The Complete Fawlty Towers

by John Cleese

Miss Gatsby: Yes.

  Basil: Good, good. Well, we’re all all right, then. (goes into the kitchen, once more imitating Sybil’s laugh)

  Miss Gatsby: Must be the heat.

  Miss Tibbs: Yes, he is getting taller, isn’t he.

  Miss Gatsby: I don’t think he’s very well, dear—I think we ought to take care of him . . .

  They exit through the main door, passing Polly, who comes in arm in arm with a young man, Richard.

  Polly: I think I left it somewhere . . . hang on. (goes behind the reception desk, putting her sketch-pad on it) Ah, here it is. (holds up a book) See you tonight.

  They kiss across the desk. They are getting deeply into it when Basil enters.

  Basil: Yes? (they spring apart, startled) A single for tonight, is it?

  Polly: Er, no. Mr. Fawlty, may I introduce Richard Turner?

  Basil (who is not too broad-minded): Sorry?

  Polly: He’s a friend of mine.

  Basil: Oh, you know each other, do you? Just passing through, are you?

  Polly (giving Richard the book): There you go—see you tonight.

  Basil: Oh, we’ve opened a library, have we? How nice! (Richard leaves) Please don’t go on my account, Mr. Turnip.

  Polly: I’m sorry, Mr. Fawlty.

  Basil: Now look here, Polly . . .

  Polly: We were just saying goodbye . . . no one was . . .

  Basil: I mean, what sort of a place do you think this is, a massage parlour? I mean, we are running a nice, respectable, high-class . . . I’m sorry, did I say something funny?

  Polly (trying not to laugh): No, I was just looking . . .

  Basil: No, no, obviously I’ve said something frightfully comic.

  Polly: No, it’s just the heat.

  Basil: Well, so long as I amuse the staff, I mean, that’s all I’m here for.

  Polly (taking the bowl of nuts): I’ll just take these in, shall I?

  Basil (registering her T-shirt): And one other thing, Polly, I’m afraid we’ve abandoned the idea of the topless afternoon teas, so if you wouldn’t mind changing before you go in where people might be trying to eat.

  Polly: I was just going to. (starts to leave)

  Basil (picking up her sketch pad): Polly, would you come back here a moment, please?

  Polly (to herself): I’m on form tonight. (to Basil) Yes, Mr. Fawlty?

  Basil: I know these kind of drawings may be considered decent at Art School, but will you please not leave them lying around on display at reception.

  Polly: I’ll put them away when I’ve got some clothes on.

  She leaves. Basil leafs through the drawings, which are obviously permissive.

  Basil: I mean, really . . . (shaking his head) Tch! (the phone rings, he answers it) Hallo, Fawlty Titties? Yes, yes . . . oh, it’s you, Audrey. Yes . . . oh, he’s left you again, has he? . . . Oh, dear . . . oh dear . . . (he is not riveted) How sad . . . hmmm. (he invents a distraction) Ah, good evening, Major—yes, I’ll be with you in just one moment. (to phone) Yes. well, I’ll ask her to call . . . mmm . . . yes . . . well, keep your pecker up. Bye. (rings off; to himself) Dreadful woman.

  He stoops behind the desk with some papers. Alan and Jean, an attractive couple in their mid-twenties, come through the main entrance. They are laughing, cuddling and giggling.

  Jean (giggles): Stop it, Alan!

  Alan: Woof! (seeing Basil) Hallo . . . we’ve booked a room.

  Basil: Have you?

  Alan: Yes. A double one. The name is . . .

  Basil: One moment, please. (looks deliberately for the register)

  Alan (quietly): That’s a nice suit.

  Basil: What? . . . I thought you said something.

  Alan: No.

  Jean giggles.

  Basil (to her): Are you all right?

  Jean: Yes, thank you. (Alan pinches her bottom and she squeaks)

  Basil: Are we ready?

  Alan: I think we are, yes!

  Basil: . . . Well, may I have your name, please?

  Alan: Yes, it’s er . . . Bruce.

  Basil: Mr. and Mrs. Bruce.

  Alan: That’s right.

  Jean (sexily): Is it a double bed?

  Basil: I beg your pardon?

  Jean: Has our room got a double bed?

  Basil: A double bed?

  Jean: Yes.

  Basil: Well, we’ve only got one double bed . . . I mean, do you want that?

  Alan: Very much indeed, yes.

  Basil: Tch! (sighs heavily) Well, I’ll have to put you in twelve then.

  Alan: All right.

