The Complete Fawlty Towers

by John Cleese

  Basil: No! No!

  Manuel: Si! Si!

  Basil: Look, will you get back in there! (throws Manuel into the kitchen and slams the door; Manuel screams and rushes out again) Shut up—just get on with your work!

  Manuel: Mr. Fawlty! Is fire!

  Basil: Did you hear what I said?

  Manuel: No, no, but is fire!

  Basil (shouting): Is no fire! Is only bell!

  Manuel: Is fire, is fire, is fire!!

  Basil pushes him back in the kitchen. Polly comes running down the stairs.

  Basil: Will you get back in there and stop that!

  Manuel (screaming): Is fire! Aaaaaaaaaagh!

  Basil (locking the kitchen door): He thinks there’s a fire.

  Polly: Everybody’s out upstairs.

  Manuel is still howling.

  Polly (calling through door): Manuel! Listen. Listen! De nada, de nada, there is no fire!! (goes behind reception desk)

  Manuel’s voice: Is fire! Is fire!

  Basil (switching off the alarm): Well, that’ll keep the fire department happy for another six months. Why do we bother . . . (to Manuel) Will you shut up! (he goes outside and speaks to the guests) Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, you can come back in now.

  He comes back into the lobby. Polly is on the telephone; the noise from Manuel is terrific.

  Polly: Yes, yes, yes . . . yes, we’ve just had it.

  Basil: Oh, shut up!

  Polly: Yes, I will, all right. Goodbye. (replaces receiver; to Basil) Have you told chef about the cheddar?

  Large woman: Mr. Fawlty, Mr. Fawlty.

  Basil: Yes?

  Large woman: There’s an awful row in there!

  Basil: Yes, I know, it’s only . . . right, right, I’ll deal with it, thank you so much for poking your nose in . . . (he unlocks the kitchen door; Manuel staggers out clutching a frying-pan) Now look! I’ve had enough of this. If you go on I’m . . . (he sees the fire) Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen—could I have everyone in the lobby?

  The guests all return complaining and grumbling.

  Basil: Sorry . . . sorry . . . sorry to disturb you all like this, but . . . there is something I think I ought to mention. I’m . . . I’m not quite sure how this happened . . . this has not happened at this hotel before, and I’m not quite sure how it’s started now . . . er . . .

  Large woman: What is it?

  Basil: Well . . . the point is . . . er . . . can I put it this way . . . fire!

  Large woman: What?

  Basil: F-f-f-f-f-f-f-fire!

  Mrs. Sharp: Fire?

  Mr. Sharp: Where?

  Basil: Fire! . . . Fire!!! Fire!!! Fire!!!

  The guests move yet again towards the main doors. Polly has appeared.

  Basil: What do we do, what do we do? (he rushes to the phone, to call Sybil)

  Polly: Ring the alarm! (she rushes out after the guests)

  Basil: Ring the alarm . . . right! Right! . . . Where’s the key? Where is the key? Would you believe it—I mean, would you believe it—the first time we’ve ever had a fire in this hotel and somebody’s lost the key, I mean, isn’t that typical of this place . . . (shaking his fist at the ceiling) Oh thank you, God, thank you so bloody much!

  Polly (racing back in): Smash the glass!

  Basil: What?

  Polly: Smash the glass!

  Basil hits the alarm with his fist and injures himself He throws the typewriter at the glass—it misses. The phone rings; he snatches the receiver.

  Basil: Hello! (uses the receiver to smash the glass and start the bell; to phone) Thank you, thank you! (drops phone and gets the fire extinguisher; he starts reading the instructions) Quick! Manuel . . . pull it, man . . . pull it, man, pull it . . . open the door . . .

  He sets the extinguisher off—it squirts in his face. Blinded, he drops it and doubles over. Polly rescues it and drags it into the kitchen. Basil stands up and bangs his head on Manuel’s frying pan. He staggers, grabs Manuel and tries to throw a punch at him, but reels backwards and passes out on the floor.

  In the hospital. Basil is lying in bed, a white turban-like bandage round his head. He regains consciousness with a series of strange expressions. He turns his head and sees Sybil sitting in a wheel-chair.

  Sybil: Well, thank you for coming to see me.

  Basil (very slurred): Oh not at all, I was just . . . er . . .

  Sybil: How are you feeling?

  Basil: . . . The fire!

  Sybil: It’s all . . .

  Basil: The fire!!

  Sybil: It’s out. There’s not much damage . . .

