Original subtitles

It's...

NARRATOR: Monty Python's Flying Circus.

[♪ ♪ ♪]

MAN: Oh, no, you don't.

[BEAR GROWLING]

Hey, did you see that?

Hm?

Did you see somebody go past the window?

What?

Somebody just went past the window.

That way.

Oh.

Oh.

Another one. Hm?

Another one just went past, downwards.

What? Two people have just fallen

out of that window to their almost certain death.

Fine, fine. Fine.

Look, two people--.

Three people have just fallen past that window.

Must be a board meeting.

Oh, yeah.

Hey, that was Wilkins of Finance.

No, that was Robertson.

Wilkins. Robertson.

Wilkins. Robertson.

That was Wilkins. That was Wilkins.

He was a good golfer, Wilkins. Very good golfer. Very good golfer.

Rotten at finance.

It'll be Parkinson next.

Bet you it won't.

How much?

What?

How much do you bet it won't?

Fiver?

All right. Done.

You're on. Fine.

Come on, Parky. Don't do it, Parky.

Come on, Parky. Come on, now. Be sensible, Parky.

MAN: I'm writing to complain about that sketch

about people falling out of a building.

I've worked all my life in such a building and have never once--

[SCREAMING]

Parkinson. Johnson.

[ALL SCREAMING]

MAN 1: My God, this is terrible.

Will somebody please stop it?

MAN 2: I know, sir. Let's try it this way:

[ALL SCREAMING]

[GENIE SPEAKING IN GIBBERISH]

[MAN HUMMING]

[WOMAN LAUGHING]

Hello.

[♪ ♪ ♪]

Good evening. Tonight, Spectrum looks at one of the major problems in the world today.

The whole vexed question of what is going on.

Is there still time to confront, solve it, or is it too late?

What are the facts?

What do people mean when they talk about things?

Alexander Hardacre of the Economic Affairs Bureau.

In this graph, this column represents 23 percent of the population.

This column represents 28 percent of the population,

and this column represents 43 percent of the population.

Telling figures, indeed.

But what do they mean to you? To me?

To the average man in the street?

With me now is Professor Tiddles of Leeds University.

Professor, you've spent many years researching things. What do you think?

It's too early to tell.

Too early to tell, too early to say. It means the same.

"Say" is the same as "tell." Not spelt the same, but they mean the same.

It's an identical situation we have with "ship" and "boat," but not "bow" and "bough."

They're spelt differently, mean different things, but sound the same.

But the question remains what is the solution to this?

What can we do? What am I saying?

Why am I on this programme? What will I say?

Here to answer is a pro cricketer.

I can say nothing at this point. You're wrong. Professor?

Hello. Hello. So where do we stand?

Where do we stand, sit? Where do we come, go? Do, say?

What do we eat, drink? What do we think, do?

[CRASHES]

Sorry.

[BEAR GROWLING]

[DOORBELL RINGS]

Hello. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, isn't it?

That's right. Yes. Well, come on in.

Excuse me not shaking hands,

but I've just been putting a bit of lard on the cat's boil.

Very nice.

Well, you must be tired. It's a long drive from Coventry, isn't it?

Yes, well, we usually reckon on five and a half hours.

It took six hours and 53 minutes

with a 25-minute wait in Frampton Cotterell to stretch.

We had to wait half an hour to go on the M5 near Droitwich.

Really? Then there was a 3-mile queue

just before Bridgewater, on the A38.

Normally, we come around on the B3339,

just before Bridgewater, you see.

Really? This time, we decided to risk it.

They always say they're gonna widen it.

Are they? Just by the intersection

where the A372 joins up.

There's room to widen it there. There's only grass verges.

They could get 6 feet, knock down the hospital.

We took the road through Williton and got the Taunton traffic

on the A358 from Crowcombe and Stogumber.

You must be dying for a cup of tea.

Well, wouldn't say no. Not if it's warm and wet.

Well, come on in the lounge. I'm just about to serve afternoon tea.

Very nice.

Come on in, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson.

Oh, this is Mr. and Mrs. Phillips.

Good afternoon. Pleased to meet you.

It's their third year with us.