  Basil: Tch! (gets the key, muttering) I mean, why didn’t you . . . never mind, all right . . .

  Jean: Has it got a breeze?

  Basil: Has it got a breeze?

  Jean: Is it airy?

  Basil: Well, there’s air in it.

  Jean (pointing at letter rack): Oh, I think there’s a letter for me.

  Basil: What?

  Jean: There’s a letter for me. There.

  Basil: No there isn’t.

  Jean: Yes. Jean Wilson.

  Basil (getting the letter): Jean Wilson. Is this you?

  Alan laughs nervously. He and Jean have sensed that, unlike most, Basil will be looking for trouble.

  Basil (handing the letter over): Now, what’s going on here? You’re not married, is that it? . . . Well, I can’t give you a double room, then.

  Alan: Oh, look . . .

  Basil: It’s against the law.

  Alan: What law?

  Basil: The law of England. Nothing to do with me.

  Alan: Nothing to do with you?!

  Basil: Nothing at all. I can give you two singles if you like . . . um . . . (busies himself)

  Alan: Shall we go somewhere else?

  Jean is unwilling to go somewhere else. She is leaning on the reception desk, her elbows on some papers.

  Basil: Excuse me. (takes the papers away rudely)

  Mrs. Peignoir (entering and putting her key on the desk): Well there’s my key, and now I’m off to paint the town red.

  Basil (curtly): Thank you so much.

  Mrs. Peignoir (slightly surprised): Well . . . perhaps I’ll see you later this evening.

  Basil: Yes, my wife and I will be up till quite late tonight. Thank you. (puzzled, Mrs. Peignoir leaves)

  Alan (to Jean): I don’t believe a word of this. (to Basil) Excuse me, we’ll have two singles then, please, if that’s all right with the police.

  Basil: Two singles. Certainly. Now . . .

  Jean (intimately): Next to each other.

  Basil: Next to each other . . . Oh dear. We can’t do that. What a shame . . .

  Sybil (bustles in and takes an interest): Good evening.

  Alan & Jean: Good evening.

  Basil: Um . . .

  Sybil: A double, is it?

  Jean: We’d like a double.

  Basil: Two singles, dear. (pianissimissiamo) Not married.

  Sybil: What?

  Basil: Nothing, dear. I’m dealing with it, dear.

  Sybil: Well, seventeen and eighteen are free. (to Alan and Jean) You’d have to share a bath.

  Basil: Nooooo! Oh, Audrey called—(quietly) I’ll handle it—and George has left her again.

  Sybil: Oh, no.

  Basil (to Alan and Jean): Now, we’ve got one on the first floor and one right up at the top.

  Sybil: Shall I deal with this, Basil?

  Basil: I’m dealing with it, dear.

  Sybil: No, dear, that’s all right . . . Now, you wanted two singles?

  Basil: I said I’d deal with it.

  Sybil: Do you mind sharing a bathroom?

  Basil: Look, I was here first.

  Sybil (cheerfully): Well it’s my turn now, then.

  Basil: I fought in the Korean war, you know. I killed four men . . . (he leaves huffily)

  Sybil: He was in the catering corps. He poisoned them.

  Basil goes into the office, shuts the door to the lobby and listens a
t it. There is a knock at the other door.

  Basil: Yes? . . . Who is it?

  Manuel (outside): Is Manuel.

  Basil: What do you want?

  Manuel: Can I go now?

  Basil: I thought you’d gone.

  Manuel: Qué?

  Basil: I thought you’d gone.

  Manuel: No, no, I turned it off.

  Basil: What?

  Manuel: It was about so high . . .

  Basil: No, I said I thought . . . he creduto que . . . oh, it doesn’t matter.

  Manuel: Qué?

  Basil: It doesn’t matter!

  Manuel: . . . Oh, you think I gone!

  Basil: Yes.

  Manuel: No, no, I go now.

  Basil: Wonderful.

  Manuel: What? Is OK?

  Basil: Is OK.

  Manuel: Thank you. (more knocking)

  Basil: Yes?!

  Manuel: Before I go.

  Basil (opening the door): Yes, what is it?

  Manuel: Is my birthday.

  Basil: Yes, I know.

  Manuel (beginning to read a prepared speech): I want to thank you for your beautiful present (he is carrying a new umbrella) . . .

  Basil: Oh, yes, right . . .

  Manuel: . . . and for your much kindness to me since I come here.

  Basil: Not at all, my pleasure.

  Manuel: Since coming here from Spain, leaving my mother . . .

  Basil: Outside.

  Manuel: Qué?