  Basil: Oh my God, where is it, what have they . . . (gets out of bed)

  Sybil: Basil, what are you doing?

  Basil: Got to get back, got to get back . . .

  Sybil: Basil! Will you get back into bed!

  Basil: Tch! Caw! What is it now?

  Sybil: I’m going to call someone if you don’t get back into bed. Come on!

  Basil: Listen, Sybil, please! I’ll handle this if you don’t mind. Now . . . what sort of a room do you want?

  Sybil: Basil!

  Basil: Oh, there you are . . . look, I can’t stand round chattering all day, I’ve got to get back . . .

  Sybil: Basil, you are not well. The doctor says you’ve got concussion. You must rest.

  Basil: I’ll rest when I get to the hotel.

  Sybil: I’ve just spoken to Polly, they are managing perfectly well.

  Basil: . . . I mean, do you know what that fire extinguisher did? It exploded in my face! I mean, what is the point of a fire extinguisher? It sits there for months, and when you actually have a fire, when you actually need the bloody thing . . . it blows your head off!! I mean, what is happening to this country?! It’s Bloody Wilson!!!

  Sister enters briskly.

  Sister: . . . My my, what a lot of noise. Now, what are you doing out of your bed?

  Basil: Going home, thank you so much.

  Sister: Yes, well, we’ll let the doctor decide that now, shall we? (she guides the protesting Basil back to bed)

  Basil: No, let’s not.

  Sister: Now, come along, back into bed. (she pushes his legs under the bedclothes)

  Basil: Don’t touch me, I don’t know where you’ve been.

  Sister: Yes, we must have our little jokes, mustn’t we?

  Basil: Yes, we must, mustn’t we . . . (stares at her) My God, you’re ugly, aren’t you.

  Sybil: Basil!

  Sister: I’ll get the doctor. (she hurries out)

  Basil (calling after her): You need a plastic surgeon, dear, not a doctor!

  Sybil: How dare you talk to Sister like that! . . . Get back into bed!

  Basil (getting out of bed again): You do not seem to realize that I am needed at the hotel.

  Sybil: No you’re not. It’s running beautifully without you.

  Basil: Polly cannot cope!

  Sybil: Well, she can’t fall over waiters, or get herself jammed under desks, or start burglar alarms, or lock people in burning rooms, or fire fire extinguishers straight in her own face. But I should think the hotel can do without that sort of coping for a couple of days, what do you think, Basil . . . hmmm?

  The doctor comes in.

  Doctor: What?

  Basil: Oh, hello, doctor.

  Doctor: Out of bed, Mr. Fawlty?

  Basil: Sort of . . . (points vaguely at his slippers on the floor) Ah! There they are, good! Well, better get back into bed . . . feel a little bit woozy.

  Doctor: You will for a time, Mr. Fawlty, you will.

  Basil: Yes, quite, quite . . .

  Doctor (gently manipulating Basil’s head to make him sleepy): You should get as much rest as you can . . . as much rest as you can . . . as much rest as you can . . .

  Basil: Yes . . . absolutely . . . I, er . . . I . . .

  His eyes close. Sybil and the doctor leave the room and close the door gently. A pause; then Basil opens one eye and looks around furtively . . .

>   The hotel reception. Polly is finishing a phone call. As she puts the receiver down, a guest approaches the desk, clicks his heels, and bows.

  1st German: Gnädiges Fräulein, können sie mir sagen, wann das Mittagessen serviert wird, bitte?

  Polly: Um ein Uhr, funf Minuten.

  1st German: Vielen dank.

  Polly: Bitte schön.

  Polly goes into the kitchen. The German retires upstairs. Misses Tibbs and Gatsby come down the stairs as Basil enters through the main doors, dressed but still bandaged.

  Basil (masterfully): Manuel!

  Miss Tibbs: Oh, Mr. Fawlty!

  Basil: Ah, good evening.

  Miss Tibbs: Are you all right now?

  Basil: Perfectly, thank you. (handing Manuel, who has just come in, his case) Take this to the room please, dear.

  Manuel takes it, somewhat taken aback.

  Miss Gatsby: Are you sure you’re all right?

  Basil: Perfectly, thank you. Right as rain.

  He makes his way a little unsteadily towards the desk, but misses. He reappears, and takes up his position behind the desk.

  Manuel: You OK?

  Basil: Fine, thank you, dear. You go and have a lie down.

  Manuel: Qué?

