing chocolates. Basil comes in, yawning noisily.

  Sybil: . . . Well?

  Basil: . . . Hmmmmm?

  Sybil: Who was it?

  Basil: It was your, er . . . pair . . . Huh! Tch! Caw!

  He gets back into bed. From outside the door:

  Jean’s voice: Goodnight.

  Mrs. Peignoir’s voice Bonne nuit.

  Sybil gives Basil a withering look.

  Basil: Oh, and that . . . that woman . . . er?

  Sybil: Mrs. Peignoir.

  Basil: Oh, something like that, yes . . .

  Mrs. Peignoir’s voice: Dormez bien, Monsieur Fawlty.

  An uncomfortable pause.

  Basil: How’s Audrey?

  Sybil: She’s in a terrible state.

  Basil (absently): Ah, good, good.

  There is a knock at the door. Basil tries to ignore it at first, but Sybil is looking pointedly at him.

  Basil (loudly): There’s someone at the door, Sybil.

  Sybil: Why are you shouting, Basil?

  Basil: Was I shouting? Sorry, Sybil! (totally unnerved, he gets out of bed and puts his dressing-gown on) Well, I’d better see who that is, then, Sybil. I expect it’s some key who forgot to get the guest for their door or some innocent explanation like that. Are you ready, Sybil?

  Sybil (somewhat puzzled): I’m ready, Basil.

  Basil: Right. Well, I’ll just see who that is, then, Sybil. Ready, Sybil? (he opens the door about an inch; unable to see anyone, he moves out into the corridor) Hallo?

  Manuel, wearing a silly hat and some party streamers, and obviously somewhat tipsy, jumps out from round the corner.

  Manuel: Olé! (Basil jumps violently and falls over) Oh, so sorry, Mr. Fawlty . . . poor Mr. Fawlty! (stoops to help Basil up)

  Sybil’s voice: Basil, are you all right?

  Basil: No, I’m dying, but don’t get out of bed.

  Manuel: I hurt you, and you so wonderful, give me such beautiful present. Thank you . . .

  Basil: You’re drunk, Manuel.

  Manuel: No, is beautiful, is my first one. Thank you, thank . . . (Basil moans) Oh, Mr. Fawlty, so sorry, please . . .

  Alan comes round the corner of the corridor behind them and sees Manuel and Basil grappling on the floor.

  Manuel: Mr. Fawlty, I love you, I love you, you so kind, you so good to me. I love you, I love you!

  Alan hurries off, shaking his head.

  Sybil’s voice: Basil, I’m trying to read in here.

  Manuel: Since I came here from Spain, leaving my five mothers and four aunties . . .

  Basil’s hands reach up and attempt to strangle Manuel.

  The dining room, the next morning. Basil approaches Mrs. Peignoir’s table.

  Basil: Et maintenant—un peu de café?

  Mrs. Peignoir: Ah, oui, s’il vous plaît. Café au lait.

  Basil: Café what?

  Mrs. Peignoir: Au lait.

  Basil: Ah! Café . . . Olé!

  Manuel, looking terrible, appears with two cups of coffee. He sways to Alan and Jean’s table and deposits the coffee, spilling some of it. He tries to mop it up but is overcome and helped back to the kitchen by Polly. Basil brings Mrs. Peignoir her coffee.

  Basil: There we are. Voilà sommes nous. Café pour vous.

  Mrs. Peignoir: ‘Vous’? Pas ‘pour toi’?

  Basil: No, I’ll probably have one later.

  Mrs. Peignoir (laughs gaily): Oh, that’s very funny!

  Basil: Oh, good, good.

  Mrs. Peignoir: Oh, Mr. Fawlty, I forget—the window in my bedroom—I can’t open it . . . er . . . could you . . . ?

  Basil: Oh, certainly, I’ll pop up and fix it, certainly.

  He walks away. Manuel appears carrying two plates of food. The sight of them has a bad effect on him and he sinks to his knees. Basil appears behind him and rescues the plates.

  Basil: Thank you so much. (puts them on Alan and Jean’s table) Manuel?

  Manuel (on floor): Is terrible.

  Basil: Manuel, would you go in the kitchen please.

  Manuel: I can’t.

  Basil: Manuel! Go to the kitchen immediately.

  Manuel: Oh, no, no, no.

  Basil: Come on, Manuel.

  Manuel: No, no . . . please, I die here, please.

  Basil (to the guests): Sorry about this. He’s been working awfully hard recently.

  Polly (coming up): Mr. Fawlty, can I help?

  Basil: I can manage this on my own, thank you, Polly. (he tries to pick Manuel up but falls on the floor with him)

  Alan (to Jean): He’s at it again.

