The Complete Fawlty Towers

by John Cleese

  Polly: He and Manuel are getting the wine from the cellar.

  Basil goes back into the dining room, looks round proudly and rubs his hands together.

  Basil: Right . . . this is what it’s all about. (Misses Tibbs and Gatsby peer in from the lobby) You two! You’re supposed to be in your rooms.

  Miss Gatsby: Oh!

  Basil: You’re not allowed down here tonight, remember?

  Miss Gatsby: Ooh, doesn’t it look pretty.

  Miss Tibbs: What are you cooking?

  Basil: I’ll send up a menu with your bread and cheese. Now get out. (he shoos them out)

  Sybil (appearing from the lobby): They’re here.

  Basil: What?

  Sybil: The Halls are here! (she hurries off)

  Miss Gatsby & Miss Tibbs: The Halls!

  Basil: . . . Go to your rooms!

  They bustle off. Basil takes a deep breath and straightens his tie.

  Manuel (running in from the kitchen): Mr. Fawlty . . . Mr. Fawlty . . . I very upset.

  Basil: Not now, Manuel. Later. (he exits, leaving Manuel flapping)

  In the bar, the Halls are talking to Sybil. Mrs. Hall is extremely small. The Colonel has a commanding manner and a head twitch.

  Colonel Hall: When I went for my jog this morning, I thought it was going to be pretty warm (he twitches) . . . but in the event it turned out to be pretty cool really, and then it started to cloud up this afternoon, quite contrary to the weather forecast, naturally (he twitches) . . . and I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if we got a spot of rain tonight.

  Sybil: Still, it’s been a lovely summer, hasn’t it?

  Basil (striding in): Ah, Colonel! How delightful to see you again.

  Colonel Hall: . . . Sorry?

  Basil: How delightful to see you again. We met last year at the Golf Club dinner dance, you may remember?

  Colonel Hall: No I don’t.

  Basil: Ah, sorry, well, we didn’t talk for long, just good evening really, a blink of the eye and you’d have missed it. As indeed you did. Quite understandably. (the Colonel twitches; Basil stares, puzzled) Sorry?

  Colonel Hall: . . . What?

  Sybil nudges Basil.

  Basil: Well . . . how is that lovely daughter of yours?

  Sybil (quietly): She’s dead.

  Basil (examining the Colonel’s lapel keenly): I like your suit. Isn’t it super. The way those stripes go up and down, really super. How much did that cost, then?

  Colonel Hall (irritated): Who are you? (Basil stares at him blankly) . . . I mean, I don’t know your name!

  There is a pause.

  Basil (to Sybil, under his breath): What is it?

  Sybil: What?

  Basil (in a frenzied whisper): My name.

  Sybil (calmly) This is my husband. Basil Fawlty.

  Basil: That’s it!!

  Colonel Hall: What?

  Basil: How do you do.

  Colonel Hall: How do you do. (Basil offers his hand; the Colonel shakes it and twitches)

  Basil: May I introduce my wife?

  Colonel Hall: She just introduced you!

  Basil: Oh, what a coincidence!

  Colonel Hall: Yes. I don’t believe you know my wife . . .

  But the diminutive Mrs. Hall is standing behind the Colonel and neither Basil nor Sybil can see her.

  Basil (to Sybil): Dead? (Sybil nods)

  Colonel Hall: May I introduce Mrs. Hall?

  Basil and Sybil look round, puzzled, then spot Mrs. Hall. She and they peer round the Colonel and smile at each other.

  Basil: Oh, sorry! Didn’t see you down there. Don’t get up. (Sybil nudges him; he takes a closer look at Mrs. Hall)

  Sybil: What would you like to drink, Mrs. Small? Hall!

  Basil: Yes, a short, or . . . oh!

  Sybil: A sherry . . . how about a sherry?

  Mrs. Hall: A sherry—lovely.

  Basil: Oh good. Large, or . . . or . . . not quite so large?

  Colonel Hall: Two, small and dry.

  Basil: Oh . . . I wouldn’t say that.

  Colonel Hall: What?

  Basil: I don’t know . . .

  Colonel Hall (irritably): Two small, dry sherries.

  Basil: Oh, I see what you mean! Sorry!

  The Colonel twitches. The bell at reception sounds. Basil bows and withdraws.

  In the lobby, Mr. and Mrs. Twitchen are waiting by reception. Basil sails up.

  Basil: Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Twitchen, good evening . . . welcome to Fawlty Towers.

  Mr. Twitchen: Good evening.

  Basil (sveltely): How very au fait of you to come to our little culinary soirée this evening.