  Basil: Ah, there you are. Would you take my case . . . how did you get that?

  Manuel: What?

  Basil: Oh never mind . . . take it . . . take it upstairs!

  Manuel: Qué?

  Basil: Take it . . . take it . . .

  Manuel: I go get Polly.

  Basil: I’ve already had one. Take it, take it now . . . (Manuel hurries off) Tch! The people I have to deal with . . .

  He looks up to see a couple approaching the desk. He beams at them.

  Elderly German: Sprechen Sie Deutsch?

  Basil: . . . Beg your pardon?

  Elderly German: Entschuldigen Sie, bitte, können Sie Deutsch sprechen?

  Basil: . . . I’m sorry, could you say that again?

  German lady: You speak German?

  Basil: Oh, German! I’m sorry, I thought there was something wrong with you. Of course, the Germans!

  German lady: You speak German?

  Basil: Well . . . er . . . a little . . . I get by.

  German lady: Ein bisschen.

  Elderly German: Ah—wir wollen ein Auto mieten.

  Basil (nodding helpfully): Well, why not?

  Elderly German: Bitte.

  Basil: Yes, a little bit tricky . . . Would you mind saying it again?

  German lady: Please?

  Basil: Could you repeat . . . amplify . . . you know, reiterate? Yes? Yes?

  Elderly German: Wir . . .

  Basil: Wir? . . . Yes, well we’ll come back to that.

  Elderly German: . . . Wollen . . .

  Basil (to himself): Vollen . . . Voluntary?

  Elderly German: Ein Auto mieten.

  Basil: Owtoe . . . out to . . . Oh, I see! You’re volunteering to go out to get some meat. Not necessary! We have meat here! (pause; the couple are puzzled) We haf meat hier . . . in ze buildink!! (he mimes a cow’s horns) Moo! (Polly comes in) Ah, Polly, just explaining about the meat.

  Polly: Oh! We weren’t expecting you.

  Basil: Oh, weren’t you? (hissing through his teeth) They’re Germans. Don’t mention the war.

  Polly: I see. Well, Mrs. Fawlty said you were going to have a rest for a couple of days, you know, in the hospital.

  Basil (firmly): Idle hands get in the way of the devil’s work, Fawlty. Now . . .

  Polly: Right, well why don’t you have a lie-down, and I can deal with this.

  Basil: Yes, yes, good idea, good idea, Elsie. Yes. Bit of a headache, actually . . .

  Miss Tibbs: We don’t think you’re well, Mr. Fawlty.

  Basil: Well, perhaps not, but I’ll live longer than you.

  Miss Gatsby: You must have hurt yourself.

  Basil: My dear woman, a blow on the head like that . . . is worth two in the bush.

  Miss Tibbs: Oh, we know . . . but it was a nasty knock.

  Basil: Mmmmmmmm . . . would you like one? (hits the reception bell impressively) Next, please.

  Two men and two women come down the stairs.

  Basil (a hoarse whisper): Polly! Polly! Are these Germans too?

  Polly: Oh yes, but I can deal . . .

  Basil: Right, right, here’s the plan. I’ll stand there and ask them if they want something to drink before the war . . . before their lunch . . . don’t mention the war! (he moves in front of the guests, bows, and mimes eating and drinking)

  2nd German: Can we help you?

  Basil (gives a startled jump): Ah . . . you speak English.

  2nd German: Of course.

  Basil: Ah, wonderful. Wounderbar! Ah—please allow me to introduce myself—I am the owner of Fawlty Towers, and may I welcome your war, your wall, you wall, you all . . . and hope that your stay will be a happy one. Now would you like to eat first, or would you like a drink before the war . . . ning that, er, trespassers will be—er, er—tied up with piano wire . . . Sorry! Sorry! (clutches his thigh) Bit of trouble with the old leg . . . got a touch of shrapnel in the war . . . Korean, Korean war, sorry, Korean.

  2nd German: Thank you, we will eat now.

  Basil bows gracefully and ushers them into the dining room.

  Basil: Oh good, please do allow me. May I say how pleased we are to have some Europeans here now that we are on the Continent . . .

  They all go into the dining room. Polly meanwhile is on the phone.

  Polly: Can I speak to Doctor Fin please?

  In the dining room, Basil is taking the orders.

