The Complete Fawlty Towers

by John Cleese

  Manuel: Ah! (to the Halls) Please. (he indicates that they should change places) Please to change.

  Basil: No, no, the plates!

  Manuel: Qué?

  Basil: The plates! Change the plates!

  Manuel: . . . Oh, dirty! I change. (he picks up the plates and heads for the kitchen)

  Basil (intercepting him): No, no, come here. Look . . .

  He takes the plates from Manuel and demonstrates. Manuel takes them with crossed arms, uncrosses them and puts them down exactly as before. Basil pulls Manuel away from the table and whispers to him. The Halls change their plates round themselves. Manuel returns from his briefing and changes them back.

  Manuel: Sorry, sorry, is wrong.

  Basil sees the plates and slaps Manuel. While he is doing this the Halls change the plates round again.

  Basil (to the Halls): I’m so sorry. He’s from Barcelona. (he changes the plates over with an air of finality; to Manuel) I don’t know what he sees in you!

  The Halls look at each other, then, without a word, get up and change places. Both Basil and Manuel jump.

  Mrs. Hall: Do you think we could have a drink, dear?

  Colonel Hall: May I see the wine list please, Fawlty?

  Basil: Certainly, Major . . . Colonel! (he hurries to the sideboard; Mr. Twitchen is removing a long black hair from his mouth and peering into his mousse suspiciously) Everything all right?

  Mr. Twitchen (doubtfully): Er, yes . . .

  Basil (leaning forward): Oh good . . . Mrs. Twitchen?

  Mr. Twitchen catches a glimpse of Basil’s scalp. He stares at it.

  Mrs. Twitchen: Yes, yes, it’s fine, thank you Mr. Fawlty.

  Basil: Oh good. (he moves off)

  Mr. Twitchen (nudging his wife): He’s got it in his hair!

  Basil arrives back at the Halls’ table. Mrs. Hall is about to take her first mouthful. The Colonel has just done so.

  Mrs. Hall: How is it, dear?

  Colonel Hall: Rather good, surprisingly.

  Mrs. Hall takes a mouthful of mullet.

  Basil: There’s the list, Colonel.

  Colonel Hall: Thank you very much.

  Mrs. Hall (lets out a shrill cry): Ugh! (Basil freezes)

  Colonel Hall: What’s the matter, Petal? What’s the matter?

  Mrs. Hall: Ugggh!

  Basil (cheerfully): Is everything all right?

  Mrs. Hall: I think I’m going to be sick!

  Basil: It is an unusual taste, isn’t it?

  Mrs. Hall: It’s not cooked, you ignoramus!

  Colonel Hall: Look! What are you trying to do to us? (to Mrs. Hall) Do you mean that’s raw?

  Basil: Would you prefer a cooked one?

  Colonel Hall: Of course she’d prefer it cooked!

  Basil: Certainly. (he whisks the plate away) I’ll get you a cooked one, then—it’ll be even nicer.

  Mrs. Hall: No! No!

  In the kitchen, Sybil is working at the vegetables with Polly. Manuel is with Kurt who is propped up against the wall. Basil rushes in.

  Basil: It’s raw. This mullet is raw! I mean, what do we do to it? (they look blankly at him; he runs over to Kurt) Kurt! Kurt, listen . . . what do we do to this? (Kurt groans quietly) Do we grill it? . . . (Kurt opens his eyes, stares at the mullet and groans) If we grill it, just go ‘uh-huh’. (Kurt shakes his head slightly) All right! Do we fry it? Just go ‘uh-huh’. (Kurt rolls his eyes and throws up over the plate; Basil addresses the others) . . . Going well, isn’t it.

  Sybil: Basil, will you just get out. I will deal with the fish. Just go and get the duck. (she ushers him out)

  Basil (not unwillingly): Right. Right. Oh! Wine!

  Sybil: What?

  Basil: The Colonel wants some wine. I’ll just . . . (takes a pace towards the dining room then checks himself) No, you go, Polly. He won’t hit a woman. (dashes for the front door)

  In the dining room. Polly enters and approaches the Colonel, who is peering closely at his mousse.

  Polly (tentatively): Have you . . . have you chosen yet, Major . . . Colonel?

  Colonel Hall: Mmm?

  Polly: Have you chosen your wine?

  Colonel Hall: Oh yes, Chablis, please.

  Polly (picking up the wine list): Thank you.

  Colonel Hall: Waitress!

  Polly: . . . Yes?

  Colonel Hall (heavily): There’s a hair in my mousse.