  Basil: Outside. (he slams the door) Thank you. (returns to listen at the door to the lobby)

  Manuel (outside): Since coming here from Spain, leaving my mother, my five brothers and four sisters.

  Basil (opening Manuel’s door again): Give it to me . . . thank you. (he tears up the speech and shuts the door; Manuel hovers outside; Sybil enters)

  Sybil: Can I have it, Basil?

  Basil: What, dear?

  Sybil: I want that key.

  Basil: I’ve only got the key to room twelve, dear.

  Sybil: That’s the one.

  Basil: Now look here, Sybil . . .

  Sybil: BASIL!!!

  Basil thrusts the key at her; she goes back into the lobby.

  Basil: If you were my size . . .

  Manuel: Since coming . . .

  Basil opens the door and hits Manuel. Manuel scurries into the lobby.

  Basil: Here we are, Manuel—number twelve please.

  Manuel: Si, si.

  Sybil: Basil . . . (she and Basil go off, arguing)

  Manuel takes the bags upstairs. Alan and Jean follow; they meet Polly at the foot of the stairs.

  Polly: Jean!!

  Jean: Hello, Poll!!

  Polly: What are you doing here?

  Jean: We couldn’t get in at the Bellevue.

  Polly: Oh, no . . . Hello, Alan! (they hug)

  Jean: It’ll be fun. My parents arrive tomorrow.

  Polly: What, here? I warned you!

  Alan: Yes, we’ve already met the famous Fawlty!

  Polly: Ssh! I’m not supposed to hob-nob. (she motions them upstairs and they follow)

  Jean: Oh, I like your outfit.

  Polly: I’ll give you the pattern.

  In the upstairs corridor, Manuel is holding their door open.

  Jean: Are you going to be at Fiona’s wedding?

  Polly: I can’t, but I’ll be at the reception, in my very own Jean Wilson creation.

  Jean: I want you to try it on later.

  Polly: OK. How’s that gorgeous stepfather?

  Jean: Oh, I haven’t seen him for a month. He’s been in Singapore.

  Alan: Oh, blast! I forgot to get those batteries for my electric razor. Is there anywhere still open, Poll?

  Polly: Well, you might find a chemist.

  Alan: Yes, well, I’d better take a look. Won’t be long.

  He goes back downstairs. Manuel offers round the bedroom key.

  Jean: Is Richard coming tonight?

  Polly: Mmmm . . . we’ll be along about ten.

  Jean: Great.

  They go into the room. Manuel shrugs and tosses the key in after them. Downstairs in the lobby, Alan approaches the desk somewhat apprehensively as Basil is on duty . . .

  Alan: Hello again.

  Basil: . . . Well?

  Alan: We managed to get it all sorted out with your wife.

  Basil: Well, I wouldn’t know about that. Is there something you want?

  Alan: Yes, look, I know it’s a bit late but do you know if there’s a chemist still open?

  Basil (drawing the wrong conclusion): I beg your pardon?

  Alan: Do you know if there’s a chemist still open?

  Basil: I suppose you think this is funny, do you?

  Alan: Funny?

  Basil: Ha ha ha.

  Alan: No, I really want to know.

  Basil: Oh do you, well I don’t. So far as I know all the chemists are shut. You’ll just have to wait till tomorrow. Sorry. Bit of a blow, I imagine.

  Alan: What?

  Basil: Nothing, you heard. Is that all?

  Alan: Well . . .

  Basil: Yes?

  Alan: I don’t suppose you’ve got a couple of . . .

  Basil: Now look!! Just don’t push your luck. I have a breaking point, you know.

  Alan: I only want some batteries.

  Basil (his imagination running riot): . . . I don’t believe it.

  Alan: What?

  Basil: Batteries, eh? Do you know something? You disgust me. I know what people like you get up to and I think it’s disgusting.

  Alan: What are you talking about? They’re batteries for my electric razor. I want to shave.

  Basil: Oh yes?

  Alan: Look! I haven’t shaved today. See? (shows Basil his stubbly chin)

  Basil: An electric razor, eh?

  Alan: Right.

  Basil: . . . Well, I was referring to that when I said it was disgusting . . . It is of course disgusting that you haven’t shaved, but understandable. I mean sometimes I don’t shave either and that’s disgusting too, so I shall have a razor sent to your room straight away, thank you very much, goodnight.

  Alan looks bewildered. Basil goes into the office and buries his face in his hands.

