Hoskins is a revelation as Harold Shand, blasting through every scene like an Exocet missile, bragging that his gang is ‘the best organisation since Hitler put a Swastika on his jockstrap’. Keefe notes, ‘It’s Bob Hoskins’s film, he gives an absolutely spellbinding performance. I think it’s down to Bob why the film is respected as it is.’ Brimming with Cockney flamboyance, Hoskins manages the bravura achievement of making this thug funny, menacing and tragic. Quite a feat. The shifts from maudlin sentiment to bestial ferocity are fearsome. It’s a facet one suspects that lies not altogether too deep under the surface of the real man. Keefe observes, ‘Bob’s very funny, also he can be very dangerous. He’s got black eyes and when he stares at you he never takes his eyes off you. I would hate to cross him.’
Amidst the joyousness of the film’s homegrown success, there was tragedy. While The Long Good Friday played to packed houses, Keefe’s wife lay dying of cancer in a London hospital. ‘I never saw the film in the cinema until the 2000 re-release. It was heartbreaking, a sad time in my life. The night of the London première I took a video machine to the hospital and a bottle of champagne and we watched it together in the hospital ward.’ Despite scoring big in the UK, remaining in the London top ten for 14 weeks, American distributors were reluctant to take a risk on the film. After several months of intense wrangling, a deal was struck again with Avco-Embassy, who’d done so well out of Time Bandits. Again, Avco took no risk whatsoever with the film; all promotional costs were guaranteed by HandMade, who also supervised all creativity by way of posters, trailers, etc. It was essential to O’Brien that Friday be sold as a mainstream international movie, after the other distributors had dismissed it as fodder for the art houses. It was an amicable arrangement, although Hanson remembers Avco voicing disquiet that O’Brien wasn’t prepared to go the extra mile of stumping up cash for television advertising which, in the end, may have been responsible for its restricted release.
Friday’s New York opening in April 1982 was not far removed from its London début in that it met with glowing notices. Renowned critic Judith Crist described it as ‘the best gangster movie since The Godfather’ and US magazine enrolled Hoskins into the movie’s ‘most illustrious rogues gallery, a criminal roster that includes Edward G Robinson’s Little Caesar and James Cagney’s Public Enemy’. The American public appeared less enthused, however, and Mackenzie puts that down to several factors — the language problem (US prints came complete with a glossary of Cockney terms and their translation — i.e. ‘grass’: a stool pigeon rather than the stuff you smoke), poor distribution (it didn’t play beyond a few big cities) and simply failing to get the joke. Mackenzie believes, ‘They didn’t get the humour because of the old business of irony. I think the Americans are better at it now but in those days you either had a serious film or you had a jokey film, and you can’t mix them up. The public enjoyed it, but enjoyed it just as a thriller, they didn’t get the laughs.’
4
PYTHON’S LAST HURRAH
It’s been called the Woodstock of Monty Python and, over four intoxicating nights in September 1980, they ruled Hollywood. Python were the talk of the town, chased by groupies, seen at all the best parties, driven around in limos and generally grovelled over. It was an inspired notion, getting the lads to perform what was essentially a ‘greatest hits’ package of sketches at one of America’s premier stadiums, the Hollywood Bowl. What better way to exploit the rising tide of cult excitement over Python in the US? ‘I thought it sounded like fun and when I got to Los Angeles,’ John Cleese says, ‘and it was, I think, only the second time I’d ever been there, and the previous time was for an overnight, because I’d always avoided the city because I knew I wouldn’t like it. In fact, what I did like was the weather, the fact that it was sunny every day. It was immensely cheery and we were staying in a very nice hotel and we were all kind of in the prime of life.’
But could a bunch of British comics fill so massive an outdoor auditorium that in the summer months was home to the Los Angeles Philharmonic and had over the years played host to the likes of Sinatra, Streisand, Garland and even The Beatles? Michael Palin observes, ‘The interesting thing about the Bowl was that it’s actually designed to take 17,000 people, I think that’s the maximum. These concrete terraces go right up the hill in front of the stage and they sort of reduced the size by bringing ornamental trees down the steps, and the trees came nearer and nearer, it was a bit like Macbeth, the forest coming to Dunsinane. We filled up about a third of the area, we got crowds of around 7,000 people, which I suppose is quite a lot.’
