The Complete Fawlty Towers
Page 5
Polly: Mr. Fawlty!
Basil: I’ll try and stall her . . . God help me! (he strides into the forecourt) Hallo, Sybil!
Sybil (coldly): Hallo, Basil.
Basil: Well, you finished your golf early!
Sybil: We haven’t started yet, Basil.
Basil: Where are you going, dear?
Sybil: Up these steps.
Basil: Oh, don’t do that!—it’s such a lovely day. Let’s go for a walk. We haven’t done that for years. (she pushes past him) Oh, Sybil, I nearly forgot! You’re not going to believe this. (he manages to get into the lobby ahead of her) Let me show you! (gestures dramatically at the construction fiasco) There! . . . Look at that! That’s Stubbs for you. Mind you, I warned you! But still . . . a reputable builder like that! Choh! Tch, tch, tch.
Sybil: . . . Stubbs?
Basil: Wicked. Tch!
Sybil: Where’s O’Reilly, Basil?
Basil (to himself): Criminal! . . . (to Sybil) Hmmm?
Sybil: Where’s O’Reilly?
Basil: . . . O’Reilly?
Sybil: Yes, O’Reilly.
Basil: Sybil, you never cease to amaze me. Just because of this . . . you automatically assume that it has to be O’Reilly. You just assume that I have been lying all along! I mean . . . Why . . . O’Reilly?
Sybil: Because his van’s outside.
Basil: Well, he’s here now! Of course he’s here now!! He’s come to clear up this mess that your Stubbs has made. That’s why his (with passion) VAN’S OUTSIDE!!! . . . on a Sunday. That’s what I call service.
Sybil: I agree.
Basil: . . . You do?
Sybil: Yes. But if Stubbs has made this mess then I think he should come and clear it up.
Basil: Well, yes, but there’s no point now that O’Reilly’s here, dear. We want it done straight away.
Sybil: There’s no point in paying money to Mr. O’Reilly when Mr. Stubbs would have to do it for free. I’ll call him now.
Basil: He won’t be there on a Sunday.
Sybil: Well, then I’ll call him at home.
Basil is suddenly racked by a spasm of pain from his old war wound.
Basil: Aaaaaaaagh! Oooh! Getting a bit of gyp from the old leg this morning. Not to worry. Anyway, I’ve called him at home and he’s not there.
Sybil: When did you call him?
Basil: Oh . . . first thing. Before I called O’Reilly.
Sybil: Wasn’t that rather early? For a Sunday?
Basil: And I called him five minutes ago, just before you came in. There’s nobody there. Aaagh! (he flexes his leg; the telephone rings; he answers it) Yes, hallo, Fawlty Towers, yes!? . . . Who? . . . Er, yes, I think you’d better have a word with my wife. (offers her the receiver; matter-of-factly) Ummm . . . somebody from Mr. Stubbs’s, dear.
Sybil (looks dubious but takes the phone): Hallo, Sybil Fawlty? Oh yes . . . well, it is a complete mess. Well, could you come over straight away and put it right? . . . (to Basil) Would you like to deal with this, Basil?
She gives him the phone, smiles sweetly, and goes into the drawing room . . . where Polly, pinching her nose to disguise her voice, is providing the other end of the phone call.
Polly: So you see we couldn’t possibly manage it for at least three weeks . . . so if you want it done straight away, you’d better try someone like . . . oh, what’s his name?
Sybil: O’Reilly?
Polly winces and puts her tail between her legs. Sybil takes the phone.
Basil’s voice (over phone) Bravo, Polly. Well done, girl! But listen—where are you speaking from?
Sybil: She’s in here with me, Basil. (she replaces the receiver)
Polly: Mrs. Fawlty, it’s partly my fault.
Sybil: No it isn’t.
Polly: Well, I should have told you.
They go back into the lobby. Basil is shouting on the telephone.
Basil: Is that somebody there trying to pretend that they’re from Mr. Stubbs’s Company?!! . . . What sort of game do you think you’re playing?!! I mean, really!! (slams phone down; to Sybil) Would you believe what some of these people will do, Sybil?
Sybil: I am going to make you regret this for the rest of your life, Basil.
Basil: Well, fair enough, I suppose. But I think Stubbs is partly to blame . . .
Sybil (screaming): BASIL!!!
Basil: . . . Yes, dear?
Sybil: Don’t you dare!!! Don’t you dare give me any more of those . . . pathetic lies!!