  Mr. Twitchen: Only too glad to support something new in Torquay.

  Mrs. Twitchen: Such an unusual idea. I do hope it works out.

  Basil: Well, we have our hopes.

  Polly appears from the kitchen. She looks rather agitated.

  Polly: Mr. Fawlty!

  Basil: Ah, Polly! Would you take Mrs. Twitchen’s coat, please?

  Polly: Yes, of course. (she starts helping Mrs. Twitchen out of her coat)

  Basil (with a courtly gesture towards the bar): Thank you so much . . . would you care . . . ?

  Polly: Mr. Fawlty?

  Basil: Yes?

  Polly: Can I have a word with you?

  Basil: Yes. (to the Twitchens) This is Polly. She will be serving you later this evening.

  Polly: Er . . .

  Basil: Well?

  Polly: It’s Kurt.

  Basil: Yes?

  Polly: He’s potted . . . the shrimps.

  Basil: What?

  Polly: He’s potted . . . the shrimps.

  Basil: . . . Shrimps? We’re not having shrimps tonight, Polly.

  The Twitchens look at her rather oddly. Basil indicates the bar and they start to move towards it.

  Polly (tapping Basil’s arm): He’s soused . . . the herrings.

  Basil: What are you on about?!

  Polly (slowly): He’s pickled . . . the onions and he’s smashed the eggs in his cups . . . under the table. (she rolls her eyes strangely)

  Basil (to the Twitchens): Excuse me. (to Polly) Have you been drinking?

  Polly: No, not me!

  Basil (hissing): Well, will you behave yourself. (to the Twitchens) I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting. Would you care . . . (to Polly, who is still trying to detain him) Stop that and pull yourself together!

  As they move off into the bar Polly pecks at his sleeve imploringly. He turns sharply and makes as if to hit her; she gives a little yelp and jumps back. The Twitchens have seen this; he covers by pretending to flick a piece of fluff from his sleeve.

  Basil: Now, may I offer you a little aperitif, while you make up your mind what you would like for dinner?

  They move off towards the bar and this time Polly lets them go—

  Mr. Twitchen: That’s very kind of you . . . Lotte?

  Mrs. Twitchen: Tomato juice, please.

  Basil: Mr. Twitchen?

  Mr. Twitchen: Yes, tomato juice for me, thank you.

  They enter the bar. Basil hastens to make the introductions.

  Basil: Ah, good . . . oh, Colonel . . . Colonel and Mrs. Hall, may I introduce Mr. and Mrs. Tw—(the Colonel twitches; Basil exercises tact and suppresses the name) Have you met?

  Colonel Hall: No, we haven’t.

  Basil (to Mr. Twitchen): Have you?

  Mr. Twitchen: No.

  Basil: Oh, good. Well what would you like to drink, then?

  Mrs. Hall: What?

  Basil: To drink?

  Mrs. Hall: I didn’t catch the name.

  Basil: Oh, you didn’t catch it? What a rotten bit of luck!

  Colonel Hall: Well?

  Basil: Fine, thanks, and you?

  Colonel Hall: No, we still don’t know the name.

  Basil: Fawlty. Basil Fawlty.

  Colonel Hall: No, no . . . theirs.

  Basil: Oh, theirs! I’m so sorry, I thought you meant mine.
My, it’s quite warm, isn’t it. I could do with a drink too. Another sherry?

  Colonel Hall: Well, aren’t you going to introduce us?

  Basil: Didn’t I?

  Colonel Hall: No!

  Basil: Oh, sorry! This is Mr. and Mrs. . . . (mumbles)

  Colonel Hall: What?!!!

  Basil: . . . Mr. and Mrs. . . . (he lets out a little cry and faints backwards; he lies still for a couple of seconds, opens his eyes and looks up) Sorry! I fainted. (gets up) Ah, I feel better for that. Now, I’ll get your tomato juices. (he heads for the bar)

  Mr. Twitchen (to the Halls): The name’s Twitchen, actually.

  Colonel Hall: Hall. How do you do. Would you care to join us?

  They all sit down at the Halls’ table. Sybil comes up with drinks and the Gourmet Night menus.

  Sybil: Would you like to see the menus?

  Basil is at the bar recovering and pouring out more sherries. He drinks one. Polly appears at his elbow.

  Basil: Yes? What is it?

  Polly: Please put the bottle down.

  Basil: What do you want?

  Polly: Please put the bottle down.

  Basil: What is it?

  Polly: Kurt is drunk.

  Basil stays calm but drops the bottle. It smashes. The guests jump.