We can't keep you away, can we?

And over here is Mr. Hilter.

Good time. Good afternoon.

Planning a little excursion are we, Mr. Hilter?

We make a little...

[SPEAKING IN GERMAN]

Hike. Hiking.

We make a little hike for Bideford.

Oh, well, you'll be wanting the A39, then.

No, no, no. You've got the wrong map there.

This is Stalingrad.

You want the Ilfracombe and Barnstaple section.

Hein-- Reginald, you have the wrong map here,

you silly old, leg-before-wicket English person.

I'm sorry. Sorry, mein Fuehrer. I did not--

Mein Dickie, old chum.

Lucky Mr. Johnson pointed that out, eh?

You wouldn't have had much fun in Stalingrad, would you?

I said, you wouldn't have had much fun in Stalingrad, would you?

Not much fun in Stalingrad, no.

I'm sorry. I didn't introduce you.

This is Ron. Ron Vibbentrop.

Oh, not Von Ribbentrop, eh?

[SPEAKING IN GERMAN]

Oh, ha-ha! No, he different, other chap. No.

I in Somerset am being born.

Von Ribbentrop is born in Diisseldorf, West 8.

So they say.

And this is the quiet one: Mr. Bimmler. Heinrich Bimmler.

How do you do? I am not Minehead lad,

but I in Lincolnshire house was given birth to.

But stay in Lincolnshire house during war,

owing to nasty running sores.

And was unable to go in the streets, play football, or go to Nurnberg.

I am retired window cleaner and pacifist

without doing war crimes. Tsk-tsk-tsk.

Glad England win World Cup-- Bobby Charlton, Martin Peters.

And eating chips and fish and toad in the holes

and Dundee cake on Piccadilly line.

Don't you know, old chap? And was head of Gestapo for 10 years.

Five years.

No, no.

Was not head of Gestapo at all.

I make joke.

Mr. Bimmler, you do have us on.

[PHONE RINGS]

Oh, excuse me. I must just go and answer that.

How long are you down here for, Mr. Hilter? Just the fortnight?

Why do you ask that? You a spy or something?

Get over there against the wall, Britischer pig. You're going to die.

Take it easy, Dickie, old chum.

I'm sorry, Mr. Johnson. He's a bit on edge.

He hasn't slept since 1945.

Shut your cake hole, you Nazi.

Cool it, Fuehrer cat.

Oh, the fun we have.

Haven't I seen him on the television?

Oh, no. No.

Television doctor? No, no.

Telephone, Mr. Hilter.

It's that nice Mr. McGéring from the Bell and Compasses.

He says he's found a place where you can hire bombers by the hour.

If he opens his big mouth again, it's lampshade time.

Shut up. Hire bombers by the hour.

What a laugh he is, that Scottish person.

Good old Norman.

He's on the telephone the whole time nowadays.

In business, is he? Soon, baby.

Of course, it's his big day, Thursday.

They've been planning it for months. What happens then?

Oh, it's the North Minehead by-election.

Mr. Hilter's standing as a National Bocialist candidate.

He's got wonderful plans for Minehead.

Like what? For a start, he wants to annex Poland.

Oh. North Minehead's Conservative, isn't it?

They get a lot of people at their rallies.

Rallies? Well, their Bocialist meetings

down at the Axis Café on Rosedale Road.

[HILTER SHOUTING IN GERMAN OVER MEGAPHONE]

[MUSIC PLAYING OVER GRAMOPHONE]

[SPEAKING IN GERMAN]

I am not a racialist...

but-- Und this is a big "but."

--we in the National Bocialist Party believe:

[SPEAKING IN GERMAN]

[BIMMLER APPLAUDING]

Mr. Hitler--

Hilter. He says that, historically,

Taunton is a part of Minehead already.

He's right. Do you know that?

[CROWD CHEERING AND APPLAUDING OVER GRAMOPHONE]

[CROWD CHANTING OVER GRAMOPHONE]

MAN: What do you think of Mr. Hilter's policies?

Well, I don't like the sound of these here "boncentration bamps."

Well, I gave him my baby to kiss

and he bit it on the head.

