Episode 1
Court Scene- Multiple Murderer
(Cut
to a courtroom. Severe atmosphere.)
Judge:
(Terry Jones) Michael Norman Randall, you have been found guilty of the murder
of Arthur Reginald Webster, Charles Patrick Trumpington, Marcel Agnes
Bernstein, Lewis Anona Rudd, John Malcolm Kerr, Nigel Sinclair Robinson, Norman
Arthur Potter, Felicity Jayne Stone, Jean-Paul Reynard, Rachel Shirley
Donaldson, Stephen Jay Greenblatt, Karl-Heinz Mullet, Belinda Anne Ventham,
Juan-Carlos Fernandez, Thor Olaf Stensgaard, Lord Kimberley of Pretoria, Lady
Kimberley of Pretoria, The Right Honourable Nigel Warmsly Kimberley, Robert
Henry Noonan and Felix James Bennett, on or about the morning of the 19th
December 1972. Have you anything to say before I pass sentence?
Randall:
(Eric Idle) Yes, sir. I'm very sorry.
Judge:
Very sorry?
Randall:
Yes, sir. It was a very very bad thing to have done and I'm really very ashamed
of myself. I can only say it won't happen again. To have murdered so many
people in such a short space of time is really awful, and I really am very,
very, very sorry that I did it, and also that I've taken up so much of the
court's valuable time listening to the sordid details of these senseless
killings of mine. I would particularly like to say, a very personal and sincere
'sorry' to you, m'lud, for my appalling behaviour throughout this trial. I'd
also like to say sorry to the police, for putting them to so much trouble (shot
of three heavily bandaged exhausted-looking policemen behind him) for the
literally hours of work they've had to put in, collecting evidence and
identifying corpses and so forth. You know I think sometimes we ought to
realize the difficult and often dangerous work involved in tracking down
violent criminals like myself and I'd just like them to know that their fine
work is at least appreciated by me.
(The
policemen look embarrassed.)
First
Policeman: No, no, we were only doing our job.
Second
Policeman: No, no, no, no.
Randall:
It's very good of you to say that, but I know what you've been through.
First
Policeman: No, no, we've had worse.
Third
Policeman: It was plain sailing apart from the arrest.
Randall:
I know and I'm grateful. I'd like to apologize too to the prosecuting counsel
for dragging him in here morning after morning in such lovely weather.
Counsel:
(John Cleese) Well, I would have had to come in anyway.
Randall:
Ah good, but what a presentation of a case!
Counsel:
Oh thank you.
Randall:
No, no, it's a privilege to watch you in action. I never had a chance.
Counsel:
Oh yes you did.
Randall:
Not after that summing up. Great.
Counsel:
Oh thank you. (very chuffed)
Randall:
And now I must come to the jury. What can I say. I've dragged you in here, day
after day, keeping you away from your homes, your jobs, your loved ones, just
to hear the private details of my petty atrocities.
Foreman:
(Michael Palin) No, no, it was very interesting.
Randall:
But you could have had a much nicer case.
Foreman:
No, no, murder's much more fun.
First
Juryman: Yes and so many of them.
Second
Juryman: Excellent.
Third
Juryman: We've had a terrific time. (the jury applauds)
Randall:
(blows his nose, does a Dickie Attenborough) I'm sorry, I'm very moved. And so,
m'lud, it only remains for you to pass the most savage sentence on me that the
law can provide.
Judge:
Well er... not necessarily.
Randall:
No, m'lud, the full penalty of the law is hardly sufficient. I insist I must be
made an example of.
Judge:
Well yes and no. I mean society at large...
Randall:
Oh no, m'lud. Not with mass murder.
Judge:
But in this case, (to court) don't you think?
Court:
Yes, yes!
Randall:
Oh, come on, m'lud, you've got to give me life.
Court:
No, no, no, no.
Randall:
(to court at large) Well, ten years at least.
Judge:
Ten years!
Court:
Shame. Shame!
Randall:
Well five then. Be fair.
Judge:
No, no. I'm giving you three months.
Randall:
Oh no, that's so embarrassing. I won't hear of it. Give me six...please.
Judge:
Well, all right. Six months.
Randall:
Thank you, m'lud.