  Jean: Disgusting!

  Basil (still on floor): I beg your pardon?

  Jean: Nothing!

  Basil: I thought you said something.

  Alan: No, no, no, carry on.

  Basil (carrying Manuel out; to guests): Get on with your meal!

  In the lobby, two newcomers, Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd, are at the reception desk. Sybil is dealing with them.

  Sybil: Thank you, Mr. Lloyd. This is just for tonight, isn’t it?

  Mr. Lloyd: That’s right.

  Sybil: Will you be taking lunch?

  Mr. Lloyd: We won’t have time, I’m afraid, we’ve got this wedding at half past two . . .

  Mrs. Lloyd: I wonder, could I make a call?

  Sybil: Oh, please, use that phone.

  Mr. Lloyd: Would it be possible to have some sandwiches sent up to our room?

  Sybil: Certainly. Here’s the key. I’ll have your bags brought up in a moment.

  Mr. Lloyd: Thank you.

  Mr. Lloyd goes up the stairs. Mrs. Lloyd starts dialling her number.

  Sybil (going into the kitchen): Would you like coffee with the sandwiches?

  Mrs. Lloyd: Oh, yes please.

  Sybil disappears. Alan and Jean come out of the dining room.

  Jean: Mum!

  Mrs. Lloyd (kissing her): Hallo darling, hallo Alan.

  Alan: Hallo, Rachel.

  Jean: Where’s Philip? Did he have a good trip?

  Mrs. Lloyd: Marvellous. He’s upstairs. (to phone) Oh, could I speak to Mrs. Brice, please?

  Jean: I’ll see you in a moment. (she skips off upstairs)

  Alan: I’m just going to finish my breakfast. (goes to dining room)

  Mrs. Lloyd: Right ho, love.

  Basil comes out of the dining room with Sybil, who indicates the cases.

  Sybil: There they are.

  Basil: Well, where’s the key?

  Sybil: He’s already taken it up, Basil.

  Basil: All right.

  Mrs. Lloyd (to phone): Anne—it’s Rachel Lloyd here . . . how’s everything?

  Basil (to Mrs. Lloyd): I’m going to take your cases upstairs.

  Mrs. Lloyd (to phone): Yes, I know . . .

  Basil sighs on hearing this familiar phrase and takes the cases upstairs. In the Lloyds’ room, Jean is hugging Mr. Lloyd.

  Jean: Darling, it’s beautiful . . . thank you.

  She kisses him. Basil opens the door and sees this; he shuts it again in horror and runs downstairs.

  Basil: Sybil! Sybil! (he sees Mrs. Lloyd in the lobby, and decides to protect her from the goings-on upstairs) Ah! . . . Hello!

  Mrs. Lloyd: Hallo.

  Basil: It’s Mrs. Lloyd, isn’t it?

  Mrs. Lloyd: That’s right.

  Basil: Ah, how do you do. Fawlty. Basil Fawlty. (shakes her hand)

  Mrs. Lloyd: How do you do.

  Basil: Oh, pretty well, really. Can’t complain, ha ha ha.

  Mrs. Lloyd (not understanding all this): Good.

  Basil: Well . . . hah! (indicates the kitchen door) We . . . er . . . had this door knocked through recently . . . made rather a good job of it, don’t you think?

  Mrs. Lloyd: Yes, yes, it’s very nice.

  Basil: Oh yes, marvellous, it’s changed our lives, really. You know, we used to have to do the hundred yar
ds through there and back again, but now we can just sort of open it . . . (it is stuck) Oh dear, it’s not working as well as it usually does, ha ha ha . . . (opens it) . . . and go right in, just like that, it’s marvellous. It’s simple but effective. Would you like to have a go, see the kitchen and . . .

  Mrs. Lloyd: Well, I’d love to one day, but I think just now I’d better be getting upstairs. So I’ll see you later . . .

  She makes to leave. Basil suddenly grabs his thigh.

  Basil: Aaaaargh! . . . Oooooh!

  Mrs. Lloyd: Are you all right?

  Basil: Bit of trouble with the old leg. I’d better just sit down in here, just for a moment. (he backs into the kitchen; she follows uncertainly) Bit of shrapnel. Korean War. Still in there. Oh dear!

  Mrs. Lloyd: Can’t they get it out?

  Basil: Too deep. Too deep. Aaaaagh! . . . Well, this is the kitchen as you can see . . .

  Mrs. Lloyd: What . . .