I think he'd do a lot of good for the stock exchange.

No, no.

Oh, yes, Britischer pals. He is wunderbar-- Ful.

I think he's right about the coons, but then, I'm a bit mental.

I think he's got beautiful legs.

Well, speaking as Conservative candidate,

I just drone on and on and on and on,

never letting anyone else get a word in edgeways,

until I start foaming at the mouth and falling over backwards.

Is he foaming at the mouth to fall over backwards,

or falling over backwards to foam at the mouth?

Tonight, Spectrum examines frothing and falling,

coughing and calling, screaming and bawling,

galling and mauling, trawling and squalling and "zalling."

Is there a word, "zalling"?

If so, what's it mean? If not, what's it mean?

Perhaps both. Maybe neither.

What do I mean by the word "mean"? By the word "word"?

What do I mean by "do," and what do I do by "mean"?

What do I mean by wasting your time like this? Good night.

Good night.

Good evening. I wish to report a burglary.

Speak up, please, sir. I wish to report a burglary.

I can't hear you, sir.

I wish to report a burglary!

That's a little bit too loud.

Could you say it just a little less loud than that?

I wish to report a burglary.

No, I'm still not getting anything.

Could you try it in a higher register?

What do you mean, a higher register? What?

[IN HIGH VOICE] I wish to report a burglary.

That's it. Hang on a moment.

Now, a little bit louder.

I wish to report a burglary. Report a what?

Burglary! That's it.

That's the exact frequency. Now, keep it there.

[IN HIGH VOICE] Hello, sarge! [IN LOW VOICE] Evening, Charlie.

I was sitting at home with a friend of mine from Camber Sands

when we heard a noise in the bedroom!

We went to investigate and found £5000 stolen!

[IN NORMAL VOICE] Well, I'm afraid I'm going off duty now, sir.

Could you tell Sergeant Foster?

I was sitting at home with a friend of mine from Camber Sands--

[IN NORMAL VOICE] Excuse me, sir, but why the funny voice?

[IN NORMAL VOICE] I'm sorry. I just got used to talking like that to the other sergeant.

Sorry. I can't hear you. Could you try speaking in a lower register?

[IN LOW VOICE] I wish to report the loss of £5000.

Five thousand pounds? You better speak to the detective inspector.

[IN LOW VOICE] What seems to be the trouble, sergeant?

[SPEAKING QUICKLY] This man's come to report

he was home, he heard a noise, investigated,

and found that £5000 was stolen.

I see.

[IN NORMAL VOICE] Where do you live, sir?

[IN NORMAL VOICE] 121 Halliwell Road, Dulwich, SE21.

[SPEAKING QUICKLY] 121 Halliwell Road, Dulwich, SE21.

[IN HIGH VOICE] Another Halliwell Road job, eh, sergeant?

SERGEANT [SPEAKING QUICKLY]: I thought that bloke was put inside last year.

[IN HIGH VOICE] Yes, in Parkhurst.

[IN LOW VOICE] Well, it must have been somebody else.

[IN LOW VOICE] Thank you, sergeant.

[IN NORMAL VOICE] We'll get things moving right away.

[IN HIGH VOICE] You take over, sergeant.

[IN LOW VOICE] Alert all squad cars in the area.

[ALTERNATING VOLUME] Hello, darling. I'm afraid I'll be late home this evening.

♪ Calling all squad cars In the area ♪♪

[IN MAN'S VOICE] I think that's in very bad taste.

[MEOWS]

[BARKING]

[BLEATING]

Some people do talk in the most extraordinary way.

MAN: Good afternoon, and welcome to Hurlingham Park.

You join us just as the competitors

are running out onto the field on this lovely winter's afternoon here

with the going firm underfoot and very little sign of rain.

It certainly looks as though we're in for a splendid afternoon's sport

in this, the 127th Upper-class Twit of the Year Show.

Now, the competitors will be off any moment,

so let me just identify them for you.

Vivian Smith-Smythe-Smith has an O-level in chemo-hygiene.

Simon-Zinc-Trumpet-Harris,

married to a very attractive table lamp.

Nigel Incubator-Jones' best friend is a tree.