  Basil (calling): Sorry! (to Polly) Drunk?!

  Polly: Almost unconscious.

  Basil: Right. (he makes a supreme effort of self control; he fails) Aaaagh!!! (to guests) Sorry!! Sorry!! (to Polly) How?

  Polly: I don’t know. It happened so quickly. He had a row with Manuel.

  Basil: Manuel?

  Polly: . . . He’s got a crush on him.

  Basil: A what?

  Polly: A crush . . . you know . . . in love.

  A pause. Then, in despair, Basil hits the bar counter with his fist. Unfortunately, he catches a light metal tray, which spins in the air and lands loudly. The guests jump a lot.

  Basil (to the guests): Sorry!! Sorry! Excuse me just one moment . . . I won’t be a moment. (he steams into the lobby, pursued by Polly) I knew I should never have hired a Frenchman.

  Polly: He’s Greek, Mr. Fawlty.

  Basil: Greek?

  Polly: Of course.

  Basil: Well, that’s even worse. I mean, they invented it. (he opens the kitchen door; Kurt is standing very unsteadily against the wall with a bottle in his hand; Basil approaches him calmly but with great authority) Right. Give that to me, Kurt. Come on, give me the bottle.

  Kurt (mumbles and holds the bottle away from Basil): No. Go away. Leave me alone.

  Basil (patiently): Come on, give it to me. (he reaches for the bottle but Kurt resists)

  Kurt: Manuel! (he pushes Basil, who staggers into the dining room)

  Basil (striding back in): Now come on, Kurt . . .

  Kurt: Manuel. He doesn’t love me!

  Basil: Well, you have to give these things time.

  Kurt: I want Manuel!

  Basil: Well, I’m sure we can arrange something. Now can I have the bottle?

  Kurt: Oh, he’s so sweet.

  Basil: Yes, he is sweet, I know, yes.

  Kurt: He’s wonderful.

  Basil: Yes, yes, I know. (he grabs at the bottle; they struggle; Basil falls backwards, getting his head in a plate of salmon mousse; he pushes Kurt, who staggers back and collapses; Basil slaps his face) Kurt! Come on, Kurt! (to Polly) Get me some black coffee, quick.

  Polly: He can’t drink it. He’s out.

  Basil: No he isn’t, he’s only drunk half a bottle. Come on, Kurt, come on . . .

  Polly takes two more empties from the sink and shows him; he starts strangling Kurt. Polly tries to restrain him.

  Manuel (from behind the dining-room doors): Now listen to me, Kurty! I come in here but no cuddle. You hear me? No cuddle.

  Basil (leaves off strangling Kurt, grabs Manuel and drags him in): Look what you’ve done!

  Manuel (recoiling): Dead?!

  Basil: To the world.

  Polly: He’s only drunk, Manuel.

  Basil (to Manuel): This is your fault.

  Manuel: Qué?

  Basil: You only had to be civil to him.

  Manuel: Seville?

  Basil: Nice!

  Manuel: You no understand—is not enough. He want kiss me.

  Basil: Oh, what’s one little kiss! . . .

  Polly: Mr. Fawlty!! Call André—he can do the cooking!

  Basil: . . . André?! He’s open tonight! He’s open on a Thursday, you cloth-eared bint.

  Polly: But he could do it there and you can pick it up in the car!

  Basil (pauses to take this in.): Oh! Brilliant! (kisses her forehead) Brilliant! (grabs Manuel with similar intent, then recoils) Yech! . . . Right! (runs to the door)

  Mrs. Twitchen: . . . I can’t resist the lobster.

  Colonel Hall: No, tournedos for me, every time.

  Sybil: Would you like another drink?

  Colonel Hall: No, I don’t think we will—we’re nearly ready to order.

  Sybil: I’ll be back in a moment. (she looks round for Basil)

  In the lobby, Basil is on the phone in a high state of excitement.

  Basil: You can’t do lobster, no, right, right . . . but André, the tournedos? . . . Yes, I’m sorry, I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry . . .

  Sybil (enters from the bar): Basil!

  Basil: Yes of course I want the duck. Yes, that’s marvellous, but can you do one or two sauces? Wonderful! That’s it! Thank you, thank you, André. (puts the phone down)

  Sybil: Why are you talking to André?

  Basil: What is it, what is it?!

  Sybil: They’re ready to order, Basil.

  Basil (inserting a sheet of paper into the typewriter): Well, stall them, stall them!

  Sybil: What!?

  Basil: Stall them!! Stall them, you stupid woman!! Tell them some lie. (starts typing furiously with two fingers; one is off form)

  Sybil (firmly): What is going on?

