Original subtitles

[PANTING]

[FOOTSTEPS]

[HEAVY DOOR SLAMS]

[PANTING CONTINUES]

[METAL OBJECTS CLATTERING]

[PIG SQUEALS]

It's--

NARRATOR: Monty Python's Flying Circus.

[♪♪♪]

[SHEEP BLEATING]

Ah, good afternoon.

Afternoon.

Ah, lovely day, isn't it? Arr. It is that.

Are you here on holiday or...?

No, no, I live here. Oh, hah, jolly good.

[SHEEP BLEATING]

I-- I say, uh, those--

Those are sheep, aren't they? Arr.

Yes, yes, of course, I thought so. Heh-heh.

Only why are they up in the trees?

A fair question, and one that in recent weeks has been much on my mind.

It's my considered opinion that they're nesting.

Nesting?

What? Like birds? Arr.

Exactly. Birds is the key to the whole problem.

It's my belief that these sheep are Labouring

under the misapprehension that they're birds.

Observe their behaviour.

Take for a start, the sheep's tendency

to hop about the field on their back legs.

[LOUDER SHEEP BLEATING]

Now witness their attempts to fly from tree to tree.

Notice they do not so much fly as plummet.

[THUDS]

Observe, for example, that ewe in that oak tree.

She is clearly trying to teach her lamb to fly.

[SHEEP BLEATS]

[THUDS]

Talk about the blind leading the blind.

But-- But why do they think they're birds?

Another fair question.

One thing is for sure, a sheep is not a creature of the air.

It has enormous difficulty in the comparatively simple act of perching.

[THUDS]

As you see.

As for flight, its body is totally unadapted

to the problems of aviation.

Trouble is, sheep are very dim,

and once they get an idea into their heads, there's no shifting it.

But where did they get the idea from?

From Harold. He's that sheep over there under the elm.

He's that most dangerous of animals, a clever sheep.

He's the ringleader. He's realized that a sheep's life

consists of standing around for a few months and then being eaten.

And that's a depressing prospect for an ambitious sheep.

He's patently hit on the idea of escape.

Well, why don't you just get rid of Harold?

Because of the enormous commercial possibilities should he succeed.

NARRATOR: And what exactly are the commercial possibilities of avine aviation?

[SPEAKING IN BROKEN FRENCH]

[SPEAKING IN BROKEN FRENCH]

[BOTH BLEATING]

We get a lot of French people around here.

Yes. Oh, yes. All over. Yes.

INTERVIEWER: And how do you get on with these French people?

Oh, very well. So do I.

Me too. So does Mrs. Ape.

Yes. Yes.

Oh, yes, I like them. I mean, they think well, don't they?

I mean, be fair, Pascal. Mm.

Blaise Pascal. Jean-Paul Sartre.

Oh, yes, Voltaire. Oh.

René Descartes.

Mm, mm.

Mm!

[AIR HISSES]

And now for something completely different.

A man with three buttocks.

Good evening. I have with me Mr. Arthur Frampton, who has...

Mr. Frampton, I understand that-- That you, as it were, have...

Uh, well, let me put it another way. I believe that whereas most people

have, uh, two...

Two. Uh, you...

You. I'm sorry?

Uh, yes. Yes, I see. Um, are you quite comfortable?

Yes, fine, thank you.

Um, Mr. Frampton,

vis-a-vis your rump.

I beg your pardon? Uh, your rump.

What? Uh, your, uh, posterior.

Derrière

Sit-upon. What's that?

Buttocks. Oh, me bum.

Shh!

Well, Mr. Frampton, I understand that you have a, uh, 50 percent bonus

in the-- In the region of, uh, what you said.

I've got three cheeks. Yes. Yes. Splendid, splendid.

Well, we were wondering, Mr. Frampton,

if you could, uh, see your way clear--

Yeah, what's that camera doing? Uh, nothing" Nothing at all.

We were wondering if you could see your way clear to giving us a quick...

A quick visual...

Mr. Frampton, will you take your trousers down?

What? Get off! I'm not taking me trousers off on television.

Who do you think I am? Please take them down.

No. No. Just a little bit.

Now, uh, ahem. Now, look here, Mr. Frampton.

It's perfectly easy for somebody just to come along here to the BBC,

um, simply claiming that they have a bit to spare in the botty department.