In his spare time, he's a stockbroker.

Gervaise Brook-Hampster is in the Guards

and his father uses him as a wastepaper basket.

And finally, Oliver St. John-Mollusc, Harrow and the Guards,

thought by many to be this year's outstanding twit.

They're moving up to the starting line.

There's a jolly good crowd here today.

They're under starters orders.

And...

They're off.

No, they're not.

They didn't realize they were supposed to start.

Never mind, we'll sort that out. The judge is explaining it to them.

I think Nigel and Gervaise have got the idea.

All set to go.

Oh, and they're off. And it's a fast start this year.

Oliver St. John-Mollusc running a bit wide there.

And now they're coming into their first test: the straight line.

They've got to walk along a straight line without falling over.

And Oliver's over, at the back there.

Simon's coming through quite fast on the outside.

Simon and Nigel, both of them coming through very fast.

There's Nigel, number three.

And there's Gervaise coming through just out of shot.

And now, the positions.

Simon and Vivian at the from coming to the matchbox jump.

Three layers of matchboxes to clear.

And Simon's over. And Vivian's over, beautifully.

The jump of a lifetime. If only his father could understand.

Here's Nigel-- No.

And Gervaise is over.

No, he's-- Nigel is over. He's only just hit the top.

And now it's Gervaise. Gervaise is going to jump it.

No, he's jumped the wrong way. Well done.

There he goes. Nigel's over, beautifully.

Now it's only Oliver. Oliver and Gervaise.

Oh, bad luck.

Now it's Kicking the Beggar.

Simon's there and he's putting the boot in, and not terribly hard,

but there's-- He goes down, Simon can move on.

Now, Vivian's there. Vivian is there and waiting for a chance.

Here he comes. The old pile driver. A real pile driver.

And now Simon's our number one,

Vivian two, Nigel three, Gervaise four.

And Oliver bringing up the rear.

There's Oliver. There's Oliver now. He's at the back.

I think he's having a little trouble with his old brain injury.

He's gonna have a go. No, no. Bad luck.

He doesn't know when he's beaten.

He doesn't know when he's winning, either.

He doesn't have any sort of sensory apparatus there,.

Outstanding.

There's Gervaise, putting the boot in there.

He's got the beggar down and the steward's giving him a little advice.

He can move on now. He can move on to the Hunt Photograph.

There's Ger-- I think-- He's off. Gervaise is there

and Oliver's still at the back having trouble with the matchboxes.

Now, here's the Hunt Ball Photograph and the first here is Simon.

He's going to enjoy a joke with Lady Arabella Plunkett.

She hopes to go into films.

And Vivian's through there, and Nigel's there,

enjoying a joke with Lady Sarah Pencil Farthing Vivian

Steamroller Adams Thigh Biscuit Aftershave Gore Stringbottom Smith.

And there's Simon, now, in the sports car.

He's reversing into the old woman. Caught her beautifully.

He's going to accelerate forward to wake up the neighbour.

There's Vivian. No, Vivian's lost his keys.

There's Vivian. He's got the woman, slowly but surely, right in the midriff.

And here he is. Here he is to wake up the neighbour now.

Simon comfortably in the lead, but he can't get this neighbour woken up.

He's slamming away there as best he can.

He's getting absolutely no reaction at all.

There. He's woken him up. And Simon's through.

Here comes Vivian. Vivian to slam the door.

There we are, back at the ball. That's Gervaise.

That's Gervaise going through, there. And here comes Oliver, brave Oliver.

Is he gonna make it to the table? I don't think so.

Yes, he is.

And the crowd are rising to him, there.

And there I can see-- Who is that there?

Yes, that's Nigel. Nigel has woken the neighbour. My God, this is exciting.

Nigel's very excited.

He's going through. Here comes Gervaise.

Gervaise-- No, this is...

Out from is Simon, who's supposed to insult the waiter and he forgot.

And Oliver has run himself over. What a great twit.

And now, here comes Vivian. Vivian to insult the waiter,

and he is heaping abuse on him. He's humiliating him there,

and he's in the lead. Simon's not with him.

Vivian's hit the bar. They've got to get under this bar.

