The Complete Fawlty Towers

by John Cleese

  Sybil: Off a ladder?

  Manuel: Si. Please come, come, come.

  They move into the lobby.

  Sybil: What was he doing up a ladder?

  Manuel: He try to see girl.

  Sybil: What!

  Manuel: He try to see in room to see girl. Come! Come!

  Sybil (setting her mouth): I see.

  Manuel: I tell him careful but he got to see girl.

  Sybil: Right!

  They go out of the main doors at a good pace. Basil is on his feet, groggily setting the ladder up again. Sybil comes round the corner at a good speed.

  Basil: Hallo, dear. I was just going to . . .

  He receives the mother of a smackeroo and falls flat on his back. Sybil turns on her heel and strides off. He staggers up to his feet.

  Basil: What the . . .

  He starts after her, furious. Manuel gets out of the way quickly. Basil runs in through the main doors and up the stairs. Sybil has opened the door of her room by the time Basil catches her up.

  Basil: What in God’s name do you think you’re doing??! What did you hit me for?

  Sybil: . . . How dare you!! (she hits him again) How dare you!

  Basil: Have you gone mad, what’s got into you?

  Sybil: You really don’t know?

  Basil: No, I don’t.

  Sybil: What were you doing up that ladder? Come on . . .

  Basil: I was trying to see the girl. Is that so strange? (Sybil hits him) Will you stop hitting me!

  Sybil: Get away from this door. And don’t you dare try and come in here tonight.

  She slams the door. Basil stares uncomprehendingly. Manuel has come into view. Basil sees him.

  Basil: Mad. She’s gone completely mad.

  Manuel: Crazy. She go crazy.

  Basil: I mean, what in . . . ?

  Manuel: Crazy! I say to her, ‘You try to see in girl’s room’ and . . . (shrugs) she go crazy.

  Basil: . . . What?

  Manuel: I tell her! You got to see girl . . . in bedroom. You crazy about this girl. OK? OK. So you go up to look at her . . . Mrs. Fawlty . . . (shrug) She go crazy.

  Basil imitates the shrug, then advances on Manuel, picks him up, turns him upside down and shakes him furiously.

  Basil: I am punishing you for being alive. And as long as you go on being alive, I shall go on . . . (then he notices Mrs. Abbott, returning from the bathroom, who is standing watching him; he drops Manuel and pretends to lecture him) Now that’s how an Englishman would do it, you see. Now, a German . . . a German would go . . . (demonstrates a kick without actually connecting) No, that’s enough for tonight . . . all right, we’ll go on with your training in the morning. (to Mrs. Abbott) We’re just training him in the art of hotel management. It’s rather interesting, actually . . . (he puts a casual arm out to rest against the Abbotts’ door) He’s from Barcelona . . . (but Dr. Abbott opens the door and Basil falls right into the room, landing heavily; he gets up) Sorry. I missed the door.

  Dr. Abbott: . . . Oh . . .

  Basil: Everything all right? Everything er . . . normal?

  Dr. Abbott: Yes, thank you.

  Mrs. Abbott goes into the room past Basil.

  Basil: Fine. Well . . . I’ll leave you to it, then. I mean . . . to go to bed, to sleep . . . perchance to dream. Hah! Have a good night. Good night’s sleep. Sleep well.

  Mrs. Abbott: Good night. And you.

  Basil: Thank you! I will. (he closes the door and stands in the corridor) God knows where . . . (he looks around, looks at the broom cupboard, opens it, then looks at Johnson’s door opposite) I’ll get you, you Piltdown ponce.

  The upstairs corridor. Early next morning. Basil, unshaven, is sitting at the top of the stairs. Polly appears carrying two tea-trays. She sees Basil and stares.

  Polly: Are you all right?

  Basil: Mmmm?

  Polly: Are you all right?

  Basil: Yes. Let me have one of those. (takes one of the trays) For Sybil. Yes, go on, go on! (he hurries to Sybil’s room and knocks on the door) Sybil . . . dear . . . ?

  Sybil’s voice: What do you want?

  Basil: Got your tea for you, dear.

  Sybil’s voice: Just leave it outside the room.

  Basil (putting the tray down): Yes, all right, dear . . . er, Sybil . . . ?

  Sybil’s voice: I’m not speaking to you, Basil.

  Basil: Could I just have my electric razor, dear . . . just for the guests . . . (the door opens and Sybil gives it to him; he puts his foot in the door) Thank you dear . . . look . . .

  Sybil (trying to close the door): Basil, will you . . .