The point is, Mr. Frampton, our viewers need proof.

I've been on Persian Radio. Get off!

Arthur Figgis knows I've got three buttocks.

How? We go cycling together.

Strewth!

And now for something completely different.

A man with three buttocks.

Good evening. I have with me Mr. Arthur Frampton, who...

Mr. Frampton, I understand that you, as it were, have, uh...

Well, um, let me put it another way. I believe that whereas most people...

Didn't we do this just now? Well, yes.

Well, why didn't you say so? I thought it was a continental version.

And now for something completely the same.

A man with three buttocks.

[RINGS]

Hello?

Oh, did we?

And now for something completely different.

A man with three noses.

MAN: He's not here yet!

Two noses?

[BLOWING NOSE]

[IMITATES BLOWING NOSE]

Ladies and gentlemen, wasn't she just great, eh?

Wasn't she just great? Ha-ha-ha.

And she can run as fast as she can sing. Ha-ha-ha.

And I'm telling you because I know. Ha-ha-ha.

No, only kidding. Ha-ha-ha.

[STOPS LAUGHING]

Yeah.

Seriously now, ladies and gentlemen, we have for you

one of the most unique acts in the world today.

He's-- Well, I'll say no more, just let you see for yourselves.

Ladies and gentlemen, my very great privilege to introduce

Arthur Ewing and his musical mice!

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Ladies and gentlemen, I have in this box 23 white mice.

Mice which have been painstakingly trained over the past few years

to squeak at a selected pitch.

Eh, this is E-sharp and-- And this one is G.

Uh, you get the general idea.

Now, these mice are so arranged upon this rack

that when played in the correct order,

they will squeak "The Bells of St. Mary."

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you on the mouse organ,

"The Bells of St. Mary." Thank you.

[HUMMING "THE BELLS OF ST. MARY"]

[THUMPING, MICE SQUEAKING]

MAN 1: Oh, my God! Oh, stop him!

MAN 2: No! MAN 1: Stop him!

MAN 1 [SOBBING]: Stop him!

MAN 1: Stop him! MAN 2: No!

Next.

[CLEARS THROAT]

[TAPPING SOFTLY]

[TAPS LOUDLY]

Are you the marriage guidance counsellor?

Yes. Good morning. ARTHUR: Morning, sir.

And good morning to you, madam.

Name? Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Pewtey. Pewtey.

And what is the name of your ravishing wife?

Wait. Don't tell me.

It's something to do with moonlight. It goes with her eyes.

It's soft and gentle, warm and yielding.

Deeply lyrical and yet tender and frightened like a tiny white rabbit.

It's Deirdre.

Deirdre. What a beautiful name. ARTHUR: Heh.

What a beautiful, beautiful name.

And what seems to be the trouble with your marriage, Mr. Pewtey?

Well, it all started about five years ago

when we started going on holiday to Brighton together.

Deirdre, that's my wife, has always been a very good companion to me,

and I never particularly anticipated any marital strife.

Indeed the very idea of consulting a professional marital adviser

has always been of the greatest repugnance to me.

Although far be it from me to impugn the nature of your trade or profession.

Do go on.

Well, as I said, we've always been good friends,

sharing interests, the gardening and so on,

the model airplanes, the sixpenny bottle for the holiday money.

And indeed, twice in a month, settling down in the evenings to do the accounts.

Something which, uh, Deirdre-- Deirdre, that's my wife.

--Uh, particularly looked forward to on account of her feet.

I should probably have said at the outset

that I'm noted for having something of a sense of humour,

although I've kept myself pretty much to myself over the last two years, notwithstanding as it were.

And it's only as comparatively recently as recently

that I have begun to realize, well, uh...

Perhaps "realize" is not the correct word.

Uh, imagine.

Imagine that I was not the only thing in her life.

You suspected your wife?

Well, yes. Yes.

At first, frankly, yes.

Her behaviour did seem at the time, to me,

who was after all there to see, to be a little odd.

Odd? Yes. I mean--

I mean, uh, to a certain extent, yes.

I'm not by nature a suspicious person, far from it.

In fact, I have something of a reputation

as an after-dinner speaker, if you take my meaning.

Yes, I certainly do. Yeah.

Anyway, in the area where I'm known, people in fact know me extremely well.

Right.

Would you hold this? Thank you. Yes.