Basil: Oh! Right.
Sybil: What do you take me for? Did you really think that I would believe this shambles was the work of professional builders, people who do it for a living?
Basil: . . . No, not really, no.
Sybil: Why did I trust you, Basil?! Why did I let you make the arrangements?! I could have seen what was going to happen. Why did I do it?
Basil: . . . Well, we all make mistakes, dear.
Sybil (slapping him hard): I am sick to death of you!!! You never learn, do you?! You never, ever, learn!!! We’ve used O’Reilly three times this year, and each time it’s been a fiasco!! That wall out there is still not done!! You got him to change a washer in November and we didn’t have any running water for two weeks!!
Basil (reasonably): Well, he’s not really a plumber, dear.
Sybil: Well, why did you hire him?! . . . Because he’s cheap!
Basil: Oh, I wouldn’t call him cheap, Sybil.
Sybil: Well, what would you call him, then?
Basil: Well . . . cheap . . . ish . . .
Sybil: And the reason he’s ‘cheap-ish’ is he’s no bloody good!! (kicks Basil’s shin)
Basil (hopping about): Oh, Sybil, you do exaggerate. I mean, he’s not brilliant . . .
Sybil: Not brilliant!?!?!? He belongs in a zoo!!! (kicks his other shin)
Basil (in some discomfort): Sybil, you never give anyone the benefit of the doubt.
O’Reilly, refreshed by a quick drink in the bar, emerges into the lobby.
Sybil: He’s shoddy, he doesn’t care, he’s a liar, he’s incompetent, he’s lazy, he’s nothing but a half-witted thick Irish joke!!!
Basil: Hallo, O’Reilly . . . How funny! We were just talking about you . . . and then we got on to another Irish builder we used to know—Oh, God, he was awful!
Sybil: I was talking about you, Mr. O’Reilly.
Basil: . . . Were you, dear? I thought you were . . . (he puts his hand on Sybil’s arm to calm her; she slaps it away)
O’Reilly (turning on his gentle Irish charm): Now, come, come, Mrs. Fawlty . . .
Sybil (walking over to him): I’m coming.
O’Reilly (winningly): Oh dear me, what have I done now?
Sybil (pointing to his work): That and that.
O’Reilly: Not to worry. I’m putting it right.
Sybil: . . . Not to worry?
O’Reilly: You’ve heard of the genius of the lamp, Mrs. Fawlty? Well, that’s me.
Sybil: . . . You think I’m joking, don’t you?
Basil (more to himself than to O’Reilly): Oh, don’t smile.
Sybil: . . . Why are you smiling, Mr. O’Reilly?
O’Reilly: Well, to be perfectly honest, Mrs. Fawlty, I like a woman with spirit.
Sybil: Oh, do you? Is that what you like?
O’Reilly: I do, I do.
Sybil: Oh, good. (she picks up a golfing umbrella)
Basil: Now, Sybil! That’s enough.
She hits him with it, steps up to the now apprehensive O’Reilly, and whacks him. He steps back.
Sybil: Come on, then—give us a smile.
She wallops him. He collapses under a flurry of blows, emitting a charming gentle Irish cry of distress. She lowers the umbrella and stands over him.
Sybil: O’Reilly, I have seen more intelligent creatures than you lying on their backs at the bottoms of ponds. I have seen better organized creatures than you running round farmyards with their heads cut off. Now collect your things and get out. I never want to
see you or any of your men in my hotel again. (starts dialling the phone) Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to speak to a professional builder. (to phone) Hallo, Mr. Stubbs? . . . It’s Sybil Fawlty here. I’m sorry to disturb you on a Sunday but we have a problem here with a couple of doors we’d like you to take care of. When do you think you could come round and take a look at them? . . . tomorrow morning at nine o’clock? That’d be fine. See you then. Thank you very much. Goodbye. (rings off; to Basil, who protectively gets another twinge from his war wound) Well, I think I shall go over to Audrey’s now, and I shan’t be back till the morning. (she picks up her golf shoes, then sees the gnome) Oh, Basil?
Basil: Yes, dear?
Sybil: What is that doing here?
Basil: It’s a garden gnome, dear . . . isn’t it nice?
Sybil: Well, don’t you think it would be better in the garden?
Basil: Yes, dear. Good idea!
