Thursday, December 15th
Drive down to Clerkenwell Green to talk with Chris Orr over future Orr/Signford plans. Clerkenwell Green is a rather attractive little backwater, as is much of the area around St Bart’s Hospital and Smithfield Market – many old buildings remain and comprehensive redevelopment further east and north and the office block building boom which transformed the Liverpool Street area, have left the Green relatively untouched. In one of these graceful old terraced houses Chris Orr has his lithographic printing press – he does his engraving work down at Wapping.
One thing I’m beginning to learn from Chris is the complicated technical side of his work. The materials he works with – inks, plates, acids, zinc and special Bavarian stone tablets for the lithographic reproduction – are complex and make the process of a Chris Orr picture as involving as the picture itself.
Before I left I tried to hint that the Chris Orr I liked should be brought clear of the self-appreciative, incestuous world of the art galleries, and tried against stiffer opposition in the bookshops. Also mentioned my feeling that he should consider an animated film sometime. But although he thoroughly agreed, I felt as I said goodbye and walked down the short flight of steps into Clerkenwell Close and along towards the Wren church next door, that I was saying goodbye to Moley – someone who didn’t really want the big wide world to disturb him. And I felt sympathetic towards him and worried that I had been talking like a Light Entertainment department.
We all assemble at Eric’s house in Carlton Hill to look at tapes of various ladies we’re considering for the Judith part.
The Judy Loe extract – the cabin scene from ‘Curse of the Claw’ – goes down well, John falling about especially loudly, which was gratifying. Gilda Radner from Saturday Night Live is seen, but an American Jewish Judith doesn’t seem to attract a great deal of support. Penny Wilton’s Norman Conquests performance goes down well, but Kika Markham is given short shrift by the Cambridge lads, who rule out her Workers Revolutionary Party involvement as being too frightful to work with.1
The final list is Judy Loe, Penelope Wilton, Maureen Lipman, Diana Quick and Gwen Taylor – and we decide to arrange a read-through with them all as soon as possible.
Saw a glimpse of All You Need is Cash. It was impressive – well paced and well shot and with some very funny performances by such as Neil Innes. John needed persuading that Neil could act. The rest of us are unanimously pro-Neil for the film, but there are quite strong differences of opinion as to who and how many we need for the supporting repertory cast in Tunisia. Good company is considered by all to be a major requirement, and some of the names bandied are Roger McGough, Ken Colley and Terry Bayler (from All You Need is Cash).
All in all the group seems very charitable and well disposed this afternoon – except to WRP members. We break around five. Eric to return to Barbados, where we shall join him on January 7th.
Friday, December 16th
The days become slighter and slighter as Christmas nears. The cold weather has been replaced by mild, grey, greasy weather, which makes the city feel like a used handkerchief. I finally complete the prolonged job of editing the newly typed Yarns and take them in to Geoffrey [Strachan].
Then back up to Hampstead for a squash game with TJ. On the way up to the Flask for a drink afterwards I buy the Melody Maker, which contains something of a landmark in Python history – the most comprehensive, overt piece of mud-slinging yet seen in public from one of the group.
Under the heading ‘Siphon the Python’ is a rambling tirade from a ‘tired and emotional’ G Chapman. Wild, angry and drunk, Graham at last says what he feels about the Ripping Yarns and the various Pythons. I think it’s a sad comment on our collective relationship when we can tell the papers things we haven’t dared tell each other. I must admit, though, I laughed greatly when I read it – at GC’s drunken audacity, which makes for brighter reading matter than most of our interviews, and just goes to show what weird and wonderful rubbish sells papers.
Gilliam, needless to say, was on the phone within hours of publication of the interview. He was jolly, but not pleased.
Oh, well, GC once again spices our life up – it’s a pity he had to spice it up with such misanthropic stuff.
Saturday, December 17th
Christmas starts here – well, this weekend, anyway – with two traditional entertainments: the Robert Hewison Saturday mulled-wine party (or how many guests can he fit into 82 Fetter Lane this year?) and the BBC LE party, with its history of tortured heart-searchings as to whether to go or not to go.