Judge:
But suspended.
Randall:
Oh no.
Court:
Hooray. (they applaud)
Foreman:
Three cheers for the defendant. Hip. Hip.
Court:
Hooray.
Foreman:
Hip. Hip.
Court:
Hooray.
Foreman:
Hip. Hip.
Court:
Hooray.
All:
For he's a jolly good fellow, For he's a jolly good fellow, For he's a jolly
good fellow...
Voice:
(off screen) Which nobody can deny.
The Icelandic Saga
CAPTION:
'NJORL'S SAGA -- PART II'
(Pan
across a bleak landscape.)
1st
Voice Over: This little-known Icelandic saga, written by an unknown hand in the
late thirteenth century, has remained undiscovered until today. Now it comes to
your screens for the first time. Fresh from the leaves of Iceland's history.
The terrible 'Njorl's Saga'.
(Cut
to Viking.)
Viking:
It's not that terrible.
(Cut
to landscape. The announcer appears in the corner of the shot.)
Announcer:
No, I meant terribly violent.
(Cut
to Viking.)
Viking:
Oh yeah, yeah.
(A
Viking hut. A Viking comes out and has great difficulty mounting his horse.)
2nd
Voice Over: Erik Njorl, son of Frothgar, leaves his home to seek Hangar the
Elder at the home of Thorvald Nlodvisson, the son of Gudleif, half brother of
Thorgier, the priest of Ljosa water, who took to wife Thurunn, the mother of
Thorkel Braggart, the slayer of Cudround the powerful, who knew Howal, son of
Geernon, son of Erik from Valdalesc, son of Arval Gristlebeard, son of Harken,
who killed Bjortguaard in Sochnadale in Norway over Cudreed, daughter of
Thorkel Long, the son of Kettle-Trout, the half son of Harviyoun Half-troll,
father of Ingbare the Brave, who with Isenbert of Gottenberg the daughter of
Hangbard the Fierce ... (fades and continues under:)
3rd
Voice Over: I must apologize for an error in the saga. Evidently Thorgier, the
Priest of Ljosa water who took to wife Thurunn, the mother of Thorkel Braggart,
the slayer of Gudmund the powerful, who knew Howal, son of Geernon, son of Erik
from Vadalesc ... (fades under next speech)
(The
Viking has still failed to mount his horse. Both he and the horse look a bit
exasperated.)
1st
Voice Over: Well I'm afraid we're having a little trouble getting this very
exciting Icelandic saga started. If any of you at home have any ideas about how
to get this exciting saga started again here's the address to write to:
4th
Voice Over: Help the Exciting Icelandic Saga, 18b MacNorten Buildings, Oban.
CAPTION:
HELP THE EXCITING ICELANDIC SAGA
C/O MATCH OF THE DAY
BBC TIt
THE LARCHES
26 WESTBROOK AVENUE
FAVERSHAM
KENT
(Cut
to an office: the announcer at a desk. At another desk a secretary, applies a
deodorant spray to her bust.)
Announcer:
(to camera) Hello, well I was the third voice you heard just now. I'm sorry
about that terrible mess.
(Cut
to the Viking at wheel of car.)
Viking:
(MICHAEL) Well it wasn't all that terrible.
(Cut
back to the office.)
Announcer:
No, no, I meant terrible in the sense of unfortunate.
(Cut
to the Viking.)
Viking:
Oh.
(Cut
back to the office.)
Announcer:
Anyway, our plea for assistance has been answered by the North Malden Icelandic
Saga Society who've given us some very useful information about the saga and so
we carry on now with 'Njorl's Saga' with our thanks going, once again, to the
North Maiden Icelandic Saga Society.
(Cut
to the Viking standing by his home. He is asleep.)