Although there were no plans to produce a theatrical-release movie, the Pythons decided, for posterity’s sake, to commit the event to celluloid. Neither Gilliam nor Jones took up the challenge of the director’s seat; the rigours of performing live were deemed difficult enough without the added burden of directorial duties. ‘So we got someone else called Terry,’ Palin says, ‘because only people called Terry are allowed to direct Python films.’
Terry Hughes’s relationship with the Pythons dates back to the 1960s when he was at the BBC producing and directing The Two Ronnies and, later, Ripping Yarns. Although he subsequently moved to America, communication channels with the Pythons remained open. ‘They were coming over and knew I was in LA and told Denis O’Brien, who then approached me to see if I was available to do the directing. Denis was very much the executive producer, a funny man, he was involved in the early days of budgeting, whether we were going to shoot on film or on tape. We ended up shooting it on high-definition tape and then it was transferred to film. Of course, I was thrilled to have the chance to work with the Pythons again. I remember we all met for a rehearsal on the stage of the Hollywood Bowl one glorious sunny afternoon, and everybody was kind of hysterical about the silliness that we were all there standing on a stage in Hollywood. It was quite giddy.’
As early as 1970, the Pythons had begun transferring their television material to the live stage, culminating in highly successful shows in London’s Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, in 1974 and a long season at the City Centre, New York in 1976 where the group were treated with almost Beatle-esque reverence. Carol Cleveland recalls, ‘We had an amazing reception at the airport, camera crews and everything. And the first time we came out of the stage door there were hundreds of screaming fans outside. That was the moment we really thought, God, we’re big here. Michael Palin, who is and always has been the shyest of the lot, he was the first one to step out of the stage door and suddenly — Wow! And this girl rushed forward and literally threw herself at Michael, swooning in his arms, near fainted away. And I’ll always remember Michael’s face when he’s holding this girl and looking at us, like, “What do I do?” After that we couldn’t go out the stage door, we used a car, but when they’d see the car we’d have hundreds of fans chasing us up Fifth Avenue. And it was the same in Hollywood.’
If not more so. In Hollywood, the group were feted as mega celebrities, each sketch line worshipped as if it were a lyric penned by Lennon or Dylan. ‘The show was very similar to a rock concert,’ Terry Hughes says. ‘They knew all the words, they’d join in. I don’t think the Pythons knew it was going to have the kind of enthusiastic response it did. They were hopeful it would, but I think they were amazed at the vocal enthusiasm of the audience. I remember at one point they laughed at something that John Cleese said and he walked to the front of the stage and said, “That’s a fucking straight line!”’
The phenomena of Python’s live performances assuming the mantle of rock gigs wasn’t new; it had first emerged at the New York concerts, taking the group totally by surprise. Cleveland says, ‘Those New York shows really were like a rock concert because they were screaming and yelling all the time, they weren’t listening. So we were a little bit better prepared by the time we got to the Hollywood Bowl, but it was an incredible experience. I have to say I think that was really the pinnacle of my career. We did our best to fool them because they seemed to know every word to every sk
etch before you opened your mouth. On the second night, we were about to do the travel agent sketch and, of course, as soon as they saw me and all the travel posters they immediately knew what sketch it was and were prepared for the first line which is me, when Eric walks over and I just look up at him from doing my nails and say, “Oh hello, would you like to come upstairs?” So we’re just about to go on and Eric said, “Carol, don’t say that, say such and such.” So I went out and there was this big “Whoa” of recognition and I open my mouth and say, “Hello, would you like a blow-job?” And there was this stunned silence, 7,000 people suddenly silent. And then you heard all this muttering and then — Whoosh! — it exploded.’