Robert’s do is pleasant. Chat with his editor at Weidenfeld1 – a young, attractive lady to whom I am ridiculously coy about my novel. I should either not mention it at all, or be prepared to brag a little about it.
Simon arrives back with the boys, whom he has just taken, as a Christmas present, to see the Circus World Championships at Clapham Common. Then T Gilliam arrives – the irritation of Chapman’s insults mollified a little by reported good business and reviews for Jabberwocky in West Germany this last week, a place in Alexander Walker’s best films of the year round-up, and an award from Films and Filming for being the Best British Film of 1977.
Sunday, December 18th
To the BBC party in the evening.
The usual lot. Val Doonican and Eric Sykes seem to be still fans – Doonican is especially enthusiastic and towards the end of the evening even Eric Morecambe grasps my hand warmly – ‘Great fan,’ he says … ‘Great fan.’
Talk to Richard Beckinsale and Judy Loe, who, with me, Ian Davidson and the Goodies, seem to represent the ‘younger generation’ in a sea of old and well-established faces.
Aubrey Singer, recently transferred to Head of BBC Radio, warns me against a precipitous sale to PBS in the States – ‘The big networks do pay a great deal more,’ he cautioned. Does he know nothing of Python’s struggle against the eunuchs?
Tuesday, December 20th
To BAFTA’s luxurious preview theatre in Piccadilly at 10.30 for a screening of the latest Mark Shivas/Richard Broke TV film, an adaptation by John Prebble of The Three Hostages by John Buchan.
Whereas Scott Fitzgerald’s adult view of the 1920s survives, Buchan’s eternal school prefects don’t. The sheer mechanics of this dastardly plot, with Hannay being constantly hypnotised and men in turbans flashing orientally sinister looks, make it very, very hard for an audience to take seriously. Afterwards Shivas, looking moderately happy, did confess that there were ‘a few more laughs than I’d expected’.
Ended up drinking with Malcolm McDowell. We talked about the state of British films. McDowell dislikes the Lew Grade blockbusters that are taking over the industry and feels that there aren’t any films any more which are trying to say anything. He uses Lindsay Anderson’s O Lucky Man! as an example of a film which tried to criticise and stir up a few passions, but which was crucified by the critics. A serious chap. I like his restlessness, though. He is well-established, but anti-establishment. A useful combination.
To John Goldstone’s party in D’Arblay Street. There meet Graham, whom I roundly and cheerfully take to task over the Melody Maker article. GC retreats in disarray, blaming the press for quoting ‘only the bad bits’.
Sandy Lieberson is there – he tells me he’s nominated me for the Best Newcomer Award at BAFTA!
Wednesday, December 21st
Took Thomas, William and Holly over to Shepperton. We watched them building and rigging Force 10 from Navarone. Twenty-two years after my heart swelled to the ‘Dambusters’ March’, they’re still building Lancaster bombers at Shepperton!
The sun came out as we wandered through the crumbling Oliver set and nosed around on the back lot, where odd pieces of filmic flotsam and jetsam lay about – giant rubber mushrooms and a ten-foot-high birthday cake complete with icing.
Read through the film script this evening in preparation for the Judith auditions. Embarrassed at how slight a part it is.
Thursday, December 22n
d
The auditions were pleasant, easy and pre-Christmassy. Maureen Lipman, surprisingly, seemed to find it hard to become a character, but she’s nice and fun and probably would, with work, have been right. Then Diana Quick, exuding confidence, swept the place with a devastatingly assertive, aggressive reading of Judith, which confirmed Terry J’s suspicion that Diana, just being Diana, was the sort of character Judith should be. Judy Loe was not as forceful, and a little pantomimey.
As John C put it afterwards, he rated both Judy and Maureen as lovely, easy, friendly people whom we’d obviously have no trouble in fitting in with, and vice versa, but Diana Quick clearly gave Judith a new dimension of aggression and single-mindedness, which brought the limpid part to life. So Quick will be asked to do Judith. If she does it, she and I will be renewing a working relationship that started at the Oxford Revue of’65.