2nd
Voice Over: Erik Njorl, son of Frothgar rode off into the desolate plain. (the
Viking manages to mount the horse; he rides off) Day and night he rode, looking
neither to right nor left. Stopping neither for food nor rest. (shots of Erik
riding through a bleak landscape) Twelve days and nights he rode. Through rain
and storm. Through wind and snow beyond the enchanted waterfall, (Erik rides
past a Watefall) through the elfin glades until he reached his goal. (shot of a
modern road sign.' 'North Malden -please drive carefully) He had found the rich
and pleasant land beyond the mountains, (shots of Erik riding gently through a
modern suburban shopping street) the land where golden streams sang their way
through fresh green meadows. Where there were halls and palaces, an excellent
swimming pool and one of the most attractive bonus incentive schemes for
industrial development in the city. Only fifteen miles from excellent
Thames-side docking facilities and within easy reach of the proposed M25. Here
it was that Erik Njorl, son of Frothgar, met the mayor. Mr Arthur Huddinut, a
local solicitor.
(Erik
rides up to the town hall and is met by the mayor.)
Mayor:
Welcome to North Malden. (to camera) Yes, everyone is welcome to North Malden,
none more so than the businessmen and investors who shape our society of the
future. Here at North Malden...
(His
voice fades under the following.)
1st
Voice Over: And we apologize to viewers of 'Njorl's Saga' who may be confused
by some of the references to North Malden. After a frank exchange of views we
have agreed to carry on showing this version supplied to us by the North Malden
Icelandic Saga Society on the undertaking that future scenes will adhere more
closely to the spirit of twelfth-century Iceland.
(Film
leader countdown (5, 4, 3. . .) then shot of Erik riding away into bleak
landscape.)
2nd
Voice Over: With moist eyes, Erik leaves this happy land to return to the harsh
uneconomic realities of life in the land of Ljosa waters. On his way Erik
rested a while in the land of Bjornsstrand - the land of dark forces, where
Gildor was King. (Erik comes to a river in a wood; he drinks) These were the
dukes of the land of Bjornsstrand. (sudden shot of six armoured knights
standing in a row) Proud warriors who bore on their chests the letters of their
dread name.
(The
knights move their shields to reveal on their breastplates the letters
M.A.L.D.E.N. Shots of Erik battling with the knights. A telephone rings and the
following conversation is heard.)
Announcer's
Voice: Hello? Is that the North Malden Icelandic Society?
Voice:
Yes, that's right.
Announcer:
About this saga.
Voice:
Oh yes, the Icelandic saga.
Announcer:
Yes.
Voice:
Good, isn't it.
Announcer:
Well er, I don't know, but you promised us that you would stick to the spirit
of the original text.
Voice:
Yes, that's right.
Announcer:
Well I mean a lot of these things that are happening, well they just don't
quite ring true.
(One
of the knights is carrying a sign: Malden, Gateway to Industry '.)
Voice:
Well, it's a new interpretation really.
(Another
carries a sign, 'ICI thanks Malden '.)
Announcer:
Well we don't want a new...
FLASH
FRAME CAPTION: 'INVEST IN MALDEN'
Announcer:
... I mean we wanted the proper thing... I mean just look what's happening now.
(More
signs: 'Invest in Malden ', Malden - 45% Interest Free Loans '.)
Voice:
Banners were a very important part of Icelandic lore, Mr Mills.
Announcer:
No, no, I'm sorry I, I can't accept that, it's gone too far, I'm very sorry but
we'll have to terminate the agreement. You're just trying to cash in on the
BBC's exciting Icelandic saga.
(The
knights are carrying more and more advertising banners and signs.)
Voice:
That's business, Mr Mills.
Announcer:
Well, that's as maybe but it's not the way the BBC works.
Voice:
Well I'm sorry you feel that way, but, err… you know, if you ever want to come
to Malden...
FLASH
CAPTION: 'INVEST IN MALDEN'
(Film
leader countdown...5, 4, 3...)
Court Scene- Viking
CAPTION:
'NJORL'S SAGA -- PART III'
(Usual
dramatic music. Fade music as we come up on a courtroom. A man, Mr Birchenhall,
is giving evidence.)
Man:
8 o'clock is a peak viewing hour so naturally we tend to sack to our comedy
output - unless of course there's sport - because of course we know this is
popular, and popularity is what television is about. Quite frankly I'm sick and
tired of people accusing us of being ratings conscious.
Judge:
(to the clerk of the court) Ratings conscious?
Clerk:
Transmitting bland garbage, m'lud.
Judge:
Thank you.