Anyway, as I said, I decided to face up to the facts,

stop beating about the bush,

or I'd never look myself in the bathroom mirror again. Anyway, so--

Would you mind running along for 10 minutes?

No. No. Make it half an hour.

Right-o. Fine.

Yes. I'll wait outside, shall I?

Yes, well, that's perhaps the best thing. Yes.

Certainly put my mind at rest on-- On one or two points there.

[DOOR CLOSES]

[IN AMERICAN ACCENT] Now, wait there, stranger.

A man can run and run for year after year

until he realizes that what he's running from is hisself.

Gosh.

Now, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do,

and there ain't no sense in running.

Now, you gotta turn, and you gotta fight,

and you gotta hold your head up high.

Yes.

Now, you go back in there, my son, and be a man.

Walk tall.

Yes.

Oh, I will.

I will.

I've been pushed around long enough.

This is it.

This is your moment, Arthur Pewtey.

This is it, Arthur Pewtey.

At last, you're a man.

[DEIRDRE GIGGLES]

All right, Deirdre, come out of there!

COUNSELLOR: Go away. Right, right.

DEIRDREI Oh! Oh! Oh!

[DEIRDRE GIGGLES]

NARRATOR: These historic pictures of Queen Victoria,

taken in 1880 at Osborne,

show the Queen with Gladstone.

This unique film provides a rare glimpse into the private world

of a woman who ruled half the earth.

The commentary, recorded on the earliest wax cylinders,

is spoken by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, the poet laureate.

[♪♪♪]

MAN [IN AMERICAN ACCENT]: Well, hello, it's the wacky queen again.

And who's the other fella? It's Willie Gladstone.

And when these two way-out wacky characters get together,

there's fun aplenty.

And uh-oh, there's a hosepipe.

This means trouble for somebody. Uh-oh.

Charlie Gardener's fallen for that old trick.

Queeny's put him in a heap of trouble.

Uh-oh. That's one in the eye for Willie.

Here, you have a go.

Well, doggone it, where's that water?

Uh-oh. There it is, all over his face.

Well, hello, what's Britain's wacky queen up to now?

Well, she's certainly not sitting on the fence. She's painting it.

Surely nothing can go wrong here. Uh-oh.

Here's the PM coming back for more.

And he certainly gets it.

Well, that's one way to get the housework done.

[KNOCKING ON DOOR]

[GRUNTS]

[CLEARS THROAT]

Oh, Dad, look who's come to see us, it's our Ken.

[SPITS]

Aye, and about bloody time if you ask me.

Aren't you pleased to see me, Father?

Yes, of course he's pleased to see you, Ken.

All right, woman, all right. I've got a tongue in me head.

I'll do the talking.

Aye.

I like your fancy suit. Is that what they're wearing up in Yorkshire now?

It's just an ordinary suit, Father. FATHER: Ha.

It's all I've got apart from the overalls.

How are you liking it down the mine, Ken?

Oh, it's not too bad, Mum.

We're using some new tungsten carbide drills

for the preliminary coal-face scouring operations.

Ooh, that sounds nice, dear.

Tungsten carbide drills?

What in the bloody hell is tungsten carbide drills?

It's something they use in coal mining, Father.

"It's something they use in coal mining, Father."

You're bloody fancy talk since you left London.

Not that again. He's-- He's had a hard day, dear.

His new play opens at National Theatre tomorrow.

Oh, that's good.

Good? Good? What do you know about it?

What do you know about getting up at 5:00 in the morning to fly to Paris,

back at the Old Vic for drinks at 12,

sweating the day through press interviews, television interviews,

then getting back here at 10 to wrestle with the problem

of a homosexual nymphomaniac drug addict

involved in the ritual murder of a well-known Scottish footballer?

That's a full working day, lad, and don't you forget it!

Oh, don't shout at the boy, Father. Aye.

Hampstead wasn't good enough for you, was it?

You had to go poncing off to Barnsley.

You and your coal-mining friends.

[FATHER SPITS]

Coal mining is a wonderful thing, Father,

but it's something you'll never understand. Just look at you!

Oh, Ken, be careful. You know what he's like after a few novels.

What? Come on, lad. Come on.

Out with it. What's wrong with me?

You tit! I'll tell you what's wrong with you.

Your head's addled with novels and poems,

[CHUCKLES]

You come home every evening reeling of Château Latour.