Sybil: No, no, Basil . . . put him back. On second thoughts, I think I’ll leave him in charge. I’m sure he’s cheap, and he’s certainly better at it than you are. (she turns on her heel and exits)
Basil (calling after her): Have a nice day, dear! Don’t drive over any mines or anything. (to himself) Toxic midget. (turns to see O’Reilly leaving) . . . Where are you going, O’Reilly?
O’Reilly: Well, I . . .
Basil: Would you please take your tools back and continue with the work?
O’Reilly: Well, in view of what Mrs. Fawlty was saying, I thought . . .
Basil: You’re not going to take any of that seriously, are you?
O’Reilly: Well, I thought I might.
Basil: You thought you might?!! What sort of man are you, O’Reilly? . . . Are you going to let her speak to us like that?
O’Reilly: Well, she did, Mr. Fawlty.
Basil: No, she didn’t. She thinks she did, but we’ll show her. We’re not just going to put this door back and take that one out, we’re going to close that one off and put that one through as well. We’re going to do the best day’s work you’ve ever done, O’Reilly.
O’Reilly’s enthusiasm is underwhelming.
The next morning. The lobby has been totally renovated. The dining-room door has been restored; the door across the stairs has gone; a new door has been created, leading to the kitchen; and the door to the drawing room has been blocked off. Everything has been made good and painted. Manuel is standing by the main door, looking outside.
Basil: Manuel! Any sign?
Manuel: Qué? No, no.
The Major (coming down the stairs): Morning, Fawlty.
Basil: Morning, Major. Papers are here.
The Major: Ah, good.
Basil: Notice anything new, Major?
The Major: Another car strike!
Basil: . . . Never mind.
Polly (polishing the dining-room door): Good morning, Major.
The Major: Good morning, er . . . (looks closely at her)
Polly: . . . Never mind.
The Major: Oh, right. (noticing the door) Ah, you found it! I knew you would. (to Polly) He lost it, you know. (goes into dining room)
Manuel: Mr. Fawlty—she come! She come now!
Basil: Quick!
He puts his cassette recorder on the desk, playing ‘The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy’. He disappears into the kitchen, Manuel and Polly into the dining room. Sybil strides in, turns off the cassette, then notices the new work . . . She looks closely at the dining-room door.
Basil (popping momentarily out of the kitchen): Morning, dear!
She turns, but he has gone. She goes to the kitchen door and looks in; he pops playfully out of the dining-room door.
Basil: Did you have a pleasant evening, dear? (sees Mr. Stubbs arriving) Ah, Mr. Stubbs! My wife’s just there. (he disappears into the office)
Stubbs: Good morning, Mrs. Fawlty.
Sybil (embarrassed): Oh, Mr. Stubbs, this is most awkward . . . I’m afraid I have to apologize. My husband has put me in a rather embarrassing situation . . . once again. I was going to ask you to do some work here . . .
Stubbs: . . . Yes?
Sybil: But I was away last night and when I came back just now . . . well, it appears to have been done . . .
Basil (coming in from the office): Everything all right, dear?
Stubbs: Oh, I see.
Sybil: I mean, it’ll probably all fall down by lunch time . . .
Basil: Oh, do you think so, dear? Well, let’s ask a real expert! Do you think it’ll all fall down by lunch, Mr. Stubbs?
Stubbs: No, no . . .
Basil: No, Mr. Stubbs wouldn’t agree with you on that one, dear.
Stubbs (peering): . . . It’s a very good job.
Basil: Oh, did you hear that, dear? . . . A very good job.
Sybil: Hmmmm?
Basil: Oh, none of us like to be wrong, dear. I certainly don’t. (to Stubbs) And then we knocked this door here through, and closed this one off.
Stubbs (at kitchen door): What did you use, an RSJ?
Basil: No, four by two. (to Sybil) Not bad, eh, dear? And not expensive.
Stubbs: No, I mean for the lintel. Did you use an RSJ? . . . you know, an iron girder? Or did you use a concrete lintel?
Basil: . . . No, a wooden one.
Stubbs: But that’s a supporting wall!
Sybil: What?!
Basil: Quite. Well thanks very much for coming over this morning . . .
Sybil: Just a minute—you mean that isn’t strong enough?
Stubbs: That’s a supporting wall, Mrs. Fawlty. It could give way any moment.
Sybil: Any moment?