  Polly: . . . Well, don’t talk too loud or everybody will want one.

  Colonel Hall: What!!!!

  Polly: Sorry. (she snatches the mousse and hurries away with it; the Colonel twitches)

  Basil meanwhile is driving furiously, muttering at other motorists.

  Basil: . . . Oh, get out of the way . . . get out!

  Back in the dining room, Polly hastens in with some more mousse. She puts it down in front of the Colonel.

  Polly (charmingly): I’m sorry about that. (to Mrs. Hall) The mullet’s on its way.

  Basil meanwhile draws up outside André’s restaurant and races into the kitchen. André has the duck ready on a serving dish.

  André: Ah, Mr. Fawlty . . . there you are . . . a beautiful duck for you . . . it will be—mmm—delicious. There you are, don’t forget the sauces.

  Basil: Oh, marvellous . . .

  André: I hope all goes very well for you . . . good luck.

  He puts a cover over the duck and hands it to Basil, together with the sauces. Basil runs out to the car, jumps in and tries to start it. It won’t.

  Basil: Come on!

  Back in the dining room. Manuel is standing attentively as the Colonel tastes his wine. The Colonel nods and twitches.

  Manuel: What, no good?

  Colonel Hall: No, no, it’s very good.

  Manuel puts some more wine in the Colonel’s glass. The Colonel sips from it. Manuel tops it up again immediately; the Colonel jumps, spilling some. Manuel tops it up again.

  In the forecourt, Basil drives up. Polly, waiting at the main door, sees the car and runs inside. Basil leaps out of the car with the duck and runs into the hotel.

  Basil (running into the kitchen): Here it is, Polly.

  Sybil starts dealing with the sauces. Basil peers at the duck. It looks fine.

  Basil: Right, I’ll carve it on the trolley. Well done everybody! Manuel, get the trolley ready. Right, let’s go . . .

  Manuel runs through the swing doors to the dining room.

  Sybil (waving a sauce dish at Basil): Basil!

  He stops and turns. The door swings back and knocks the duck out of his hands.

  Basil: Oh my God! Look what you’ve done, you stupid great tart!

  Polly: Wait a minute . . . I think it’ll be all right.

  Basil: . . . What? (he kneels and peers at the duck; it is intact!) Yes! You’re right!

  Joyfully he reaches for it. The swing door opens and catches him a fearful blow on the head. Manuel enters, treads in the duck and walks several paces with it on his foot. Basil howls, springs at Manuel and tries to get the shoe out of the duck. The duck comes off; but the poor thing is terribly injured.

  Basil: Look! Look at it! I mean, look at that!

  Sybil: Can I help?

  Basil: Yes! Go and kill yourself! No!!! Call André first! Tell him we need another one. (he throws the duck at the unconscious Kurt; to Polly) Go and talk to them!

  Polly: What?

  Basil: Entertain them or something!

  In the lobby, Sybil is on the phone.

  Sybil: Oh, André, it’s Sybil Fawlty . . . Well, I’m afraid it got trodden on . . .

  In the forecourt, Basil jumps into the car and drives off. In the dining room Manuel is twanging the guitar and emitting strange Spanish sounds to the puzzled guests. Basil meanwhile rockets up to André’s restaurant. He bursts into the kitchen; André puts a fresh duck onto a serving tray and covers it. Basil is about to pick it up when André distracts him by offering him some fresh sauces. As he is looking away, a waiter comes in, puts down a similar
serving dish with cover, and takes Basil’s duck away. Basil declines the sauces, turns and picks up the serving dish. He hurries out, vaults into the car and presses the starter. It whinges.

  Basil: Come on. Come on!

  In the dining room Manuel has finished his song. Polly applauds enthusiastically; the guests applaud without enthusiasm. There is a pause, then Polly launches into her act.

  Polly (singing): I’m just a girl who can’t say ‘No’ . . . I’m in a terrible fix . . .

  Basil meanwhile has turned into a narrow road. It is blocked by a parked van. He curses, sounds his horn, waits, gives up, reverses back and stalls. He tries to start the car again. This time it refuses completely. He becomes more frantic.

  Basil: Come on, start, will you!? Start, you vicious bastard!! Come on! Oh my God! I’m warning you—if you don’t start . . . (screams with rage) I’ll count to three. (he presses the starter, without success) One . . . two . . . three . . . !! Right! That’s it! (he jumps out of the car and addresses it) You’ve tried it on just once too often! Right! Well, don’t say I haven’t warned you! I’ve laid it on the line to you time and time again! Right! Well . . . this is it! I’m going to give you a damn good thrashing! (he rushes off and comes back with a large branch; he beats the car without mercy)

  Back in the dining room, Polly is ending her performance.