Man:
Now I'm really cheesed off. I mean it's not your high-brow bleeding plays that
pull in the viewers, you know.
Judge:
(bored) Thank you.
Man:
(getting more and more angry) I mean Joe Public doesn't want to sit down and
watch three hours of documentaries every evening.
Judge:
Thank you.
Man:
He wants to sit down and he wants to be entertained, he doesn't want a load...
(he is helped out of court by two policemen, still protesting violently) No
really - I'm absolutely fed up with this. I really am.
Judge:
(banging gavel) Case dismissed.
(The
prosecuting counsel rises anxiously.)
Prosecuting
Counsel: Case dismissed, m'lud?
Judge:
Oh all right, five years.
Prosecuting
Counsel: Thank you, m'lud. (he sits)
Judge:
Call the next case please.
Prosecuting
Counsel: Call Erik Njorl, son of Frothgar, brother of Hangnor... (etc.).
Clerk:
Call Erik Njorl ... (etc.),
Voices:
(off) Call Erik Njorl .. , (etc.). (all calling at once)
(Erik
comes into the dock. He is bandaged almost totally, like a coccoon, including
his head. He wears a Viking fur hat, The usher approaches him with the card and
Bible.)
Usher:
You are Erik Njorl, son of Frothgar...
Judge:
Get on with it!
Usher:
Will you raise your right hand.
Judge:
He obviously can't raise his right hand, you silly usher person... can you
raise your right leg Mr Njorl?
(Njorl
shakes his head.)
Usher:
Can you raise any part of your body, Mr Njorl?
(Njorl
leans over and whispers in the usher's ear.)
Usher:
I see... well, we'll skip that... well, just take the book in your right hand
Mr Njorl without raising any part of your body... Oh ....
Judge:
What is it now, you persistently silly usher?
Usher:,
He can't hold the Bible m'lud.
Judge:
Well screw the Bible! Let's get on with this bleeding trial, I've got a Gay Lib
meeting at 6 o'clock. Superintendent Lufthansa will you please read the charge.
Superintendent:
Is a charge strictly necessary, m'lud?
Judge:
(heavy aside) The press is here.
Superintendent:
Oh sorry! Right, here we go. You are hereby charged. One, that you did, on or
about 1126, conspire to publicize a London Borough in the course of a BBC saga;
two, that you were wilfully and persistently a foreigner; three, that you
conspired to do things not normally considered illegal; four, that you were
caught in possession of an offensive weapon, viz, the big brown table down at
the police station.
Judge:
The big brown table down at the police station?
Superintendent:
It's the best we could find, m'lud ... and five... all together now...
(The
whole court shout together.)
Court:
Assaulting a police officer!
Prosecuting
Counsel: Call Police Constable Pan-Am. (Pan-Am runs into court and starts
beating Njorl with a truncheon) Into the witness box, constable ... there'll be
plenty of time for that later on. (the policeman gets into box hitting at
anyone within range; his colleagues restrain him) Now, you are Police Constable
Pan-Am?
Constable:
No, I shall deny that to the last breath in my body. (superintendent nods) Oh.
Sorry, yes.
Prosecuting
Counsel: Police constable, do you recognize the defendant?
Constable:
No. Never seen him before in my life. (superintendent nods) Oh , yes, yes he's
the one. He done it. I'd recognize him anywhere, sorry, super. (the
superintendent looks embarrassed)
Prosecuting
Counsel: Constable, will you please tell the court in your own words what
happened?
Constable:
Oh yes! (refers to his notebook) I was proceeding in a northerly direction up
Alitalia Street when I saw the deceased (points at Njorl) standing at an
upstairs window, baring her bosom at the general public. She then took off her
... wait a tick. Wrong story. (refers to his notebook) Ho yes! There were three
nuns in a railway compartment and the ticket inspector says to one of them.
(the superintendent shakes his head) No, anyway I clearly saw the deceased...
Clerk:
Defendant.
Constable:
Defendant! Sorry. Sorry, super. I clearly saw the defendant ... doing whatever
he's accused of...Red-handed. When kicked... he said: 'It's a fair ... cop, I
done it all ... Right... no doubt about... that'. Then, bound as he was to the
chair, he assaulted myself and three other constables while bouncing around the
cell. The end.
