The Complete Fawlty Towers

by John Cleese

  Sybil: I’ve checked everything.

  Basil: Terry the hoods . . . have we done the cupboards?

  Sybil: It’s all been done, Basil.

  Basil: The fridge. Have we got it separate?

  Sybil: Basil, I told you, it’s all been done.

  Basil: The seals on the old fridge . . . the floor . . .

  Sybil: I’ve checked it.

  Basil: . . . Just running over the bleeding obvious, dear. So, all ship-shape and Bristol fashion, eh? All ready for old snoopy-drawers. (Manuel comes into the kitchen looking terribly depressed; he wears a black armband and walks with a slow droop; Basil watches him go by and into the dining room) Is this about that rodent?

  Sybil: Just leave him alone, Basil. He’s upset.

  Basil: Well, he’s not going to cheer up moping about like that, is he.

  Sybil: Just let him be.

  Basil: It doesn’t help him you encouraging it, you know. You’ve got to get his mind off it. (to Manuel, who has returned, indicating the kitchen) Well, Manuel, what do you think? Looks good, doesn’t it, eh? All clean and shining bright, eh?

  Manuel: Is so empty without him.

  Basil: Yes, yes—those walls look good, too, don’t they. And the hoods gleaming like that. Isn’t that a marvellous sight.

  Manuel: Please leave me alone . . . I get over it.

  Basil: Yes, yes, you’ll get over it. No point in letting it get you down. Plenty more fish in the sea, eh? (he claps Manuel on the back)

  Manuel: Don’t!

  Basil: What?

  Manuel: Don’t hit me. Always you hit me.

  Basil: I’m not hitting you—I’m trying to cheer you up.

  Sybil: Let him be, Basil.

  Basil: Look, look, look . . . don’t look at me with those awful cow eyes! Why don’t you go to the cinema tonight? Why don’t you and Polly go to the ice rink tonight. Why . . . why . . . why don’t you cheer up, for Christ’s sake!

  Sybil: Basil.

  Basil: I cannot stand this awful self-indulgence.

  Sybil: Oh, leave him alone, Basil. He’s just depressed.

  Basil: Manuel . . . my wife informs me that you’re . . . depressed. Let me tell you something. Depression is a very bad thing. It’s like a virus. If you don’t stamp on it it spreads throughout the mind, and then one day you wake up in the morning, and you . . . you can’t face life any more.

  Sybil: And then you open a hotel. (exits)

  Basil: We didn’t win the war by getting depressed, you know. (exits)

  Polly: Manuel!

  Manuel: Cómo?

  Polly: Not so sad.

  Manuel: . . . No?

  Polly: No, no, it’s too much.

  Manuel (cheering up): Too much?

  Polly: Much too much. Just a little bit sad.

  Terry (handing Manuel a saucer): There’s the food.

  Manuel: Ah. Gracias.

  Polly: Don’t forget the water. (she fills a bowl at the sink)

  Manuel: Oh, Terry, Terry, let me have a bit of that.

  Terry: That’s fillet.

  Manuel: Si, si, he like it. Please.

  Terry (cutting off a bit): Want some Bearnaise with it?

  Manuel: No, no, no. Is chostelerol.

  He gets the fillet and the water and hurries out of the back door. Outside, he looks round to make sure the coast is clear, and then makes for an outbuilding not far away. As he reaches it he shoos away the cat, who is nosing round the door. He goes inside, puts the food down, and calls in a whisper . . .

  Manuel: Basil . . . (he squeaks)

  In the lobby, Polly is at the desk dealing with a guest. She takes his cheque.

  Polly: Thank you, Mr. Higgins.

  Guest: Thank you.

  Polly (producing a wrapped picture): And here’s the picture.

  Guest: What?

  Polly: The picture. The one in your room. You said you liked it.

  Guest: Er . . .

  Manuel (coming in): Polly! Polly!

  Polly: Sssh.

  Manuel: Polly.

  Polly: Wait.

  Guest: No, I’m sorry, I really don’t . . .

  Polly: Oh, just a fiver. You can have it on approval.

  Guest (moving off): Sorry . . .

  Polly: It’s for my sister’s eye operation . . . (the guest has gone) You bastard.

  Manuel: Polly.

  Polly: Oh, what?!

  Manuel: He gone . . . He gone. He escape.

  Polly: But how did he get out of the cage?

  Manuel: I leave the door open so he exercise in shed.