  Basil: The kitchen . . . Aagh! . . . Yes, we had it plastered about five years ago . . . we’ve got a few cracks up there now . . . (Mrs. Lloyd notices Manuel’s feet sticking out of the laundry basket) Oh, don’t worry about him, he’s just having a lie down. He’s from Spain. Barcelona, you know. Sort of siesta. But he’s fine. (opens the lid to demonstrate this; Manuel groans; Basil closes the lid) It was his birthday yesterday . . . so anyway, we got a few cracks up there but nothing serious . . . so, as I say, it’s not the Sistine Chapel, but we’re very happy with it. (he spots Jean crossing the lobby and stands up)

  Mrs. Lloyd: Are you sure he’s all right?

  Basil: What? Oh yes, he’s fine.

  Manuel groans again.

  Mrs. Lloyd: But he’s groaning.

  Basil: Is he, is he?

  Mrs. Lloyd: Can’t you hear him?

  More groans.

  Basil: So he is. Listen, I’ve just remembered I left your cases just outside your room by mistake—would you mind if I went and put them inside now . . . unless there’s anything else you’d like to see?

  Mrs. Lloyd: No, but . . . (she looks at Manuel)

  Basil: Oh, don’t worry about him, my wife will deal with that. Sybil! So if you’d like to . . . come along, come along. (ushers her out of the kitchen)

  In the Lloyds’ bedroom; there is a knock at the door.

  Mr. Lloyd: Come in.

  Polly comes in with a tray.

  Polly: Your sandwiches, Mr. Lloyd.

  Mr. Lloyd (realizing after a moment who it is): Polly!

  Polly: Hello!

  Mr. Lloyd: How are you?

  Polly: Fantastic.

  Mr. Lloyd: It’s great to see you.

  Polly: You’re still gorgeous.

  They hug each other. Basil opens the door and sees this with disbelief. He closes the door hurriedly and wonders how to protect Mrs. Lloyd.

  Mrs. Lloyd: Is anything the matter?

  Basil: Mrs. Lloyd . . . er . . . can I have a word with you?

  Mrs. Lloyd: You are.

  Basil (thinking furiously): Yes . . . there’s something that I need to explain.

  Mrs. Lloyd: Well?

  Basil (opening the door to another room): Could we go in here?

  Mrs. Lloyd: Oh, really, is it absolutely necessary?

  Basil: I’m afraid it is.

  Bewildered and thoroughly disconcerted, she follows Basil into the room.

  Basil: Mrs. Lloyd, I’m so sorry . . . but this is a much nicer room . . . than the one we’ve given you . . .

  Mrs. Lloyd: What . . . ?

  Basil: I was saying that I was sorry that this room is so much nicer than yours . . . and I wanted to bring you in here now and show it to you . . . and to apologize . . . in case you found out about it later and got rather cross. Now, the point is . . . um . . . the point is . . . if it turns out you don’t like your room, then we could always move you in here, but I don’t think it’s worth doing until you’ve definitely decided that you don’t like that one as much as this one, and then we can sort of sit down round a table, discuss it, chew it over and . . . (he looks out to see Polly leaving the Lloyds’ room) . . . and then it will be a piece of cake. Bob’s your uncle. OK? Fine. (ushers her back to her own room) . . . Oh, sorry, sorry. (he brings the cases into the Lloyds’ room)

  Mr. Lloyd: Oh, thank you, thank you very much. (to his wife) I wondered where you were, darling. (Basil gives him a look of hatred and departs) Darling . . . darling—are you all right?

  Mrs. Lloyd: But . . . this room is exactly the same as . . . that one . . .

  Outside in the corridor, Basil stands fuming. Meanwhile in Alan’s room Jean is massaging the back of Alan’s neck while Polly tries on one of Jean’s dresses.

  Polly: Jean, it’s absolutely smashing.

  Jean: A bit tight over the bust.

  Polly: Oh, I love it.

  Alan (reacting to the massage): Lower.

  Jean (to Polly): Are you sure?

  Polly: Mmm. Can I pick it up tonight?

  Alan: Lower . . . Oh, marvellous! That’s it! Ooh!

  Polly takes the dress off and puts her own back on. In the corridor, Basil can hear Alan’s voice as the massage proceeds.

  Alan’s voice: Oh, that’s amazing. That’s amazing! Aaaah! Beautiful! Ooh! Oh baby, have you been taking lessons?

  Polly’s voice: So, see you tonight.

  She opens the door; Basil crouches out of sight as she comes out.

  Polly: For ten quid that’s absolutely fantastic!

  She makes off downstairs, still doing up the back of her dress. Basil is quite horrified.

  Basil: No, no, no, nooooooo . . . (he rushes down into the lobby, where he meets Polly) Polly, I want to see you at reception in one minute in your hat and coat.

  Polly: I’m sorry?

  Basil: I want to see you at reception in one minute in your hat and coat.