(Spontaneous
applause from the court. Shouts of more! more!. Pan-am raises his hands and the
clapping and shouting dies down.)
Constable:
Thank you, thank you... and for my next piece of evidence...
Superintendent:
I think you'd better leave it there, constable.
Prosecuting
Counsel: Excellent evidence, constable (the constable is removed, flailing his
truncheon the while) ... Thank you very much. Now then Mr Njorl, will you tell
the court please where were you on the night of 1126? (silence from the
bandages) Move any part of your body if you were north of a line from the
Humbet to the Mersey. (silence)
Judge:
Is he in there, d'you think? . .. Hello... Hello! Defendant, are you there ...
coo-ee! De-fend-ant... (to the clerk of the court) I think you'd better go and
have a look, Maurice.
Clerk:
Don't call me Maurice in court!
Judge:
I'm sorry.
(The
clerk and prosecuting counsel and two policemen look inside Njorl, who is now
in fact a framework of bandages with no one inside.)
Stock Exchange Report
(Animated
sketch, leading us into a studio set; a man is sitting in front of a
non-animated [but cheap] graph labelled 'Stock Market Report'.)
Voice
Over: And now the Stock Market Report by Exchange Telegraph.
Man:
Trading was crisp at the start of the day with some brisk business on the
floor. Rubber hardened and string remained confident. Little bits of tin
consolidated although biscuits sank after an early gain and stools remained
anonymous. Armpits rallied well after a poor start. Nipples rose dramatically
during the morning but had declined by mid-afternoon, while teeth clenched and
buttocks remained firm. Small dark furry things increased severely on the
floor, whilst rude jellies wobbled up and down, and bounced against rising
thighs which had spread to all parts of the country by mid-afternoon. After
lunch naughty things dipped sharply forcing giblets upwards with the nicky
nacky noo. Ting tang tong rankled dithely, little tipples pooped and poppy
things went pong! Gibble gabble gobble went the rickety rackety roo and ... (a
bucketful of water descends on him)
Mrs. Premise and Mrs. Conclusion Visit Jean-Paul Sartre
(ANIMATION;
ends with an animated woman going into a laundromat. Cut to the interior of a
laundromat. Various shabby folk sitting around. Mrs Conclusion approaches Mrs
Premise and sits down.)
Mrs
Conclusion: Hello, Mrs Premise.
Mrs
Premise: Hello, Mrs Conclusion.
Mrs
Conclusion: Busy day?
Mrs
Premise: Busy! I've just spent four hours burying the cat.
Mrs
Conclusion: Four hours to bury a cat?
Mrs
Premise: Yes! It wouldn't keep still, wriggling about howling its head off.
Mrs
Conclusion: Oh - it wasn't dead then?
Mrs
Premise: Well, no, no, but it's not at all a well cat so as we were going away
for a fortnight's holiday, I thought I'd better bury it just to be on the safe
side.
Mrs
Conclusion: Quite right. You don't want to come hack from Sorento to a dead
cat. It'd be so anticlimactic. Yes, kill it now, that's what I say.
Mrs
Premise: Yes.
Mrs
Conclusion: We're going to have our budgie put down.
Mrs
Premise: Really? Is it very old?
Mrs
Conclusion: No. We just don't like it. We're going to take it to the vet
tomorrow.
Mrs
Premise: Tell me, how do they put budgies down then?
Mrs
Conclusion: Well it's funny you should ask that, but I've just been reading a
great big book about how to put your budgie down, and apparently you can either
hit them with the book, or, you can shoot them just there, just above the beak.
Mrs
Premise: Just there!
Mrs
Conclusion: Yes.
Mrs
Premise: Well, well, well. 'Course, Mrs Essence flushed hers down the loo.
Mrs
Conclusion: Ooh! No! You shouldn't do that - no that's dangerous. Yes, they
breed in the sewers, and eventually you get evil-smelling flocks of huge soiled
budgies flying out of people's lavatories infringing their personal freedom.
(life-size cut-out of woman at end of last animation goes by) Good morning Mrs
Cut-out.
Mrs
Premise: It's a funny thing freedom. I mean how can any of us be really free
when we still have personal possessions.