  Basil: I didn’t vote for it myself, quite honestly, but now that we’re in I’m determined to make it work, so I’d like to welcome you all to Britain. The plaice is grilled, but that doesn’t matter, there’s life in the old thing yet . . . No, wait a minute, I got a bit confused there. Oh yes, the plaice is grilled . . . in fact the whole room’s a bit warm, isn’t it . . . I’ll open a window, have a look . . . And the veal chop is done with rosemary . . . that’s funny, I thought she’d gone to Canada . . . and is delicious and nutritious . . . in fact it’s veally good . . . veally good?

  2nd German: The veal is good?

  Basil: Yes, doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter, never mind.

  1st German: May we have two eggs mayonnaise, please?

  Basil: Certainly, why not, why not indeed? We are all friends now, eh?

  2nd German (heavily): A prawn cocktail . . .

  Basil: . . . All in the Market together, old differences forgotten, and no need at all to mention the war . . . Sorry! . . . Sorry, what was that again?

  2nd German: A prawn cocktail.

  Basil: Oh, prawn, that was it. When you said prawn I thought you said war. Oh, the war! Oh yes, completely slipped my mind, yes, I’d forgotten all about it. Hitler, Himmler, and all that lot, oh yes, completely forgotten it, just like that. (snaps his fingers) . . . Sorry, what was it again?

  2nd German (with some menace): A prawn cocktail . . .

  Basil: Oh yes, Eva Prawn . . . and Goebbels too, he’s another one I can hardly remember at all.

  1st German: And ein pickled herring!

  Basil: Hermann Goering, yes, yes . . . and von Ribbentrop, that was another one.

  1st German: And four cold meat salads, please.

  Basil: Certainly, well, I’ll just get your hors d’oeuvres . . . hors d’oeuvres vich must be obeyed at all times without question . . . Sorry! Sorry!

  Polly: Mr. Fawlty, will you please call your wife immediately?

  Basil: Sybil!! . . . Sybil!! . . . she’s in the hospital, you silly girl!

  Polly: Yes, call her there!

  Basil: I can’t, I’ve got too much to do. Listen . . . (he whispers through his teeth) Don’t mention the war . . . I mentioned it once, but I think I got away with it all right . . . (he returns to his guests) So it’s all forgotten now and let’s hear no more about it. So that’s two eggs
mayonnaise, a prawn Goebbels, a Hermann Goering and four Colditz salads . . . no, wait a moment, I got a bit confused there, sorry . . . (one of the German ladies has begun to sob) I got a bit confused because everyone keeps mentioning the war, so could you . . .

  The second German, who is comforting the lady, looks up angrily.

  Basil: What’s the matter?

  2nd German: It’s all right.

  Basil: Is there something wrong?

  2nd German: Will you stop talking about the war?

  Basil: Me? You started it!

  2nd German: We did not start it.

  Basil: Yes you did, you invaded Poland . . . here, this’ll cheer you up, you’ll like this one, there’s this woman, she’s completely stupid, she can never remember anything, and her husband’s in a bomber over Berlin . . . (the lady howls) Sorry! Sorry! Here, she’ll love this one . . .

  2nd German: Will you leave her alone?

  Basil: No, this is a scream, I’ve never seen anyone not laugh at this!

  1st German: Go away!

  Basil: Look, she’ll love it—she’s German! (places a finger under his nose preparatory to doing his Hitler impression)

  Polly: No, Mr. Fawlty!! . . . do Jimmy Cagney instead!

  Basil: What?

  Polly: Jimmy Cagney!

  Basil: Jimmy Cagney?

  Polly: You know . . . ‘You dirty rat . . .’

  Basil: I can’t do Jimmy Cagney!

  Polly: Please try . . . ‘I’m going to get you . . .’

  Basil: Shut up! Here, watch—who’s this, then?

  He places his finger across his upper lip and does his Führer party piece. His audience is stunned.

  Basil: I’ll do the funny walk . . .

  He performs an exaggerated goose-step out into the lobby, does an about-turn and marches back into the dining room. Both German women are by now in tears, and both men on their feet.

  Both Germans: Stop it!!

  Basil: I’m trying to cheer her up, you stupid Kraut!

  2nd German: It’s not funny for her.

  Basil: Not funny? You’re joking!

  2nd German: Not funny for her, not for us, not for any German people.

  Basil: You have absolutely no sense of humour, do you!

  1st German (shouting): This is not funny!

  Basil: Who won the bloody war, anyway?

  The doctor comes in with a hypodermic needle ready.

  Doctor: Mr. Fawlty, you’ll be all right—come with me.

  Basil: Fine.