  Basil: I just want to explain something, dear.

  Sybil: Get your foot out of the door.

  Basil: Let me explain.

  Sybil: I’m not interested.

  Basil: Look . . . when I said I wanted to look at that girl last night I wasn’t talking about that . . . Raylene . . . something . . . that Australian girl . . . I was talking about the girl in the room next to her . . . in Johnson’s room.

  Sybil: . . . Basil.

  Basil: Johnson smuggled a girl into his room last night . . . that was the one I was trying to get a look at, not that . . . Australian hayseed.

  Sybil: Basil, you’ve had eight hours to think of something . . . is that really the best you can come up with?

  Basil: You don’t believe me.

  Sybil: Oh, go away.

  Basil: Right! I’ll get her. I’m going to get her and show her to you.

  Sybil: Yes, you do that . . .

  Basil: Right, I will. (she slams the door) Right! All right . . . (he runs off)

  In Johnson’s room he and the girl are fully dressed. She is sitting on the bed putting on make-up. There is a knock at the door; she dodges into the bathroom.

  Mr. Johnson: Come in.

  Mrs. Abbott looks in.

  Mrs. Abbott: Oh, Mr. Johnson. Do you want your guide back?

  Mr. Johnson: Oh, thank you, yes . . .

  She comes in; the door swings to behind her. In the corridor Basil steams into view. As he approaches Johnson’s door he hears female laughter. Basil slips into the broom cupboard, leaving the door ajar. Mrs. Abbott comes out of Johnson’s room.

  Mr. Johnson’s voice: I’ll see you later then. Thank you.

  Mrs. Abbott (calling towards her room): OK, darling.

  Dr. Abbott comes out. Basil leaps out of the cupboard brandishing a broom.

  Basil: Right! The game’s up. (he sees who he has confronted, then looks at a point high up on the wall) Up there. Bit of game pie, got stuck up there. (he jabs at the wall with the broom; the Abbotts stare for a moment) There we are. Right. Everything back to normal. Enjoy your walk. (he starts sweeping the floor; the Abbotts move off downstairs)

  Dr. Abbott (quietly, as they reach the foot of the stairs): There’s enough material there for an entire conference.

  Upstairs, Basil puts the broom back into the cupboard but in doing so knocks something over. He bends down to sort it out, and picks up a bottle. He realizes that he has got dark sticky stuff all over his hand. In the corridor, Johnson looks out of his room.

  Mr. Johnson: OK, all clear.

  The girl starts to come out but hears something and goes back in. Raylene comes out of her room. As she passes the cupboard Basil leaps out.

  Basil: Right! That’s it!

  He grabs her from behind. Unbeknown to him his messy hand clasps Raylene’s right boob. She squeals.

  Raylene: What are you doing?! Jesus, what’s going on?

  Basil (releasing her): Shh! I’m sorry, I thought you were somebody else.

  Raylene: You scared the hell out of me . . .

  Basil: Yes, I’m awfully sorry, you see there’s a girl in there, the bloke smuggled her in last night . . . (Sybil appears) . . . I was just explaining to Miss Miles about . . . our little problem . . . (Raylene turns towards Sybil, the black handprint on her boob deafeningly apparent; Basil has not noticed it; Sybil has)
. . . with the extra guest . . . Mr. Johnson’s friend . . . in six . . . last night . . .

  Sybil: What’s that on your hand, Basil?

  Basil: What? . . . Oh, that’s some stuff in the cupboard, dear. Something I knocked over . . . (he follows Sybil’s eye-line and sees Raylene’s hand-printed right boob) Agh! (instinctively reaches out to hide it, touches Raylene again, then pulls back sharply) Sorry!! I got confused.

  Raylene: What?

  Basil: Sorry . . . I got confused.

  Sybil has gone. Basil rushes after her. He catches her at the kitchen door.

  Basil: Sybil! Sybil! Sybil!!! Look. I’ll tell her to go. I’m going to get the other girl just to prove it to you but I’ll tell Miss Miles to . . . to leave . . . Out! Out! Right! Out! Out!

  He rushes back up to Raylene’s room. The door is ajar. He enters the room very cautiously. It is empty.

  Basil: Um . . . excuse me . . . I do want to apologize but I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to . . .

  Raylene comes in from the bathroom, dressed in white trousers and a sexy push-up bra. She doesn’t see Basil, who drops out of sight behind the bed. She returns to the bathroom; he is about to get out when there is a knock at the door. He leaps away. Raylene, in the bathroom, hears the knock and turns.