  Polly: . . . I can’t be prissy and quaint . . . How can I be what I ain’t . . . I can’t . . . say . . . ‘No’! (Manuel applauds loudly)

  Colonel Hall (loudly): Any sign of the duck?

  Polly: Er . . . it’s just coming.

  Basil meanwhile is running up the forecourt. Back in the dining room, Sybil is the next on.

  Sybil: So Uncle Ted comes in with this crate of brown ale, ha ha ha . . . and Mother says, ‘Oh Ted, look who’s here’ . . . and he says, ha ha ha . . .

  Basil comes flying into the kitchen, slides to a halt, and sees Polly, who has the vegetables ready.

  Basil: OK, Polly?!

  Polly: OK!

  Basil: Got the sauces?

  Polly: Got them!

  Basil: Right.

  He enters the dining room in triumph. He places the serving dish on the trolley and wheels it ceremoniously forward.

  Basil: Ladies and gentlemen!! So sorry to have kept you waiting.

  He sharpens his knife with panache. Then he lifts the cover and beams at the guests. Looking down, he sees, not a duck, but a large ornate pink trifle. He regards it approvingly, then does a double-take and slams the cover down. He lifts it a little and peers disbelievingly beneath. He takes the cover off and looks round the room for the escaped duck. He fails to see it. Clutching at straws, he looks on the lower shelf of the trolley. Finally he plunges both hands into the trifle and ransacks it. Unfortunately it does not conceal a duck. He turns to his guests and smiles brightly.

  Basil: Well, er . . . who’s for trifle?

  Colonel Hall: What?

  Basil: Trifle for you, Mrs. Hall?

  Colonel Hall (dangerously): What about the duck, Fawlty?

  Basil: . . . Duck’s off. Sorry.

  THE GERMANS

  Basil Fawlty ..... John Cleese

  Sybil Fawlty ..... Prunella Scales

  Sister ..... Brenda Collins

  Doctor ..... Louis Mahoney

  Major Gowen ..... Ballard Berkeley

  Polly ..... Connie Booth

  Manuel ..... Andrew Sachs

  Mr. Sharp ..... John Lawrence

  Mrs. Sharp ..... Iris Fry

  Miss Tibbs ..... Gilly Flower

  Miss Gatsby ..... Renée Roberts

  Large woman ..... Claire Davenport

  German guests ..... Nick Lane • Lisa Bergmayr • Willy Bowman • Dan Gillan

  Sixth of first series, first broadcast on 24, October 1975, BBC2.

  A private room in a hospital. Sybil is sitting up in bed, eating chocolates. Basil is visiting.

  Basil: So you’re sure you’ll be all right?

  Sybil: What, Basil?

  Basil: I said, you’re sure you’ll be all right?

  Sybil: Will you get my bed jacket?

  Basil: Er . . . bed jacket (he gets up and fumbles in the drawer beside the bed)

  Sybil: In the drawer, the blue one, in the drawer.

  Basil crosses the room to the chest of drawers, sighing a little.

  Sybil: Now, you won’t forget the fire drill tomorrow, will you?

  Basil: No, I won’t, dear, no, I can cope, you know . . . This one? (holding up a pink bed jacket)

  Sybil: That’s not blue.

  Basil: Well . . . it’s got blue things on it.

  Sybil: They’re flowers, and I didn’t ask you for the one with the flowers, did I?

  Basil: No, you didn’t, quite right. I only picked that one up to annoy you, actually. I mean, what have you got all this stuff for?

  Sybil: What?

  Basil: I mean, you’re only here for three days. Are you going to play charades every night? (holding up a bright blue bed jacket) This one?

  Sybil: Is it blue?

  Basil: It’s blue-ish, I suppose.

  Sybil: Now, you will remember to collect the stuff from Thomas’s, won’t you.

  Basil: Yes, I will.

  Sybil: Oh, and I forgot to scrape the mould off the cheddar this morning, so remind chef.

  Basil: Right.

  Sybil: And do try and find time to put the moose’s head up. (Basil sighs) It’s been sitting there for two weeks, Basil.

  Basil: Yes, yes, yes.

  Sybil: I don’t know why you bought it.

  Basil: It will lend the lobby a certain ambience, Sybil. It has a touch of style about it.

  Sybil: It’s got a touch of mange about it.

  Basil: That is not so.