  Polly (grabbing him by the lapels): You dago dodo! (Basil appears from the dining room; Manuel can’t see him but Polly can; she starts brushing his lapels) You . . . got . . . it all over your front.

  Manuel: Qué?

  Polly: Mucho salo.

  Manuel: What you do?

  Polly: Is dirty.

  Manuel: No matter. What about Basil?

  Polly: Mr. Fawlty to you. (Basil is watching, rather surprised)

  Manuel: No, no, no, no . . . Basil.

  Polly: Esta aqui. (Manuel sees Basil) Now go and clean it.

  Manuel: Si, si. (he runs off towards the kitchen)

  Basil: Jolly good, Polly. That’s the way to snap him out of it.

  The Major approaches, carrying a cup of coffee.

  The Major: Morning, Fawlty.

  Basil: Hallo, Major. Here are the papers.

  Polly: That’s where I left it . . . (she makes off towards the kitchen)

  The Major (taking the paper): Strike, strike, strike. Why do we bother, Fawlty? (exits to the bar)

  Basil (to himself): I didn’t know you did, Major.

  The bar is empty. The Major comes in, sits down and stares at his paper.

  The Major (loudly, but to nobody): Boycott made the century. (he glances up and sees the rat; it is sitting on the next table eating peanuts out of a bowl; the Major stares at it, then gets up) Stay where you are, old chap . . . don’t move. (he puts another bowl by the rat and moves slowly out of the bar)

  In the lobby, Basil is looking at some flowers on the centre table. The Major hurries by behind him and goes up the stairs. Basil takes the flowers into the kitchen.

  Basil: Terry, give these a rinse, will you.

  Terry: I have.

  Basil: Well, they’re still dirty. Put them in the dishwasher.

  He goes back into the lobby. The Major appears at the bottom of the stairs and passes Basil carrying a shot-gun. He goes into the bar. Basil does a double-take and follows him. In the bar, the Major is stalking round the room with the gun. There is of course no sign of the rat.

  Basil (genuinely unsettled): Do you need any help, Major?

  The Major: Don’t move! (he points the gun in Basil’s direction; Basil puts his hands up) Vermin!

  Basil: We haven’t got any this week, Major.

  The Major: Hmmm?

  Basil: No Germans staying this week, Major . . . may I have the gun?

  The Major: Going to shoot him, Fawlty.

  Basil: Yes . . . Major . . .

  The Major: Mmm?

  Basil: Not . . . not legal, actually, any more . . . murder . . .

  The Major: But they’re animals, Fawlty!

  Basil: Oh, yes, yes . . . Still, forgive and forget, eh, Major? (he takes the gun)

  The Major: Forgive ’em?

  Basil: Well, pretend we do.

  The Major: But they spread disease, Fawlty . . . he was sitting there on that table, eating the nuts if you please.

  Basil (to himself): He’s really gone this time.

  The Major: About that size. That with the tail . . .

  Basil (realizing): Tail . . . what did you say it was?

  The Major: Vermin . . . A dirty rat!

  Basil (glares in the direction of the lobby): . . . How long ago?

  The Major: Oh, about two minutes ago.

  Basil: Stay there, Major, stay there. If you see him, give me a shout.
/>   The Major: Will do.

  Basil strides out of the bar, parking the gun behind the bar itself, and goes into the kitchen, where Terry is looking behind the fridge which he has pulled out from the wall.

  Terry: I’m just cleaning behind the fridge, Mr. Fawlty.

  Basil looks at him and pushes the dining-room door open. He looks in, comes out, checks, and goes back in. In the dining room, Polly is kneeling under a table, only her rear and legs visible. Basil walks quietly up behind her.

  Polly: Basil . . . Basil . . . cheesies . . . Basil . . .

  Basil: Yes? (there is a thump and the table jerks upwards, Polly appears) Here I am!

  Polly: Oh, hallo, Mr. Fawlty . . .

  Basil: Oh, that’s for me, is it? Thank you.

  Polly: Oh . . . (he takes the piece of cheese from her hand and eats it) Shall I get you some more, there’s plenty . . .

  Basil: He’s called Basil, is he? . . . Don’t play dumb with me, I trusted you, you’re responsible for this. ‘Oh, I’ve got a friend who’ll look after him, Mr. Fawlty’! (he is about to hit her when he sees Manuel crawling out from under another table; Basil runs after him and Manuel scuttles back under the table) Come on. Come on out, come on, Basil’s here. (he makes kiss-kiss noises)

  Terry (coming in from the kitchen): Have you got him?

  Basil: . . . He’s under there.