Thursday, December 29th
Despite the long holiday period, dubbed ‘The Twelve Days Off Christmas’ in the Evening Standard of a couple of days ago, I’m at work today, quite gratefully, going through the text of the Ripping Yarns with Geoffrey down at Methuen.
Home and Helen says to me, rather gravely, ‘Well … Graham Chapman My first instinct is to ask if he’s dead, but he’s not, of course, although he is in hospital, having collapsed at home after four days off the bottle altogether. He rings me later, and sounds small, weak and very old. He confirmed the story that he had been trying to give up – had three days of withdrawal symptoms, seemed to be coping when suddenly today he collapsed. He added that it was remorse for the nasty things he’s been quoted as saying in newspaper reviews recendy about all the rest of us – but particularly about John C in yesterday’s Daily Mirror – that shocked him into giving up.
‘… I tell you one thing, Mikey, I’m never going to drink strong drink again’ (and he sounded as if he meant it).
Saturday, December 31st
Late morning start on a trip with Helen, Rachel and all to the Science Museum, where there is a space exhibition. A chance to see the actual Apollo 10 capsule – its base charred and huge chunks burnt out of it during re-entry.
How long ago all the space missions seem now. The special thermal clothing and the poo-poo disposal bags worn by the astronauts don’t look a lot different from Elizabeth Is underwear in their solemn display cases.
As the days go by I grow more and more proud of myself in actually completing the novel – as well as three TV films and a Python film script this past year. But the pressure has been there. I feel it now in bursts of tension when I find it very, very hard to relax. It’s not so much the work itself, but the fact that, as each year goes by, I find myself becoming a more powerful figure – a lot more people depend on me than just the wife and kids.
1 Terry was duly promoted to Head of Variety at the BBC, and no longer allowed to direct individual shows. Two years later he was seduced away to America by EMI, where, among other things, the golden boy made a name for himself directing The Golden Girls.
2 I’m not sure of the provenance of this scare story, but Terry Jones remembers being alerted by a BBC editor, Howard Dell, that plans were afoot to wipe the series in the early ‘70s. Terry J had them recorded onto Philips VCR tapes and stored them at his house. For a long time, he thought the only copies of Python TV shows were in his cellar!
1 I had met Sheila through mutual friends – Ian and Anthea Davidson. She started the Penhaligon’s perfume business.
1 Nick Gordon, a friend of William’s, and now a director of commercials and pop videos.
2 Helen’s niece.
1 Peter was behind the Amnesty charity show in 1976.
1 Ina and Robert were the driving forces behind Python’s action against ABC.
1 It never did get into the film, but is reproduced in the Life of Brian book, along with the ‘Headmaster’ and other plucky failures.
1 Eddie Stuart and Liz Cranston – members of the production team.
2 On ‘The Testing of Eric Olthwaite’
1 Lily Pratt, my mother’s neighbour.
1 Kinnear made his name on the satire show That Was The Week Tliat Was (1962). Constantly in demand as a character actor, he died from a fall from his horse whilst filming The Return of the Musketeers in 1988.
1 Edward Burd, my brother-in-law, was an architect.
1 Married to Richard Beckinsale. Mother of Kate.
1 For ‘Curse of the Claw’ filming.
2 Uncle Jack was a character who had all the world’s diseases, at the same time.
1 An experienced climber who lived in Glencoe and who had helped us on Monty Python and the Holy Grail by throwing dummy bodies into the Gorge of Eternal Peril. Unfortunately he was head of Mountain Rescue at the time.
2 Enormously experienced and much-liked Radio i producer. In 1965 he got me some work as a DJ on a programme called Playtime.
1 National Film Finance Corporation.
1 My only previous visit to Berlin, with Robert Hewison.
2 Author, journalist, and, at the time, film critic of the Sunday Times.
1The Vole was an environmental magazine edited by Richard Boston. The Penrhos Brewery, near Kington, Herefordshire, was a real ale venture run by Martin Griffiths. Terry was fairy godfather to both.