Mrs
Conclusion: You can't. You can't. I mean, how can I go off and join Frelimo
when I've got nine more installments to pay on the fridge.
Mrs
Premise: No, you can't. You can't. Well this is the whole crux of Jean-Paul
Sartre's 'Roads to Freedom'.
Mrs
Conclusion: No, it bloody isn't. The nub of that is, his characters stand for
all of us in their desire to avoid action. Mind you, the man at the off-licence
says it's an everyday story of French country folk.
Mrs
Premise: What does he know?
Mrs
Conclusion: Nothing.
Mrs
Premise: Sixty new pence for a bottle of Maltese Claret. Well I personally
think Jean-Paul's masterwork is an allegory of man's search for commitment.
Mrs
Conclusion: No it isn't.
Mrs
Premise: Yes it is.
Mrs
Conclusion: Isn't.
Mrs
Premise: 'Tis.
Mrs
Conclusion: No it isn't.
Mrs
Premise: All right. We can soon settle this. We'll ask him.
Mrs
Conclusion: Do you know him?
Mrs
Premise: Yes, we met on holiday last year.
Mrs
Conclusion: In Ibiza?
Mrs
Premise: Yes. He was staying there with his wife and Mr and Mr Genet. Oh, I did
get on well with Madam S. We were like that.
Mrs
Conclusion: What was Jean-Paul like?
Mrs
Premise: Well, you know, a bit moody. Yes, he didn't join in the fun much. Just
sat there thinking. Still, Mr Rotter caught him a few times with the whoopee
cushion. (she demonstrates) Le Capitalisme et La Bourgeoisie ils sont la m~me
chose... Oooh we did laugh.
Mrs
Conclusion: Well, we'll give him a tinkle then.
Mrs
Premise: Yes, all right. She said they were in the book. (shouts) Where's the
Paris telephone directory?
Mrs
Inference: It's on the drier.
Mrs
Premise: No, no, that's Budapest. Oh here we are Sartre ... Sartre.
Mrs
Varley: It's 621036.
Mrs
Premise: Oh, thank you, Mrs Varley. (dials) Hallo. Paris 621036 please and make
it snappy, buster... (as they wait they sing 'The Girl from Ipanema) Hallo?
Hello Mrs Sartre. It's Beulagh Premise here. Oh, pardon, c'est Beulagh Premise
ici, oui, oui, dons Ibiza. Oui, we met... nous nous recontrons au Hotel
Miramar. Oui, a la barbeque, c'est vrai. Madame S. - est-ce que Jean est chez
vous? Oh merde. When will he be free? Oh pardon. Quand sera-t-il libre? Oooooh.
Ha ha ha ha (to Mrs Conclusion) She says he's spent the last sixty years trying
to work that one out. (to Madame Sartre) Tres amusant, Madam S. Oui
absolument... a bientot. (puts the phone down) Well he's out distributing
pamphlets to the masses but he'll be in at six.
Mrs
Conclusion: Oh well, I'll ring BEA then.
(Cut
to them sitting on a raft in mid-ocean.)
Mrs
Premise: Oh look, Paris!
(Cut
to shot of a notice board on the seashore, it reads 'North Malden Welcomes
Careful Coastal Craft'.)
Mrs
Conclusion: That's not Paris. Jean-Paul wouldn't live here. It's a right old
dump.
('Alan
Whicker', complete with microphone, walks in front of sign.)
Whicker:
But this is where they were wrong. For this was no old dump, but a town with a
future, an urban El Dorado where the businessmen of today can enjoy the
facilities of tomorrow in the comfort of yesterday. Provided by a go-getting,
go-ahead council who know just how loud money can talk. (a phone off-screen
starts to ring) Interest rates are so low...
(Cut
to head of drama's office; he is on the phone.)
Head
of Drama: Well it's none of my business but we had the same trouble with one of
our Icelandic sagas. These people are terribly keen but they do rather tend to
take over. I think I'd stick to Caribbean Islands if I were you. (rings off)
Fine... and now back to the saga.
CAPTION:
'NJORL'S SAGA - PART IV'
(Thundering
music. Cut to an Icelandic seashore. Dark and impressive. After a pause the
pepperpots walk into shot.)