Stubbs: Yes, God help the floors above! (closes the kitchen door) Look, keep this door shut until I can get a screwjack to prop it up, before the bloody lot comes in . . . I don’t know, cowboys . . . (hurries to the phone)
Sybil: Basil! (Basil has gone; she goes to the main entrance) Basil!!! Where are you going?!!!
Basil is striding away from the hotel, carrying the garden gnome with its pointed cap foremost.
Basil: I’m going to see Mr. O’Reilly, dear. Then I think I might go to Canada.
THE WEDDING PARTY
Basil Fawlty ..... John Cleese
Sybil Fawlty ..... Prunella Scales
Manuel ..... Andrew Sachs
Polly ..... Connie Booth
Major Gowen ..... Ballard Berkeley
Miss Tibbs ..... Gilly Flower
Miss Gatsby ..... Renée Roberts
Alan ..... Trevor Adams
Jean ..... April Walker
Mrs. Peignoir ..... Yvonne Gilan
Mr. Lloyd ..... Conrad Phillips
Rachel Lloyd ..... Diana King
Customer ..... Jay Neill
Third of first series, first broadcast on 3, October 1975, BBC2.
The hotel bar. It is about six o’clock in the evening. Sybil is sitting at the bar, deep in conversation with a customer—a conversation which is punctuated by her familiar laugh. Basil approaches the Major’s table.
The Major: By jove, it’s warm tonight, isn’t it, Fawlty?
Basil: It certainly is, Major, yes.
The Major: Very warm, phew!
Basil: Oh! Can I get you another drink?
The Major: What? . . . Oh, well, why not indeed. What a nice idea.
At the bar, Sybil laughs.
Basil: Always reminds me of somebody machine-gunning a seal.
The Major: The heat?
Basil: . . . No, no, my wife’s laugh.
The Major: Ah, yes.
Mrs. Peignoir enters; she is attractive, slightly flirtatious, and a person of the French persuasion.
Basil (with much charm): Ah, good evening, Mrs. Peignoir.
Mrs. Peignoir: Good evening. Thank you for your map, it was so useful. I had no idea how charming Torquay was.
Basil: Enchanté. May I ask—did you find anything of interest?
Mrs. Peignoir: Mmm. A few pieces I liked very much, and one . . . oh! I had to have it.
Mrs. Peignoir: How do you do, Major?
The Major: How do you do, Madam.
Basil: Mrs. Peignoir is an antique dealer. She’s down here for a few days, sniffing around for dainty relics.
Sybil lets out a real cackle. Basil looks round in disgust.
Basil (to Mrs. Peignoir): Please don’t alarm yourself. That’s only my wife laughing. I’m afraid her local finishing school was bombed.
Mrs. Peignoir: Oh dear!
Basil: No, no, not really, just a thought. Well now, what can I get you?
Mrs. Peignoir: Do you have any Ricard?
Basil (blankly): I’m sorry?
Mrs. Peignoir: Any Ricard.
Basil: . . . We’re just out of it, I think.
Mrs. Peignoir: A sherry, then.
Basil: But of course. (smiling and bowing, he moves off)
The Major: Tell me—are you by any chance—French at all?
Mrs. Peignoir: Yes, I am.
The Major: Good Lord!
Basil (at the bar, to Sybil): Enjoying yourself, dear? . . . We haven’t put any nuts in the bowl, have we?
Sybil: Well, I haven’t. I don’t know about you.
Basil: Well, I’ll do it then, shall I?
Sybil: That would be the simplest solution, dear.
Basil (thinking of an even simpler solution): Where’s Manuel?
Sybil: We’ve given him the evening off, dear, it’s his birthday.
Basil (to himself): Well, I mean, how old is he? Two and a half? (another hearty laugh from Sybil and the customer) Excuse me, there are no nuts here, Sybil.
Customer: No nuts!!! (he and Sybil laugh)
Sybil (to Basil): You’ll find them in the kitchen.
Basil: Oh, will I?
Sybil: Well, if you can bear to tear yourself away from Mrs. Peignoir you will. (to customer) Do go on.
Basil (bringing the Major and Mrs. Peignoir their drinks): Did you ever see that film How To Murder Your Wife?
The Major: How to murder your wife?
Basil: Yes. Awfully good. I saw it six times. (goes off in search of nuts; to Sybil) Very funny.
Imitating Sybil’s laugh, he meets Misses Tibbs and Gatsby in the lobby.
Miss Tibbs: Are you all right, Mr. Fawlty?
Basil: What? Yes, yes, thank you very much. Are you all right?