In direct contrast to the television series, the Hollywood Bowl and New York gigs allowed the Pythons far greater freedom to improvise; in a way it was like a return to their university revue days. Cleveland agrees. ‘It was very disciplined when we did the BBC shows. A lot of people ask how much of that was improvised and, of course, none of it was, it was all scripted, it’s just because we didn’t over-rehearse the material. And it was very disciplined in the studio because we had a limited time to record the shows. But when we did the stage shows and we had this extraordinary reaction from people, we could have a lot more fun and there was an awful lot of larking about then, there was a lot of improvising. I think all the guys really probably enjoyed the stage shows more than anything else, it seems to me, looking back on it.’
Every night, the Hollywood Bowl played host to a carnival atmosphere; clumps of the audience would arrive dressed as Mr Gumpy, complete with trademark white hanky on their heads, and assorted other Python characters. Palin remembers, ‘Because it was open air, it was delightful to perform there because you weren’t in an enclosed, overheated theatre, you could see the stars and the moon and the sun setting over in the distance from the stage. There was a nice balmy feeling of people out there enjoying themselves with their picnics and whatever, which is something you just wouldn’t get in an enclosed theatre. The four shows were very enjoyable to do and everybody had a great time and felt this was the way to do it because we’d just come together for that one solo outing, it wasn’t part of a long tour.’
Cleese also recalls those nights with great fondness. ‘We had a good time, the crowds were so friendly. It was a wonderful atmosphere. And we’d got used to playing to American audiences at that stage and it had been pretty similar at Drury Lane when we’d done the big London show that there’s not a great deal of nervousness or stress in playing in front of such friendly audiences.’
So popular were the Hollywood shows that every night the Pythons were obliged to do at least ten minutes of curtain calls, such was the response. ‘The audience would go mad,’ Cleveland says, ‘throwing all these things on the stage, flowers and all the girls’ home-baked cookies, little presents of various descriptions, their knickers. Eventually, we’d have enough of these curtain calls, right bugger that, we want a drink, so we’d make our way down to the VIP tent, and they’d still be there, they wouldn’t leave, even though we put a big sign up on the screen — PISS OFF — they were still there thinking we’re gonna come back and do more.’
There was also the comfort of working with familiar faces which made for a calm and easy-going environment, plus the realisation that perhaps the group were performing at the peak of their powers. Many fans place the Hollywood Bowl as the greatest of their various stage appearances. Terry Hughes remembers, ‘It was a wonderful experience because the audience had never seen the show before. You had all these West Coast college students who’d been starved of seeing Python live because they had done the concerts in New York, so there were people dying to see them. The concerts were all sold out. And it was just so magical to be working with a bunch of friends, never knowing whether they’d get back together again to do anything else after that.’
The large student contingent might also explain why the fragrance of the air sometimes fell on the wacky backy-side. Terry Jones recalls, ‘Having to walk out in the crowd at one point to do the albatross sketch with John and you’d get pretty high because there was so much marijuana being smoked.’
Beside the heavy student presence, Python also found themselves the hottest ticket in town among celebrities who would arrive backstage loaded with congratulations and exclusive party invites. ‘It was our little bit of Hollywood fame,’ Palin says. ‘It was all a bit of a new world for most of us and it was nice to be sort of cosseted.’ For a brief period, the Pythons were part of the superficial showbiz buzz of LA, rubbing shoulders with fellow comedians Steve Martin and Robin Williams and rock ’n’ roll fans Harry Nilson, Joni Mitchell and Mick Jagger. Harrison was also there but this time couldn’t be tempted on to the stage as he had been for the ‘Lumberjack Song’ during one of the New York shows. ‘Steve Martin actually gave a party in our honour,’ Cleveland adds. ‘He had the most amazing house which was all white, everything was white, the outside and the inside, every room was white, all the furniture was white, everything was white. I remember this vast living room and there was nothing in it save for this white carpet and a couple of big white leather sofas, and there was nothing else except his few works of art and in the centre of the room was this extraordinary wooden sculpture which went up to the ceiling. So it wasn’t very much like a home, it was like walking into an art gallery. And he had a pool, obviously. And I remember Michael — it was always Michael — who got this, he was sitting at the edge of the pool sort of just dabbling his feet in the water and these little would-be starlets were skipping about in the briefest of bikinis, shrieking as they do, and one of them, obviously dying to get attention, jumped in the pool in front of Michael and when she came up out of the water her bikini top had slipped off. She came straight up in front of Michael, and Michael, again not knowing what to do with himself, just turned bright red.’