Mrs
Premise: Here - this is not Paris, this is Iceland.
Mrs
Conclusion: Oh, well, Paris must be over there then. (points out to the sea;
they walk back to the raft)
(Stock
shot of Eiffel Tower. French accordion music. Mix through to French street
thronged by old Frenchmen with berets and loaves. Mrs Conclusion and Mrs
Premise appear and walk up to the front door of an apartment block. On the
front door is a list of the inhabitants of the block. They read it out loud.)
Mrs
Premise: Oh, here we are, Number 25 .... (reads) Flat 1, Duke and Duchess of
Windsor, Flat 2, Yves Montand, Flat 3, Jacques Cousteau, Flat 4, Jean Genet and
Friend, Flat 5, Maurice Laroux...
Mrs
Conclusion: Who's he?
Mrs
Premise: Never heard of him. Flat 6, Marcel Marceau, 'Walking Against the Wind'
Ltd. Flat 7, Indira Gandhi?
Mrs
Conclusion: She gets about a bit, doesn't she?
Mrs
Premise: Yes, Flat 8, Jean-Paul and Betty-Muriel Sartre.
(She
rings the bell. A voice comes from the intercom.)
Voice:
Oui.
Mrs
Premise: C'est nous, Betty-Muriel, excusez que nous sorerues en retard.
Voice:
Entrez.
(Buzzer
sounds.)
Mrs
Premise: Oui, merci.
(Interior
the Sartres flat. It is littered with books and papers. We hear Jean-Paul
coughing. Mrs Sartre goes to the door. She is a ratbag with a fag in her mouth
and a duster over her head. A French song is heard on the radio. She switches
it off.)
Mrs
Sartre: (MICHAEL) Oh, rubbish. (opens the door) Bonjour.
Mrs
Conclusion: (entering) Parlez vous Anglais?
Mrs
Sartre: Oh yes. Good day. (Mrs Premise comes in) Hello, love!
Mrs
Premise: Hello! Oh this is Mrs Conclusion from No. 46.
Mrs
Sartre: Nice to meet you, dear.
Mrs
Conclusion: Hello.
Mrs
Premise: How's the old man, then?
Mrs
Sartre: Oh, don't ask. He's in one of his bleeding moods. 'The bourgeoisie this
is the bourgeoisie that' - he's like a little child sometimes. I was only
telling the Rainiers the other day - course he's always rude to them, only
classy friends we've got - I was saying solidarity with the masses I said...
pie in the sky! Oooh! You're not a Marxist are you Mrs Conclusion?
Mrs
Conclusion: No, I'm a Revisionist.
Mrs
Sartre: Oh good. I mean, look at this place! I'm at my wits end. Revolutionary
leaflets everywhere. One of these days I'll revolutionary leaflets him. If it
wasn't for the goat you couldn't get in here for propaganda.
(Shot
of a goat eating leaflets in corner of room.)
Mrs
Premise: Oh very well. Can we pop in and have a word with him?
Mrs
Sartre: Yes come along.
Mrs
Premise: Thank you.
Mrs
Sartre: But be careful. He's had a few. Mind you he's as good as gold in the
morning, I've got to hand it to him, but come lunchtime it's a bottle of vin
ordinaire - six glasses and he's ready to agitate.
(Mrs
Premise and Mrs Conclusion knock on the door of Jean-Paul's room.)
Mrs
Premise: Coo-ee! Jean-Paul? Jean-Paul! It's only us. Oh pardon ... c'est m'me
nous...
(They
enter. We do not see Jean-Paul although we hear his voice.)
Jean-Paul:
Oui.
Mrs
Premise: Jean-Paul. Your famous trilogy 'Rues i Liberte, is it an allegory of
man's search for commitment?
Jean-Paul:
Oui.
Mrs
Premise: I told you so.
Mrs
Conclusion: Oh coitus.
(Stock
shot of a plane taking off)
CAPTION:
'THE END'
Whicker Island
(A
stock shot of a jet landing which they always use to introduce 'Whicker's
World'. This leads us into Whicker Island - a tropical island paradise where
all the inhabitants have Alan Whicker suits, glasses and microphones.)