  Terry: Right. I’ll get him. (he goes towards the table and then stops, rather sheepish)

  Basil: Cleaning behind the fridge, hmm?

  Terry: Well, we didn’t want to worry you, you’ve got a lot on your mind Mr. Fawlty.

  Basil: What, you mean a Public Health Inspector coming after a twenty-four-hour warning and a rat loose in the hotel, is that what you mean?

  Polly: He must have escaped, Mr. Fawlty, and come back . . .

  Basil: Come back?

  Polly (desperately): They home.

  Basil: Oh, I see, he’s a homing rat, is he?

  Terry: . . . Oh yeah, rats are amazing creatures, Mr. Fawlty. I read about one once, his owner had gone down to Penzance . . .

  Basil: Yes, yes, I read about that. When the chef got filleted with his own carving knife . . .

  Terry: No, honest, Mr. Fawlty, scout’s honour.

  Polly: We’ll find him, Mr. Fawlty!

  Basil: Well, if you could, that would be lovely. Before they close us down. Super. Well, let’s have a little Basil hunt, shall we, and then we’ll deal with the sackings later.

  Terry: I’ll do the cellar.

  Polly: I’ll do this floor. Manuel, you check your room.

  Basil: Start in the bar, Polly, it was there two minutes ago. I’ll do the kitchen. (he goes into the kitchen and starts checking the cupboards)

  Terry: I’ve done all them. (he goes out of the back door)

  Basil remembers another cupboard, goes and gets rat poison from it, then runs to the fridge where he finds a plate of veal fillets. He takes one, sprinkles some poison on it, puts it on the floor, leaves the poison on top of the fridge and washes his hands. He goes into the lobby, and goes behind the reception desk. Mr. Carnegie comes in and Sybil, coming down the stairs, greet him.

  Sybil: Oh, Mr. Carnegie. Good morning.

  Carnegie: Good morning, Mrs. Fawlty.

  Basil: Oh, hallo. Nice to see you.

  Sybil: Would you like some coffee before we adjourn to . . .

  Carnegie: No thank you. If we start upstairs with the water tanks . . .

  Basil: Ah, good idea.

  Carnegie: What?

  Basil: Good thinking. About starting upstairs. Sybil, would you like to show Mr. Carnegie upstairs?

  Sybil: I was just going to, Basil.

  Basil: Yes, and I’ll keep an eye on things down here, shall I, see if I can find something to be getting on with . . .

  The gun goes off in the bar. They all jump.

  Carnegie: Good God, what was that?

  Basil: Bloody television exploding again. I’ll deal with it. You go upstairs. (he hurries towards the bar)

  Carnegie: That was a gun!

  Sybil: Yes, it did sound like it, didn’t it.

  Polly runs in carrying a large net. She sees Mr. Carnegie; he sees her.

  Polly: Moths.

  Carnegie: What is going on here? (he goes towards the bar)

  In the bar, Basil is trying to get the gun away from the Major. They tussle as Mr. Carnegie walks in.

  The Major: I’ll get him! (Basil gets the gun away from him and sees Mr. Carnegie) He’ll come back for the nuts, you know. He was sniffing around here just now . . .

  Basil (kneeing him in the balls): Sorry, sorry Major. (to Mr. Carnegie) It wasn’t the television, it was just this gun. I’ll put it under lock and key straight away.

  He goes into the lobby followed by Mr. Carnegie.

  Carnegie: Why was he firing it in the hotel?

  Basil: Starlings . . . shooting starlings.

  Carnegie: In the bar?

  Basil: Through the window. I’ll lock it away.

  Carnegie: Is it licensed?

  Basil: Oh, yes, oh yes. (he goes into the office)

  Carnegie (to Sybil): You do realize that under the Health and Safety Act it is your responsibility?

  Sybil: Oh yes, I’m terribly sorry. It’s never happened before, Mr. Carnegie.

  Carnegie: Well, I shall have to notify the police, of course. They will take steps.

  Manuel comes flying down the stairs in a panic.

  Polly: It’s all right, it’s all right, Manuel.

  Manuel: Is he all right?

  Polly: Yes, he’s all right.

  Manuel: He not dead?

  Polly: No, no, no! It was just the Major letting the gun off . . .

  Manuel: The Major try to kill Basil?

  Sybil: Kill Basil?

  Manuel: No, no, not Mr. Fawlty, I mean Basil my little . . .

  Polly: Ratatouille!

  Carnegie: Basil . . . the little . . .