  Polly: Will they fit you?

  Basil: Not . . . not . . . you! You! (he speeds into the office, where Sybil is working) They’re going!

  Sybil: What?

  Basil: They’re going!

  He races off upstairs, knocks on the Lloyds’ door and opens it abruptly.

  Basil: I’m sorry, but you’ll have to go. We made a mistake. All these rooms are taken. (realizes that the room is empty) Hallo?

  The Lloyds, Alan and Jean are in Alan’s room.

  Jean: She was sitting on him!

  Alan: Five minutes later, I saw him lying on the floor underneath the waiter!

  The door opens; Basil looks in and stares at them.

  Basil: . . . Ah, there you are . . . Yes, yes, I might have guessed, mightn’t I? Yes, I see. Of course we’re a bit behind the times down here in Torquay. Well, I’m sorry but you’ll have to go. We made a mistake—all these rooms are taken. I’m so sorry. (he goes; then he comes back) Well, actually, I’m not sorry. I mean, you come here, just like that, and well, well, to be perfectly blunt, you have a very good time at our expense. I mean, I think you know what I mean. Hah! I mean, you have had a very, very good time, haven’t you? Well, not here you don’t! Oh, no. Thank you and goodnight!

  He slams the door and races off, leaving the occupants speechless. Downstairs, he storms into the office.

  Basil: Well, that’s taken care of that!

  Sybil: Basil, what is going on? Why did you tell Polly to get her hat and coat?

  Basil: Because she’s going. Along with the Lloyds and that pair you let in. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life! My God!!

  Sybil: Basil, what are you on about? Why are they leaving?

  Basil: I’ll tell you exactly why they’re leaving. First of all, I go up there and I find that girl in his arms, in Lloyd’s arms. Five minutes later Polly’s in there!

  Sybil: What girl?

  Basil: That girl!

  Sybil: She’s his daughter.

  Basil: What?

  Sybil: She’s Mr. Lloyd’s step-daugher. They’re all one family.

  There is a long, long pause while the implications si
nk in.

  Basil: Well, what about Polly?

  Sybil: She was at school with Jean. She’s known them all for years.

  Basil: For years, huh?

  Sybil: For years.

  Basil: . . . What have I done?

  Sybil: What have you done?

  Basil: I told them to leave.

  Sybil: You’ve told them to leave?

  Basil: Well, how was I supposed to know? Why didn’t you tell me, you half-wit? Why didn’t they tell me? You can’t blame me for this!

  Sybil (placidly): Go and tell them they can stay.

  Basil: . . . Why don’t you go and tell them?

  Sybil: I didn’t tell them to go.

  Basil: No, no, I suppose it’s all my fault, isn’t it?

  Sybil (firmly): Go and tell them! . . . Now!

  Basil: No, I won’t.

  Sybil: You will.

  Basil: No, no I won’t.

  Sybil (standing up): Oh yes you will.

  Basil: Oh yes I will. Right! That’s right—leave it to me! Let me get you out of it. That’s what I’m good for, isn’t it? Basil Fawlty Limited. Other people’s messes cleared up. By appointment to my wife Sybil . . . I mean, what am I going to say?!!

  Sybil: Tell them you made a mistake.

  Basil: Oh, brilliant. Is that what made Britain great? ‘I’m so sorry I made a mistake.’ What have you got for a brain—spongecake?

  He hurtles out into the lobby. Polly is coming down the stairs in her hat and coat.

  Basil: Er . . . very nice. Very nice. Take them off, get back to work. ‘I’m so sorry I made a mistake.’

  He hurtles past the dazed Polly, and rushes up the stairs too preoccupied to notice Mr. Lloyd coming down.

  Basil (to himself): I’m so sorry I made a mistake.

  Mr. Lloyd looks oddly after him and starts back up the stairs. In the upstairs corridor, Basil hurtles to a stop.

  Basil (to empty space): I’m so sorry I made a mistake.

  He knocks on Alan’s door and opens it. The occupants turn to look at him.

  Basil: I’m sorry . . . I’m so sorry, but my wife has made a mistake, I don’t know how she did it, but she did, she’s made a complete pudding of the whole thing as usual, it’ll be perfectly all right for you to stay, I’ve sorted it all out, I’m frightfully sorry but you know what women are like, they’ve only got one brain between the lot of them, well not all of them but some of them have, particularly my wife, so please do stay and see you all later on, thank you so much. (he spins round and sees Mr. Lloyd; he is in no mood for shocks; he jumps and makes as if to hit Mr. Lloyd for a split second, then pulls back, bows, and says with difficulty) . . . I was just saying . . . please do stay . . . my wife made a most dreadful mistake. (he exits, bowing)