CAPTION:
'WHICKER'S WORLD'
(Various
Whickers pace past the camera.)
First
Whicker: Today we look at a vanishing race. A problem people who are fast
disappearing off the face of the earth.
Second
Whicker: A race who one might say are losing a winning battle.
Third
Whicker: They live in a sunshine paradise, a Caribbean dream, where only
reality is missing.
Fourth
Whicker: For this is Whicker Island.
Fifth
Whicker: An island inhabited entirely by ex-international interviewers in
pursuit of the impossible dream.
First
Whicker: The whole problem of Whicker Island is here in a nutshell.
Second
Whicker: There are just too many Whickers.
Third
Whicker: The light-weight suits.
Fourth
Whicker: The old school tie.
Fifth
Whicker: The practised voice of the seasoned campaigner.
First
Whicker: Cannot hide the basic tragedy here.
Second
Whicker: There just aren't enough rich people left to interview.
(Cut
to a different location.)
Third
Whicker: You can't teach an old dog new tricks and so (turning to a swimming
pool with lots of Whickers around it, wandering with stick mikes and
tnuttering) you find them...
Fourth
Whicker: (seated by swimming pool) Sitting beside elegant swimming pools...
Fifth
Whicker: (seated at drinks table, with sun umbrella) ... sipping Martinis...
First
Whicker: (standing by the pool) .. and waiting for the inevitable interview.
Second
Whicker: (standing fully clothed in the pool) I talked to the island's only
white man, Father Pierre.
(Cut
to a different location. Feeling of heat. The third Whicker stands beside a
priest in a white robe.)
Third
Whicker: Father Pierre, why did you stay on in this colonial Campari-land where
the clink of glasses mingles with the murmur of a million mosquitoes, where
waterfalls of whisky wash away the worries of a world-weary Whicker, where gin
and tonic jingle in a gyroscopic jubilee of something beginning With J - Father
Pierre, why did you stay on here?
Father
Pierre: (putting on a pair of Whicker-style glasses) Well mainly for the
interviews.
Fifth
Whicker: Well there you have it, a crumbling...
First
Whicker: ... empire in the sun-drenched...
Second
Whicker: Caribbean, where the cliches sparkle on the waters...
Third
Whicker: ... like the music of repeat fees...
First
Whicker: And so...
Fifth
Whicker: ... from Whicker Island...
First
Whicker: ... it's...
Second
Whicker: ... fare...
Third
Whicker: ... well and...
Fourth
Whicker: ... bon...
Fifth
Whicker: . .. voy...
First
Whicker: ... age.
(Cut
to film of Whicker plane taking off. Roll credits, which read:)
WHICKER'S
WORLD WAS CONCEIVED, WRITTEN AND PERFORMED BY
ALAN
WHICKER
JOHN
CLEESE WHICKER
GRAHAM
WHICKER CHAPMAN
ALAN
MICHAEL PALIN WHICKER
ERIC
WHICKER WH1CKER IDLE
TERRY
TERRY WHICKER ALAN GILLIAM
ALSO
APPEARING
ALAN
WHICKER
MRS
IDLE
CONNIE
WHICKER BOOTH
RITA
WHICKER DAVIES
NIGEL
WHICKER JONES
FRANK
WILLIAMS AS THE BOY WHICKER
MAKE
UP ALAN WHICKER AND MADELAINE GAFFNEY
ALAN
WHICKER COSTUMES HAZEL PETHIG
ANIMATIONS
BY TERRY WHICKER GILLIAM
MR
WHICKER KINDLY PHOTOGRAPHED ON FILM BY ALAN FEATHERSTONE
EDITED
ON FILM BY RAY MILLICHOPE
MR
WHICKER'S SOUND BY ALAN WHICKER, ALAN WHICKER AND RICHARD CHUBB
MR
WHICKER WAS ENTIRELY LIT BY JIMMY PURDIE (ASSISTED BY ALAN WHICKER)
MR
WHICKER WAS DESIGNED BY ROBERT BERK
PRODUCED
BY ALAN WHICKER OH, AND IAN MCNAUGHTON
A
BBC WHICKER COLOUR PRODUCTION