This is extremely difficult as it requires

absolutely expert coordination between mind and body.

They need to get there. Here we go again.

Simon's fallen backwards. Here's Nigel. He's tripped.

Nigel has tripped and he's under. Simon fails again.

Now here is Gervaise-- And Simon is through by accident.

There's Gervaise, he's the last one, but here we are.

Nigel at the head of the field. He's gotta shoot the rabbit.

The rabbits have been tied to the ground, tend to be frisky,

and this is only a one-day event.

They're blazing away. They're not getting the results they might.

Gervaise is in there, trying to bash it to death with his rifle.

And I think Nigel's in there with his bare hands,

but they're not getting results. It is a little misty

and they're shooting from a range of at least one foot.

But there's a couple of hits there.

They've had a couple of hits, and the whole field is up again,

and here they are.

They're coming to the debs. Gervaise first, Vivian second, Simon third.

And now they've got to take the bras off from the front.

This is really difficult.

This is the most difficult part of the entire competition.

They're having a bit of trouble in there.

They're really trying now and the crowd is getting excited,

and I think some of the twits are getting excited too.

Vivian is there, Vivian is coming through.

Simon's in second place.

And-- Oh, there's Oliver. He's dead, but not necessarily out of it.

There goes Nigel. No, he's lost something.

And Gervaise running through to this final obstacle.

All they have to do here to win the title is to shoot themselves.

Simon has a go. Bad luck, he misses. Nigel misses.

Now there's Gervaise, and Gervaise has shot himself.

Gervaise is Upper-class Twit of the Year.

There's Nigel. He's shot Simon by mistake.

Simon is second, and there's Nigel. Nigel's shot himself.

Nigel is third in this fine

and most exciting Upper-class Twit of the Year I've ever seen.

Nigel's clubbed himself into fourth place.

And so the final result, Upper-class Twit of the Year:

Gervaise Brook-Hampster of Kensington and Weybridge.

Runner up: Vivian Smith-Smythe-Smith of Kensington.

And third: Nigel Incubator-Jones of Henley.

There will certainly be some car-door slamming

in the streets of Kensington tonight.

WOMAN: Dear sir, how splendid it is

to see the flower of British manhood wiping itself out

with such pluck and tenacity.

Britain need have no fear with leaders of this calibre.

If only a few of the so-called working classes

would destroy themselves so sportingly.

Yours, et cetera,

Brigadier Mainwaring Smith Smith Smith, et cetera.

Deceased, et cetera.

PS, et cetera. Come on, other ranks, show your stuff.

Yes, sir. I'll do me best, sir.

[COUGHS]

WOMAN: No, not good enough.

[COUGHS]

No, still not good enough.

[COUGHS]

Yeah, that's better.

[♪ ♪ ♪]

Ick!

Okay, all clear.

[GIBBERING]

[♪ ♪ ♪]

Now, I understand that you want to marry my daughter.

That's right. Yeah, yeah.

Yes. You realize, of course, that Rosamund is still rather young?

Daddy, you make me feel like a child.

Oh, yeah, you know.

Get them when they're young, eh?

Know what I mean?

Well, I'm sure you know what I mean, Mr...?

Mr...? Shabby. Ken Shabby.

Mr. Shabby, I just want to make sure you'll be able to look after my daughter.

Oh, yeah, yeah.

I'll be able to look after her all right, sport, eh?

Know what I mean, eh?

And what job do you do?

I clean out public lavatories.

Is there a promotion involved?

Oh, yeah, yeah.

[COUGHING]

After five years, they give me a brush.

I'm sorry, squire. I've gobbed on your carpet.

And where are you going to live?

Well, round at my gran's.

She trains polecats, but most of them have suffocated,

so there should be a bit of spare room in the attic, eh?

Know what I mean?

I see. When do you expect to get married?

Oh, right away, sport. Right away, you know.

I haven't had it for weeks.

Well, look. I'll phone the bishop and see if we can get the abbey.

Oh, diarrhoea.

MAN: The story so far: Rosamund's father has become ensnared

by Mr. Shabby's extraordinary personal magnetism.

Bob and Janet have eaten Mr. Farquar's goldfish

during an Oxfam lunch.