  Sybil: It’s got things living in it, Basil—it’s nasty.

  Basil: It is not nasty, it is superb.

  Sybil: I’m not going to argue with you, Basil, just get it up out of the way, I don’t want to snag any more cardies on it. And will you get me my telephone book, please?

  Basil (gets up and prowls about looking for the book): I mean, it’s not as though I don’t have enough to do. I mean, I’m on my own, the Germans are arriving tomorrow . . .

  Sybil: Not till lunchtime. You could do it in the morning.

  Basil: I’ve got the fire drill in the morning!

  Sybil: Well, that only takes ten minutes . . . In the bag.

  Basil (peering around for a bag): I thought slavery had been abolished.

  Sybil: Don’t you ever think about anyone but yourself?

  Basil: Oh . . .

  Sybil: In the bag. (she points it out to him—it is on the bed)

  Basil: Oh yes, in the bag. You let me do it. You just lie there with your feet up and I’ll go and carry you up another hundredweight of lime creams . . . (he hands her the book)

  Sybil: I’m actually about to undergo an operation, Basil.

  Basil: Oh yes, how is the old toe-nail? Still growing in, hmmmm? Still burrowing its way down into the bone? Still macheting its way through the nerve, eh? Nasty old nail.

  Sybil: It’s still hurting, if that’s what you mean, Basil.

  Basil: Well, it’ll be out in the morning, poor little devil. I wonder if they’d mount it for me, just for old time’s sake?

  Sybil: I’m sure it’s worth asking. You could hang it on the wall next to the moose. They’d go rather well together.

  Basil: Ha, ha, ha.

  Sister enters briskly.

  Sister (to Sybil): Ah, there you are. (to Basil) Come along, out you go.

  Basil (pointedly peering under the bed): Oh, were you talking to me? I’m sorry, I thought there was a dog in here.

  Sister: Oh no, no dogs in here.

  Basil (looking at her closely): I wouldn’t bet on it.

  Sister: Oh no, not allowed. Now come along, you’re in the way.

  Basil: Fawlty’s the name, Mr. Fawlty.

  Sister (to Sybil): Let’s
sit you up a bit.

  Sybil (very sweetly): Thank you, Sister.

  Sister (putting a thermometer in Sybil’s mouth): Now, just pop that under your tongue. (she sees Basil) You still here?

  Basil: Apparently.

  Sister: The doctor’s coming.

  Basil (jumps up as if startled): My God! A doctor—I mean, here, in the hospital? Whatever can we do?

  Sister: You can leave!

  Basil: Why do they call you ‘Sister’? Is it a term of endearment?

  Sybil makes a warning noise—the thermometer prevents her speaking.

  Sister: Now look, Mr. Fawlty, I’m not going to ask you again.

  Basil: Presumably you wouldn’t mind if I said goodbye to my wife? She is under the knife tomorrow.

  Sister: It’s an ingrowing toe-nail!

  Basil: Oh, you know, do you? Well, that’ll help. (to Sybil) Well, take care now, and if you can think of any more things for me to do, don’t hesitate to call.

  Another warning noise from Sybil.

  Sister: Finished?

  Basil: Just. Thank you so much.

  Sister: Not at all.

  Basil: Charmed, I’m sure . . . Ingrowing toe-nail. Right foot. You’ll find it on the end of the leg. (he sweeps out into the corridor, almost colliding with the doctor who is just about to go into the room)

  Doctor: Mr. Fawlty?

  Basil: Yes?

  Doctor: Doctor Fin.

  Basil: Oh, how do you do, doctor.

  Doctor: You’ve just seen your wife?

  Basil: Yes. Just said goodbye . . . well, au revoir.

  Doctor: Yes. Well, it’s a very simple operation. But it will be quite painful afterwards.

  Basil: Will it, will it, oh dear.

  Doctor: Just for a time, but please don’t worry.

  Basil: No, well, I’ll try not to . . . Quite painful?

  Doctor: Yes.

  The doctor goes into Sybil’s room. Basil rubs his hands in satisfaction.

  The hotel reception. Major Gowen is in the lobby as Basil struts in and goes behind the desk.

  Basil (breezily): Evening, Major.

  The Major: Evening, Fawlty. Hampshire won.

  Basil: Did it? Oh isn’t that good, how splendid!

  The Major: Oh, Fawlty, how’s . . . um . . . um . . .

  Basil: . . . My wife?

  The Major: That’s it, that’s it.

  Basil: Fine, absolutely fine. They’re taking it out tomorrow morning.

  The Major: Is she? Good.