  Raylene: Come in.

  She goes back into the bedroom. Sybil comes in. There is no sign of Basil.

  Sybil: I’m sorry to bother you, I thought I’d better apologize for my husband’s behaviour . . .

  Raylene: No, please, really Mrs. Fawlty . . .

  Sybil: He’s going through rather a disturbed time at the moment . . .

  Raylene: No please, look really, I don’t quite understand, he does seem a bit worked up about something but I’m sure there’s some quite innocent explanation . . .

  But Sybil has noticed Basil’s finger sticking out of the wardrobe, holding the door shut.

  Sybil: Basil.

  There is no response. She bangs on the door. The finger disappears rapidly. Basil comes out.

  Basil: Oh, hallo dear . . . just checking the doors . . .

  Sybil looks at Raylene, whose jaw sags.

  Sybil (to Raylene): All right, what’s going on?

  Raylene: . . . I was in the bathroom!

  Basil: Yes she was, dear, so I just popped in to have a look at these hinges and . . .

  Sybil: Do you really imagine, even in your wildest dreams, that a girl like this could possibly be interested in an ageing brilliantined stick insect like you?

  Basil: . . . A girl like who, dear?

  Sybil: This one, Basil. The one you’ve been chasing ever since she arrived.

  Basil: My dear woman, have you gone out of your mind?

  Sybil: What are you doing in here?

  Basil: Look, you know the trouble we’ve been having with these hinges . . . All right, all right, if you really want to know, I came to apologize for the incident just now when I thought she was the girl in Johnson’s room . . . you know, when I put my hand on . . .

  Sybil walks out into the corridor. Basil comes running after her.

  Basil: Sybil, Sybil, Sybil, look . . .

  Sybil: If you think I’ve got time to listen to any more of your hopeless lily-livered jellyfish lies . . .

  Basil: They are not lies, I am trying . . .

  Sybil: Why can’t you be a man? If you want to grope the guests, why can’t you at least be honest about it, without making up some pathetic song and dance . . .

  Basil (finally losing his temper): Shut up!

  Sybil: . . . Oh, you’ve done it now.

  Basil: No I haven’t. I’m just going to. I’m fed up with you, you . . . rancorous coiffeured old sow. Why don’t you syringe the doughnuts out of your ears and get some sense into that dormant organ you keep hidden in that rat’s maze of yours? There is a woman in that room that Johnson smuggled in last night, right? That’s the woman I’ve been trying to get hold of. (Sybil is clearly unimpressed) Right! Right! (he pulls her towards Johnson’s room) Stand there! Stand there! . . . and watch. (he is so forceful that Sybil is momentarily stunned into submission; he knocks on Johnson’s door; Johnson opens it) Champagne?

  Mr. Johnson: . . . What?

  Basil: Another bottle of champagne, perhaps? I thought you said you rather enjoyed it when you were on the job.

  Mr. Johnson: Have you got a screw loose?

  Basil: A screw? No, it’s just that I thought that I’d rather formed the impression that there was someone in the room with you. A female person, perhaps, a lady, you know—an opposite person of the contradictory gender.

  Mr. Johnson: Mrs. Johnson is in here, yes.

  Basil (with heavy irony): Oh, of course, I should have guessed. Oh yes, of course . . . the little woman, eh. The only thing is . . . I thought you told my wife that you were single.

  Mr. Johnson: I am.

  Basil: I see. So who’s this Mrs. Johnson then, eh? The late President’s wife? Or . . .

  Mr. Johnson: She’s my mother.

  Basil: . . . Your mother. Oh, I see. This little bit of crumpet’s your old mummy, is she? Oh this is rich. Mrs. Johnson popped up for a quickie, did she?

  Mr. Johnson: Certainly. (he goes into the room)

  The Misses Tibbs and Gatsby and the Major have appeared in the background. Basil rubs his hands in sarcastic glee.

  Basil: Mother Johnson. Mother Johnson. Come out, come out, wherever you are. (a very nice and very elderly lady appears at the door; Basil switches to charm) How do you do, are you enjoying yourself? . . .

  Mrs. Johnson: Yes, thank you.

  Basil: Well, I’ll get the champagne, this calls for a celebration.

  Mrs. Johnson goes back inside. The door shuts. Sybil, Misses Tibbs and Gatsby and the Major move off. Basil buries his face in his hands, then, pulling his jacket right over his head he squats down and hops about in agony. The Abbotts come up the stairs in time to see this performance. Mrs. Abbott looks to her husband for professional advice.