  Evening; the Fawltys’ bedroom. Basil and Sybil are in separate beds, both reading. Sybil is also eating chocolates. She emits three grating laughs at the contents of her magazine; Basil winces. The phone rings; Sybil answers it.

  Sybil: Hello . . . Audrey! Any news? . . . Oh dear, he hasn’t . . . ooh! I know . . . He doesn’t deserve you, Audrey, really he doesn’t . . . exactly . . . I know you have . . . (all this is disturbing Basil’s concentration) I know . . . I know . . . oh I know . . .

  Basil: Are you going to go on like that all night?

  Sybil: What was that, Audrey? . . . oh I know . . . I know . . .

  Basil: Well, why’s she telling you then?

  Sybil: I understand, dear, I really do.

  Basil: Oh, I can’t stand it any more. I’ll go and clean the roof or something. (gets out of bed; the front doorbell rings) Ah! There’s the front doorbell. Somebody’s got back late.

  Sybil (ignoring Basil completely): Yes . . . yes . . .

  Basil: I expect they forgot to get their pass key.

  Sybil: . . . Oh, I know . . .

  Basil: Somebody’d better go and let them in.

  Sybil: . . . Yes! . . .

  Basil: I’ll go, then, shall I? (nods several times)

  Sybil: . . . Mmmmm . . .

  Basil: Yes, I agree. Right. I’ll go, then . . . (puts his dressing gown on; the bell goes again) I mean, you know who that is, don’t you. I mean, that’s your pair. The Karma Sutra set. Good evening, welcome to Basil Fawlty Knocking Shops Limited . . .

  Sybil: No, dear, it’s only Basil.

  He storms out, slamming the door. He comes crossly down the stairs into the lobby. The bell rings again.

  Basil: I’m coming! I’m coming! (unlocks the door angr
ily) I suppose you know what time it is?

  But it is Mrs. Peignoir. She is slightly and delightfully tipsy.

  Mrs. Peignoir: Oh, Mr. Fawlty, I’m so sorry.

  Basil (immediately oozing charm): Oh, no, it’s only a quarter past eleven.

  Mrs. Peignoir: Oh, I got you out of your bed.

  Basil: Oh, not at all, I just had a few little jobs to do and . . .

  Mrs. Peignoir: Oh, you’re so kind.

  Basil: Oh, well . . .

  Mrs. Peignoir: Oh, I had just a lovely evening!

  Basil: Did you? How very nice!

  Mrs. Peignoir: I saw some friends I hadn’t seen for years and I had a little bit too much to drink, I’m afraid.

  Basil: Oh, no, I mean, what’s life for if one can’t get a bit . . . er . . .

  Mrs. Peignoir: Blotto?

  Basil: Well, hardly blotto.

  Mrs. Peignoir: Ah, Mr. Fawlty, you’re so charming.

  Basil: Ah well, one does one’s best.

  Mrs. Peignoir: I hope Mrs. Fawlty appreciates how lucky she is.

  Basil: Well, I think probably not, in fact.

  Mrs. Peignoir (dropping her purse): Oh!

  Basil is at once on his knees to recover it.

  Basil: Oh please, allow me . . . sorry . . . I beg your pardon . . . ah, there we are . . .

  He collides with her, sinks to his hands and knees, and she inadvertently sits on his back, giggling. At this moment Alan and Jean come in. She gets up and collides with Alan.

  Alan: Sorry . . .

  Basil (scrambling to his feet): Ah, there you are! Do come in.

  Alan: I’m awfully sorry, but we didn’t realize . . .

  Basil (explaining loudly): No, it was quite extraordinary, the front doorbell went just a moment or two ago and I thought to myself, I expect that’ll be Alan and, er, and down I came and lo and behold it’s not you at all, it was Mrs. Peignoir—have you met?—Alan and, er, this is Mrs. Peignoir, she’s an antique dealer you know, I mean, she deals in antiques, she’s not frightfully old or anything, ha ha ha, and so I let her in not ten seconds ago, hardly five, hardly time to say good evening, in she comes, drops her things, just like that, so down I go and over she goes, ha ha ha, and bless my soul there you are, golly, is that the time, my goodness, I was thinking it was a quarter past ten, my God, well, I’d better get to bed, I can’t stand around here talking all night, got to get an early night, goodbye . . . sorry . . . (disappears up the stairs)

  Alan (to Mrs. Peignoir): Are you all right?

  Mrs. Peignoir (still laughing): Yes, I am. Goodnight.

  Alan: Jean, I’ll just make that call.

  Jean: Don’t be too long. (she follows Mrs. Peignoir upstairs)