And Mrs. Eismore's marriage is threatened by Doug's insistence

that he is on a different level of consciousness.

Louise's hernia has been confirmed.

Jim, Bob's brother, has run over the editor of the Lancet

on his way to see Jenny, a freelance pagoda designer.

On the other side of the continent,

Napoleon still broods over the smouldering remains

of a city he had crossed half the Earth to conquer.

Whilst Mary, Roger's half sister, settles down to watch television.

There now follows a party political broadcast

on behalf of the Wood Party.

Good evening.

We in the Wood Party feel very strongly

that the present weak drafting of the local government bill

leaves a lot to be desired.

And we intend to fight.

[SCREAMS]

Hello?

Hello.

I'm afraid the minister's fallen through the Earth's crust.

EXCUSE me a moment.

Hello. MINISTER: Hello.

Are you all right, minister?

I appear to have landed on this kind of ledge thing.

Shall we lower down one of the BBC ropes?

If you'd be so kind.

What length of BBC rope will we be likely to need?

I should use the longest BBC rope.

That would be a good idea, I would imagine.

Okey-doke, chief.

Tex, get the longest BBC rope and bring it here, pronto.

In the meantime, since I am on all channels,

perhaps I'd better carry on with this broadcast

by shouting about our housing plans from down here, as best I can.

Could someone throw me down a script?

The script would appear to have landed on a different ledge

somewhat out of my grasp, don't you know.

Perhaps when the rope reaches you, minister,

you could kind of swing over to the ledge and grab it.

Good idea.

Well, I'm going to carry on if I can read the script.

Good evening. We in the Wood Party

feel very strongly about...

the present weak drafting of the local government bill.

No. It's no good. It's not working.

I think I'll have to try and make a grab for it.

It's in back-- There we are.

Good evening.

We in the Wood Party feel very strongly about the present" Ah! Oh!

Oh, dear.

Hello. MAN: Hello.

Look, I must look a bit of a chump, hanging upside down like this.

Don't worry, minister.

I think if we turn the picture upside down

we should help the minister, Hen.

Oh, good. Look, I'm sorry about this.

There seem to be a few gremlins about.

I think I'd better start from the beginning.

Good evening. We in the Wood Party feel very strongly about--

Oh, bloody heck.

Oh, dear.

Terribly sorry about this.

About saying bloody heck on all channels, but--

There's another script on the way down, minister.

Oh, good. Good.

Well.

Good evening.

Well...

How are you?

I don't want you to think of the Wood Party

as a load of old men that like hanging around on ropes, only...

Thank you.

Good evening.

We in the Wood Party

feel very strongly about the present weak drafting--

[SCREAMS]

Look, I think we'd better call it a day.

Is this the furthest distance that a minister has fallen, Robert?

Surprisingly not.

The Canadian minister for external affairs fell nearly seven miles

during a Liberal conference in Ottawa about six years ago.

And then, the Kenyan minister for agric and fish

fell nearly 12 miles during a Nairobi debate in Parliament,

although this hasn't been ratified yet.

How far did the Filipino cabinet fall last March?

Well, they fell nearly 39 miles, but it's not nearly so remarkable

as that was due to their combined weight, Robert.

Yes. Well, thank you, Robert. What's your reaction to this, Robert?

Well, Robert, the main thing is that it's terribly exciting.

The minister is quite clearly lodged between rocks

we know terribly little of.

The main thing is we're getting colour pictures of extraordinarily high quality.

The important thing-- The exciting thing is

he'll get samples of the Earth's core,

which will give us a tremendous, tremendous clue

as to the origins of the Earth and what God himself is made of.

Oh, I needed that.

Thank you. That seems to be about all we have time for tonight.

Unless anyone has anything else to say.

Has anyone anything else to say? No.

No, no. No.

♪ No ♪♪

No. No.

No. No!

No. No.

Bloody fairy. No.

No. Uh, no.

No. No.

No. No.

No, no, no...

What do we mean, no? What do we mean, yes?

What do we mean, "No, no, no"? Tonight, Spectrum looks at what is no.

[♪ ♪ ♪]