Don't. Don't. And look what you've done to Mother.

She's worn out with meeting film stars, attending premieres,

and giving gala luncheons. There's naught wrong

with gala luncheons, lad!

I've had more gala luncheons than you've had hot dinners.

[SOBBING] Oh, please, please.

[SCREAMING]

Oh, no! What is it?

Oh, it's his writer's cramp.

You never told me about this.

No, we didn't like to, Kenny.

I'm all right. I'm all right, woman. Just get him out of here.

Oh, Ken, you'd better go.

All right. I'm going. After all we've done for him.

One day you'll realize there's more to life than culture.

There's dirt, and smoke,

and good honest sweat! Get out! Get out, you labourer!

Hey, you know, Mother, I think there's a play there.

Get agent on the phone. Aye, I think you're right, Frank.

[TAPPING ON WOOD]

It could express-- It could express

a vital theme of our age. Aye.

Oh, shut up! Shut up!

Well, that's better. Now for something completely different.

A man with three buttocks.

MOTHER AND FATHER: We've done that!

Oh, all right! All right!

A man with nine legs.

MAN: He ran away. Oh, bloody hell.

Uh...

A Scotsman on a horse.

[♪♪♪]

[HORSE NEIGHS]

[IMITATES BLOWING NOSE]

MAN: Harold! Come back, Harold!

Harold! Come back, Harold!

Oh, blast! MAN 2: Sir.

[♪♪♪]

Good evening, and welcome once again to The Epilogue.

On the program this evening we have Monsignor Edward Gay,

visiting pastoral emissary of the Somerset Theological College

and author of a number of books about belief,

the most recent of which is the bestseller My God.

Good evening.

And opposite him, we have Dr. Tom Jack,

humanist, broadcaster, lecturer, and author of the book Hello Sailor.

Good evening. Tonight--

Tonight, instead of discussing the existence

or non-existence of God, they have decided to fight for it.

The existence or non-existence

to be determined by two falls, two submissions or a knockout.

All right, boys, let's get to it.

Your master of ceremonies for this evening, Mr. Arthur Waring.

WARING: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,

and welcome to a three-round contest of The Epilogue.

Introducing on my right in the blue corner,

appearing for Jehovah,

the ever-popular Monsignor Eddie Gay.

[CROWD JEERS]

And on my left in the red corner,

author of the books The Problems of Kierkegaard and Hello Sailor,

and visiting professor of Modern Theological Philosophy

at the University of East Anglia, from Wigan, Dr. Tom Jack.

[CROWD CHEERING]

[SPEAKING INDISTINCTLY]

HOST: Now, Dr. Jack's got the flying mare there.

A flying mare there. What's he doing?

And this is gonna be a full body slam. A full body slam.

And he's going in to pin-- No, he's-- He's standing back.

Well, uh, though we are--

Though we are leaving The Epilogue for the moment,

we'll be bringing you the result of this discussion later on in the program.

[GUNSHOT]

MAN: Oh! My God!

[GROANS]

[GRUNTS]

[HUMMING]

Oh.

Oh, isn't he an impressive figure of a man?

People of the country, I want to talk about defacement of public property.

Anyway, this sort of thing has got to be stopped.

Ebbing the destruction. Defacement has got to be put to an end.

[PEOPLE RUNNING]

This country is not standing for vandals and hooligans running about.

[SPEAKING INDISTINCTLY]

[SAWING woon]

WOMAN: Oh, yes, that's much better.

[CACKLING]

Oh, isn't he a lovely little-?

[CHOMPING]

Oh, isn't he a lovely little-?

[CHOMPING]

[BURPS]

[WHEELS SQUEAKING]

Oh, isn't he a lovely little-?

MAN [IN VOICEOVER]: Wait a minute, buckaroos.

This has gone far enough.

[CHOMPING LOUDLY]

Oh, no! Take it away from me! Take it away!

Oh, no! Get it away! Get it away!

[DRUM ROLL]

[♪♪♪]

[WHISTLING]

[CHATTERING]

[♪♪♪]

Yes. The mouse problem. This week, The World Around Us

looks at the growing social phenomenon of mice and men.

What makes a man want to be a mouse?

Well, uh, it's not a question of wanting to be a mouse,

it just sort of happens to you.

Uh...

All of a sudden you realize

that's what you want to be.

And when did you first notice these, shall we say, tendencies?