  Polly: Ratatouille. The chef calls the ratatouille Basil, because he puts quite a lot of Basil in it.

  Manuel (horrified): He put Basil in ratatouille?

  Polly: Yes . . .

  Manuel: Aaahh! (he runs towards the kitchen and goes in, followed by Polly, still clutching her net)

  Sybil (to Mr. Carnegie): He’s from Barcelona. You know, typical Latin, really. Would you like to . . . (she indicates the stairs)

  In the kitchen, Manuel is shouting at Terry.

  Manuel: Why you do this?

  Terry: I haven’t, I haven’t.

  Manuel: Polly say you put Basil in ratatouille.

  Terry: I haven’t made any bleeding ratatouille.

  Polly: Manuel!

  Manuel (to Polly): Why you say he put Basil in ratatouille?

  Polly: I had to say something, that was the Health Inspector. Now will you calm down.

  Manuel: Where is he?

  Polly: I don’t know.

  Manuel: Perhaps he dead.

  Terry: Oh, he’s all right. Give us the veal, Poll, I’ve got to get lunch ready.

  Polly gets the veal out of the fridge.

  Manuel: But how you know he all right? Major fire his gun. Perhaps he hit . . . I must find him. (he dashes forward, knocking the veal out of Polly’s hands onto the floor) Oh, sorry, Polly! (he runs out)

  Terry: Oh, pick ’em up quick, before he gets in here. (they start piling the veal back on the plate frantically)

  In the lobby, Basil and the Major are coming in from the bar.

  Basil: That’s right, Major. You’ve got it. Well, you’ve nearly got it. Anyway, the thing is, not a word about rats. You were shooting starling. All right?

  The Major: A starling?

  Basil: Yes.

  The Major: Through the window.

  Basil: Right.

  The Major: But, Fawlty, how did the starling get in the bar?

  Basil: No, no, you were in the bar.

  The Major: I was in the bar?

  Basil: Yes!r />
  The Major: So I was!

  Basil: Yes, and the starling was in the garden and the rat was nowhere at all.

  The Major: Well, I didn’t see him.

  Basil (moving off): Say goodnight to the folks, Gracie.

  He goes into the kitchen. Terry is preparing the veal.

  Basil: All right, Terry, everything under control?

  Terry: Yeah . . . is he still . . . ?

  Basil: No, he’s started upstairs. God knows where the rat is . . . (he sees the cat on the fridge; it has got at the plate of veal) Oh. puss . . . (he picks up the cat and the piece of veal it was nibbling and puts it out of the back door) Come on puss, out you go . . . (he hides the piece of veal on top of a high cupboard, and rinses his hands) Oh! And I put some, er . . . (he looks around the floor but cannot see the poisoned veal) Terry . . .

  Terry: Yes?

  Basil: There was a piece of veal down here.

  Terry: Yes, we got ’em all up, Mr. Fawlty.

  Basil: What?

  Terry: We picked ’em all up.

  Polly (coming in): Got the veals, Terry?

  Terry: Here we are, Poll. (he gives her two plates)

  Basil: Terry, listen to me. What do you mean you picked them all up?

  Terry: Well, Manuel knocked ’em over. We picked ’em all up.

  Polly goes out with the veal.

  Basil: . . . Oh my God.

  Terry: . . . What’s the matter?

  Basil: One of them’s got rat poison on it! (he rushes into the dining room)

  In the dining room, Manuel is taking an order. Polly is returning from Mr. and Mrs. Taylor’s table. Basil flies past her and grabs both plates.

  Basil: Sorry! Sorry! (they stare at him) Veal’s off! Sorry.

  Mrs. Taylor: That’s veal.

  Basil: No, no, this is veal substitute—we’re giving it a try, and it’s a bit of a disappointment, I’m afraid. In fact it’s no substitute at all . . . Polly, would you take this order again, please? (he whispers an explanation in her ear) Thank you, thank you so much. (he goes towards the kitchen)

  Polly: I’m sorry about that—would you like the lamb or the plaice?

  Mrs. Taylor: Veal substitute?

  Polly: It’s Japanese, actually—soya bean and essence of cow. (Basil exits)

  In the kitchen, Mr. Carnegie is talking to Sybil. Basil enters with the plates, sees Mr. Carnegie, and moves back into the dining room.

  Carnegie: Seals.

  Sybil: We’ve moved all the meat into this one and put all the confectionery in the new one over here.

  Back in the dining room, Basil dithers, trying to decide where to put the plates.