Monty Python and Philosophy, Gary Hardcastle [portable ebook reader TXT] 📗

its absurdity—its violation of biological norms—while simultaneously satisfying our sense of justice in the most devilish manner. Like many medieval visions of hell, such as the punishments meted out in Dante’s Inferno, the travails of Creosote mix horror and humor in a way that seems natural. Whether the scene has the same pedagogical intent is doubtful. But it is not a parody of such extravaganzas. Rather it taps into the same emotional well by being an updated version of them. Horrific imagery and humor are often interlaced. Mr. Creosote shows us how these two ostensibly opposed elements can co-exist. They belong together because they both specialize in the incongruous and the impure—in violations of our standing cultural categories and norms. But the overall effect of these subversions of our cultural categories will not dispose us toward horror, unless they occur in the context of some clear and present danger. Where there is no danger to anything we would call human, there is no cause for horror, and there is an opening for laughter. That is Creosote. Moreover, Creosote is not just comically amusing for being a biological absurdity. He is also worthy of our derision for his sins (in his case, perhaps he is the sin itself personified). And this helps us to see that underlying the vitriol of humor is often a perception of justice.

4

The Limits of Horatio’s Philosophy

KURT SMITH

What I Think My Chapter May Be About

A working-class woman (Eric Idle) sits on a bench in the park. She is approached by another woman (Michael Palin), also working-class, who pushes a dolly on which sits a brand new automobile engine, wrapped in a red bow. “Morning Mrs. Gorilla,” says the woman sitting on the bench. “Morning Mrs. Non-Gorilla,” replies the woman with the dolly. She sits down on the bench. “You been shopping?” asks Mrs. Non-Gorilla. “No . . . been shopping,” replies Mrs. Gorilla. “Did you buy anything?” asks Mrs. Non-Gorilla, her eyes fixed on the dolly. “A piston engine,” says Mrs. Gorilla with some excitement. “What did you buy that for?” “Oohh,” Mrs. Gorilla sings with confidence, “. . . it was a bargain!” “Oohh,” sings Mrs. Non-Gorilla. “Oohh” Mrs. Gorilla adds, as the camera pans right.

We see another working-class woman (Terry Jones) sitting on a bench. She is luring birds towards her, “Chirp, chirp, chirp . . . come on little birdies; come and see what mommy’s got for you . . . tweetie, tweetie. Come on little birdies . . . .” She reaches into a grocery bag, takes out a pork roast, and heaves it violently at the birds. The satisfaction on her face reveals that she has pegged one of the buggers. She again calls nicely to the birds, “Come on little birdies . . . ,” reaches into the bag, this time pulling out a large can of (diced?) pineapples, and heaves it at the birds. Again, her face reveals success. We are shown the scene from her point of view: dead birds and groceries are scattered about the pond’s bank.

A woman (Graham Chapman) approaches, also working-class, who pushes a dolly on which sits a brand new automobile engine (also wrapped in a red bow). “Hello Mrs. Smoker,” says the woman with the groceries. “Hello Mrs. Non-Smoker,” replies the woman with the dolly. She sits. “What . . . you been shopping then?” asks Mrs. Non-Smoker. “No,” replies Mrs. Smoker, “I’ve been shopping.” “Oh, what’d you buy?” asks Mrs. Non-Smoker, her eyes fixed on the dolly. “A piston engine,” says Mrs. Smoker with excitement. “What’d you buy that for?” asks Mrs. Non-Smoker. “It was a bargain!” replies Mrs. Smoker. “How much you want for it?” asks Mrs. Non-Smoker. “Three quid,” says Mrs. Smoker without hesitation. “Done,” replies Mrs. Non-Smoker. “Right,” replies Mrs. Smoker. Mrs. Non-Smoker counts an imaginary three quid and gives it to Mrs. Smoker. She looks at her newly purchased piston engine with delight. A subtle wave of confusion washes over her face. “How do you cook it?” she asks. “You can’t cook it,” replies Mrs. Smoker sternly. “You can’t eat that raw,” replies Mrs. Non-Smoker, even more sternly. “Oohh, . . .” ponders Mrs. Smoker, “I never thought of that.”

Both sit thinking about the present problem, when all of a sudden Mrs. Smoker matter-of-factly blurts out: “O day and night, but this is wondrous strange!” Without skipping a beat Mrs. Non-Smoker replies, “And therefore as a stranger welcome it. There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” Her face reveals that she is experiencing a profound state of confusion, for she does not know the origin of her words. Yet, she continues, “The time is out of joint: O cursed spite, that ever I was born to set it right! Nay, come, let’s go together.” The two women rise, looking about dazed and confused, and walk away—leaving the dolly and piston engine behind.

The above skit, “Piston Engine (a Bargain),” comes from Episode 43 (“Hamlet”) of Monty Python’s Flying Circus. Its absurdity makes it one of my favorites. “Been shopping?” asks one woman. “No, been shopping,” answers the other. A natural reaction to hearing this is to ask: Are they not listening to what the other is saying? Are they just going through the motions of a polite greeting? Perhaps. But what Mrs. Non-Gorilla says, namely, “It is not the case that I’ve been shopping and I’ve being shopping” is a logical contradiction. This aside, what we really want to know is why these women are lugging around piston engines (gift-wrapped no less). They bought them? Why? As Mrs. Non-Gorilla says, “It was a bargain!” To be sure, this could be counted as a reason for buying the engine, but if this is the only reason it is certainly the wrong one. What’s with the one woman who kills birds? Has she gone insane? What are we to make of their sudden recital of Hamlet, Act