Hollywood is a great town to be a winner in. Nowhere in the world is success more honoured or valued, even less sneered at. After their triumph at the Bowl, America opened up for the Pythons as never before. While some stayed to try and carve out new careers Stateside, others resisted, and always would do, the corrupting lure of Tinsel Town. Palin admits, ‘I myself rather mistrust LA. It’s very seductive and people are very pleasant, but it’s like sort of water through your fingers, you just don’t know quite where you are; people will tell you wonderful things one day and the next day not return your calls, it’s quite a tough place. I like a city you can walk around in, I like the seasons, so there’s two reasons why I wouldn’t like to be in LA for long. So I never considered staying out there. I like the combination of being able to produce the material in London and then go to America and enjoy the fleshpots and the success of something that we’d carefully crafted together on our own terms back in England, that seemed to be the best way for it to work. But to go out to Hollywood and produce programmes on Hollywood’s terms, I think, would have been the end of Python fairly quickly. I did some Saturday Night Lives but Eric was the pioneer there. Eric moved quite easily amongst the American showbiz aristocracy, was prepared to spend some time with them and build his life around America much more than the rest of us did. Although John, of course, was married to an American... married to three Americans!’
Palin’s gentle hostility towards Los Angeles didn’t stop him from passing on sound advice to others undecided about whether to give Hollywood a go or return to the relatively secure bosom of blighty. Cleveland remembers, ‘Michael said to me one day, “Carol, you really ought to think about staying here for a bit. The show is huge and several people have spoken to me about you. I think you’d be wise to stay here for a bit.” And, indeed, I should have done. I should have grabbed my chance and it’s one of my major regrets that I didn’t. But I had to come back to England to finish a touring play for Bill Kenwright. So there I was, after having all this star treatment in Hollywood, and I came back to this awful theatre in Crewe and this little bed and breakfast and I thought, God, a week ago I was a Holl
ywood star, what’s this all about? Yes, I probably made a big mistake there; but there you go.’
On a technical level, the Hollywood shows had been proficiently executed. The facilities at the Bowl were impressive, with the added luxury of two 40ft x 60ft TV projection screens erected on either side of the stage so folk right at the back could see just as well as those sitting in the front row. But because of the sheer vastness of the auditorium, everyone knew that the night would live or die on the reliability of the equipment involved. Cleese says, ‘It was a bit scary because, with screens that big and radio mikes, you’re in terrible, terrible trouble if anything goes wrong. I mean, if your mike packs up you’re dead, nothing you can do about it, and the technology at that time wasn’t anything like what it is now. I remember on the British stage tour in 1973 the mikes did pack up a few times.’
Luckily, there were no major glitches and filming passed off smoothly. Hughes says, ‘I wasn’t given a free hand in as much as it was a fairly formally structured piece, much of it they had done before, there was an existing structure to it. It wasn’t, in my opinion, my job to reinvent the wheel in this case; my job was to capture the essence of the show. We were there four nights and we shot each night. We had, I think, six or seven cameras. Then John stayed on in California and I did a rough cut and he and I worked together fine-tuning it. John was both free and willing to stay on in the States for a while. It was amicable and great; we saw everything the same way and had an overall vision of what it should be, it dictated itself. I don’t remember any moments of disagreement about what we should or shouldn’t be doing.’
For Cleese, it was a whole new experience. ‘I’d spent a lot of time in the editing room on Fawlty Towers but I’d never really spent much time editing a Python thing before because that was what Terry Jones would normally do. So I spent two weeks editing it with Terry Hughes, who’s become a great friend.’
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