2 Derek Taylor, a journalist from Hoylake in the Wirral who became the Beatles’ press officer. He had a terrific, very English sense of humour and wrote memoirs such as As Time Goes By and Fifty Years Adrift.
1 Playwright, best known for Chicken Soup with Barley, The Kitchen and Chips with Everything.
1 She was right.
1 Wife of Pierre Trudeau, Prime Minister of Canada 1968-79. She memorably said ‘I want to be more than a rose in my husband’s lapel.’
1 Hilary Sandison, responsible for overseas sales of Jabberwocky.
1 Thriller, directed by Michael Anderson, starring Cliff Robertson and Jean Simmons.
2 André’s accountant, with a share, like me, in Redwood Studios, Andre’s company.
1 Not far from home. Foot lived only half a mile away up in Hampstead.
2 Robin Scott, then Controller, BBC2.
1 A Sheffield firm which made, among other things, shovels. My reference to Eric Olthwaite’s ‘Spear and Jackson No. 3 with a reinforced brass handle’ was meant fondly, but clearly not taken that way by the manufacturer.
1 Brasenose College, my alma mater 1962—5.
1 With everything else to do, I’d fallen so far behind with the novel, that escaping London seemed the only way to finish it.
1 Recently-founded Trotskyite group led by Gerry Healey. Corin and Vanessa Redgrave were loyal supporters and attracted other actors to the cause. Kika later married Corin Redgrave.
1 Robert’s book Under Siege, Literary Life in London 1939–1945 had been published earlier in the year. Harold Pinter called it ‘a vivid, highly readable, important book’.
1978
Sunday, January 1st
John rings. He’s been away in the country for the weekend. Has just returned to find a message that Graham has had a nervous breakdown. John admits that at first he saw it as just another Chapman wheeze to avoid the stick which would inevitably fly in Barbados over his newspaper interviews. Not far off the truth, John.
Tuesday, January 3rd
In the afternoon I took Willy to see the latest James Bond movie – The Spy Who Loved Me. I thought it most unpleasant. No attempt was made in the imbecile script to create any characters, it was wooden puppets saying wooden lines. The action sequences, of course, were brilliant, but then we all know Britain leads the world in aimless explosions. Otherwise I think it’s the sort of mindless garbage Britain has no reason to be proud of. The American-inspired and scripted Star Wars was a far, far better adventure.
But I enjoyed being out with William. He’s good fun. They all are. And they are at the stage when they respond with an infectious over-enthusiasm to everything new. Willy is absolutely dying to go to America. He says he wants to live th
ere now.
Dropped in to see Graham in Southwood Lane. He came out of hospital yesterday and is not supposed to drink ever again. He looked sallow and tense. It’s going to be a great struggle for him. Barry Cryer was there too. We sat and sipped tea and Barry and I joked rather forcibly. It seemed the only thing to do at the time.
If the next few entries sound a little different in tone – a little forced, a little self-conscious – it’s probably because they were deliberately written for publication. As a way of garnering material for the book of the Life of Brian, it was agreed that all of us would keep a daily diary of our time in Barbados. The six different accounts of the same working holiday would then be interestingly compared and contrasted. In the end, however, only Terry Jones and myself (both diarists already) played the game.
Saturday, January 7th, Barbados
On the flight out, a sensational game of Scrabble with Dr Chapman.
Graham, after some deliberation, led off with the word ‘fep’. I didn’t challenge it immediately, thinking either that it was possibly the prelude to a longer word – feppicle, fepid, fepidicular – or perhaps a medical term which it would betray appalling ignorance to challenge. But it was Graham who looked most puzzled by it and after a while replaced the ‘p’ with a ‘w’.
The game then surged on by ‘ys’ and ‘ands’ until Graham selflessly dropped his letters. All were retrieved, apart from the ‘z’, which is wedged for eternity between the seats of the upstairs lounge of a jumbo jet. Stewards and stewardesses with torches and screwdrivers tried to help out, and to anyone who came up the stairs for a quiet read and saw a large group of people clustered on the floor around a seat which had been entirely removed from its base, we smiled and assured them we were just playing Scrabble.
Diaries 1969–1979 The Python Years Page 58