  Dr. Abbott: I’m on holiday.

  They go into their room. Basil rolls onto his side and assumes the foetal position.

  WALDORF SALAD

  Sybil Fawlty ..... Prunella Scales

  Mr. Libson ..... Anthony Dawes

  Basil Fawlty ..... John Cleese

  Mrs. Johnstone ..... June Ellis

  Mr. Johnstone ..... Terence Conoley

  Miss Hare ..... Dorothy Frere

  Miss Gurke ..... Beatrice Shaw

  Mr. Arrad ..... Norman Bird

  Mrs. Arrad ..... Stella Tanner

  Manuel ..... Andrew Sachs

  Polly ..... Connie Booth

  Mrs. Hamilton ..... Claire Nielson

  Mr. Hamilton ..... Bruce Boa

  Major Gowen ..... Ballard Berkeley

  Miss Tibbs ..... Gilly Flower

  Miss Gatsby ..... Renée Roberts

  Third of second series, first broadcast on 5, March 1979, BBC2.

  The hotel dining room. It is towards the end of dinner-time. The room is very full and Basil, Polly and Manuel are bustling about frantically. Sybil, however, is standing by a central table, ignoring the confusion. She is talking to Mr. Libson, who is sitting by himself at the table. He looks extremely bored.

  Sybil: Oh, it’s a lovely part of the world, isn’t it? All those beautiful trees and fields and a variety of birds.

  Mr. Libson: Yes, that’s true.

  Sybil: And you can just go there and get away from it all, away from the helter-skelter of modern life. Because we all do need our solitude, don’t we.

  Mr. Libson (feelingly): Yes, we do.

  Sybil: I mean, nowadays it’s not easy to find the time to . . . I don’t know, enjoy life because there’s always things to do, it’s all so hectic, isn’t it. All of us just running around letting things get on top of us, and quite honestly what’s the point?

  Basil rushes by on his way to a table where Mr. and Mrs. Johnstone sit. Mrs. Johnstone has a half-finished prawn cocktail in front of her.
Mr. Johnstone has a finished melon.

  Basil: Have you finished?

  Mrs. Johnstone: Er, yes . . .

  Basil (starting to collect the plates): Thank you.

  Mr. Johnstone: Er, my wife . . .

  Basil: Yes?

  Mrs. Johnstone: I think those prawns might be a bit off.

  Basil: Oh, I don’t think so.

  Mrs. Johnstone: Well, they do taste rather funny.

  Basil: Well, no one else has complained.

  Mrs. Johnstone: Well, I really do think they’re off.

  Basil: But you’ve eaten half of them.

  Mrs. Johnstone: Well, I didn’t notice it at the start.

  Basil: You didn’t notice at the start?

  Mrs. Johnstone: Well, it was the sauce, you see. I wasn’t sure.

  Basil: So you ate half to make sure?

  Mr. Johnstone: Look, my wife thinks they’re off.

  Basil: Well, what am I supposed to do about it . . . do you want another first course?

  Mrs. Johnstone: No thank you.

  Mr. Johnstone: You’re sure?

  Mrs. Johnstone: No, really, I’ll just have the main.

  Mr. Johnstone (to Basil): Well, we’ll just cancel it.

  Basil: Cancel it? Oh, deduct it from the bill, is that what you mean?

  Mr. Johnstone: Well, as it’s inedible . . .

  Basil: Well, only half of it’s inedible apparently.

  Mr. Johnstone: Well, deduct half now, and if my wife brings the other half up during the night, we’ll claim the balance in the morning. And now we’d like our lambs, please.

  Basil makes off towards the kitchen. Sybil is still boring Mr. Libson.

  Sybil: Well, three we know have passed on this year, all in their early sixties. So I’ve cut out butter . . .

  Manuel comes in with a jug of water. He can’t remember who it is for and looks round. Mr. Arrad, sitting with his wife, tries to attract Manuel’s attention, but Manuel puts the jug down at a table occupied by two middle-aged women, Miss Gurke and Miss Hare.

  Miss Hare: No, really it’s all right.

  Miss Gurke: But it’s all gristle.

  Miss Hare: No, honestly, there’s a nice bit, see?

  Miss Gurke: Oh, Doris, it’s awful.

  Miss Hare: Oh, no, dear, it’s not as bad as that. I’ve had worse.

  Miss Gurke: I don’t know how they get away with it.

  Basil (checking as he passes, pro forma): Everything all right?