  Basil: Ssssh!!

  Sybil: Will you just tell me what you’re doing?

  Basil (wrestling with jammed keys): We’ve got to change the menu.

  Sybil: Why? . . . Why? . . . Why!!!???

  Basil (frantically): Listen, he’s in there, he’s out, flat out, so André’s . . .

  Sybil: Who is?

  Basil: . . . What?

  Sybil: Who is out?

  Basil: Kurt! Who d’you think, Henry Kissinger? (attacks the typewriter again)

  Sybil: What do you mean, ‘out’?

  Basil: He’s drunk.

  Sybil: . . . Drunk?

  Basil: Soused! Potted! I mean drunk! Got it?

  Sybil (stunned): . . . I don’t believe it.

  Basil: Neither do I. Perhaps it’s a dream. (he bangs his head hard on the desk; nothing happens) No, it’s not a dream, we’re stuck with it. (he pulls the sheet out of the typewriter) André’s doing the cooking and I’ll collect it in the car.

  Sybil: What’s he cooking?

  Basil: Duck.

  Sybil: . . . Duck?

  Basil: Duck!

  Sybil: . . . Duck!?

  Basil: You know . . . duck??! (he runs around flapping his arms up and down and quacking)

  In the bar; Basil enters, still quacking, attracting some attention. He slips effortlessly into his smarmiest ‘Mine Host’ persona.

  Basil: I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting.

  Colonel Hall: Well, we’d like to order now . . .

  Basil: Yes, quite . . . er . . .

  Colonel Hall: My wife would like the lobster as her main . . .

  Basil: Ah, yes! Er, excuse me . . .

  Colonel Hall: Yes?

  Basil: There is one small thing . . . I’m afraid you were given the wrong menus. This is tonight’s menu.

  Colonel Hall: What?

  Basil (collecting the originals): Er, yes, I’m afraid the chef changed his mind and forgot to tell us. He’s like that, brilliant but temperamental.

&
nbsp; Colonel Hall: What, he’s changed everything?

  Basil: I’m afraid so. Yes, it wasn’t good enough, so he just chucked it away. He’s such a perfectionist.

  Mrs. Twitchen: The lobster?

  Basil: Lobster, tournedos, you name it, it’s in the bin.

  Mr. Twitchen: How extraordinary.

  Basil: Yes. Lucky old bin, I say! So this is your new menu.

  Colonel Hall: Duck with orange . . . duck with cherries . . . duck surprise?

  Mrs. Twitchen: What’s duck surprise?

  Basil: Ah . . . that’s duck without orange or cherries.

  Colonel Hall (beginning to bristle): I mean, is this all there is, duck?

  Basil (peers at the menu to check): Um . . . Ye-es . . . Done, of course, the three extremely different ways.

  Colonel Hall: Well, what do you do if you don’t like duck?

  Basil: Well, if you don’t like duck . . . er . . . (humorously) you’re rather stuck. (he laughs non-infectiously)

  Mrs. Hall: Well, fortunately I love it!

  Basil: Oh good! So . . . that’s four ducks, is it?

  In the kitchen, Sybil is kneeling by Kurt’s side, looking for signs of life. Polly comes up.

  Sybil: You were right. Now, he’s getting this duck from André . . .

  Polly: Yes, but I don’t know what vegetables he’s put on.

  Sybil: Well, let’s find out, at least we can do those.

  Basil (running in, followed by Manuel): Three salmon mousses, Polly. And one mullet with mustard sauce, for Mrs. Hall. Right . . . where is the mullet?

  Polly: There!

  Polly points and starts preparing the mousse. Basil hurries to a dish containing some mullet, takes a couple out and puts them on a plate. The atmosphere is urgent but co-operative.

  Sybil: What are you doing about vegetables, Basil?

  Basil: Same. Same as on the other menu, dear.

  Sybil: André’s not doing any?

  Basil: No, no, you do them, you and Polly . . . mustard sauce, mustard sauce . . . (he pours mustard sauce onto the mullet and picks up the plate) Right now, while I’m out in the car, you get them ready, right? Ready, Polly?

  Polly: Ready.

  Basil: Manuel! (Manuel takes the mullet; Basil indicates the mousse) Right, two of those for table nine, and one of these, and this, for table four. Come on.

  In the dining room, the Halls and the Twitchens are just sitting down. Polly goes to the Twitchens’ table with the mousses, and Manuel to the Halls’ with the mullet and the mousse. He puts them down the wrong way round.

  Basil: No, no, the other way round.

  Manuel: Qué?

  Basil: The other—way—round.