Well, I was about 17 and some mates and me went to a party.

And, uh...

Well, we had quite a lot to drink and then some of the fellows there

started handing cheese around, uh...

Well, just out of curiosity I tried a bit and...

Well, that was that. And what else did these fellows do?

Well, uh, some of them started...

...dressing up as mice a bit, um...

And then when they got the costumes on,

they started squeaking.

And was that all? That was all.

And what was your reaction to this?

Well, I was shocked. Yes.

But, uh, gradually I came to feel

that I was more at ease with other mice.

A typical case, whom we shall refer to as Mr. A.

Although his real name is this:

[ANNOUNCER READING]

What is it that attracts someone like Mr. A to this way of life?

I have with me a consultant psychiatrist.

Well, we've just heard a typical case history.

I myself have over 700 similar histories, all fully documented.

Would you care to choose one?

Mr. Arthur Aldridge of Leamington.

Well, that's amazing. Amazing. Thank you.

Thank you, Janet. Ahem.

[♪♪♪]

Kargol, speaking as a psychiatrist as opposed to a conjuror,

Oh.

What makes certain men want to be mice?

Well, we psychiatrists have found that over 8 percent of the population

will always be mice.

I mean, after all, there's something of the mouse in all of us.

I mean, how many of us could honestly say

that at one time or another he hasn't felt sexually attracted to mice?

I know I have.

I mean, most normal adolescents

go through a stage of squeaking two or three times a day.

Most youngsters on the other hand--

Some youngsters, are attracted to it by its very illegality.

It's like murder. Make a thing illegal, and it acquires a mystique.

Look at arson. I mean, how many of us could honestly say

that at one time or another he hasn't set fire

to some great public building? I know I have.

[RINGS]

The only way-- The only way to bring the crime figures down

is to reduce the number of offences. Get it out in the open.

I know I have. Mm.

The Amazing Kargol and Janet.

What a lot of people don't realize is that a mouse, once accepted,

can fulfill a very useful role in society.

Indeed, there are examples throughout history of famous men

now known to have been mice.

[SPEAKS IN ITALIAN]

[SQUEAKS]

And of course, Hilaire Belloc.

But what is the-- What is the attitude--

--of the man in the street towards--

"this growing social problem?

Clamp down on them. INTERVIEWER: How?

I'd strangle them.

Well, speaking as a member of the stock exchange,

I would suck their brains out with a straw,

uh, sell the widows and orphans, and go into South American zinc.

Yeah, I'd, uh, stuff sparrows down their throats

uh, until the beaks stuck out through the, uh, stomach walls.

Well, I'm a chartered accountant,

and consequently too boring to be of interest.

I feel that these poor, unfortunate people should be free

to live the lives of their own choice.

I'd, uh, split their nostrils open with a boat hook, uh, I think.

Oh, well, I mean, uh, they can't help it, can they?

But, uh, I mean, there's nothing you can do about it,

so, uh, I'd kill them.

Clearly, the British public's view is a hostile one. Hostile.

But perhaps this is because so little is generally known of these mice men.

We have some film now taken at one of the notorious weekend mouse parties

where these disgusting little perverts meet.

LINKMAN: Mr. A tells us what actually goes on at these mouse parties.

Well, uh, first of all,

you get shown to your own private hole in the skirting board.

Uh, then you put the mouse skin on. Uh...

Then you scurry into the main room,

and perhaps, uh, take a run in the wheel.

The remainder of this film was taken secretly

at one of these mouse parties by a BBC cameraman posing as a vole.

As usual, we apologize for the poor quality of the film.

MR. A [IN VOICEOVER]: Well, uh, then you steal some cheese.

Brie or Camembert, or, uh, Cheddar or Gouda,

if you're on the harder stuff.

Um, you might go and see one of the blue-cheese films.

Then there's a big clock in the middle of the room,

and about 12:50 you climb up it and then,

eventually, it strikes 1 and you all run down.

LINKMAN: And what's-? What's that?

MR. A: That's the farmer's wife. LINKMAN: Yes.

Perhaps we need to know more of these mice men

before we can really judge them. Perhaps not.

Anyway, our 30 minutes are up.

[SHEEP BLEATING]

[THUDS]

Good night.

[PANTING]

NARRATOR: And here is the result of The Epilogue:

God exists, by two falls to a submission.