Diaries 1969-1979_ The Python Years - Michael Palin [134]
A depressing morning’s work. Once again Douglas is present, which gives me an irrationally uncomfortable feeling. Is this a Python album or a Python-Adams album? Graham is restless and contributes little … he has a lunchtime meeting and constant phone calls about future plans, which distract terribly.
Tuesday, March 4th
Down to Soho for a meeting at 11.00 with Stephen Murphy, the film censor. Outside the doorway in sunlit Soho Square are gathered as evil-looking a crew as I’ve seen outside of The Godfather. Terry Jones, looking lean and impish, Gilliam in his absurdly enormous leather coat, which makes him look like a looter, Mark Forstater and John Goldstone, dark and efficient.
We marched in this formidable phalanx into S Murphy’s office. It was not unlike a university don’s room, there was a fine mahogany table, books around the walls and a bay window, which added a rather mediaeval feel to the place. From up here Soho Square looked idyllic, like a sunlit university quad.
Murphy has a donnish air, he chain-smokes and has a mischievous face and a slightly unco-ordinated physical presence. But he’s genial and easy and a wonderful change from the executives of EMI. Of course the censor is not a government watchdog, but a man appointed by the industry to protect itself, so there wasn’t a great deal of unseen pressure as there is at the BBC in these sort of discussions. Jolly Mr Murphy claims he has done a great deal for us and, if we want this ‘A’ certificate (in order to make more money!) we must go a little way with him. So could we lose ‘oral sex’, ‘shit’ or any of the ‘Jesus Christs’? ‘ “Oral sex” is a problem,’ he said, very seriously.
Well we came out and, over a coffee in Compton Street, decided that we would agree on changing a couple of Arthur’s angry ‘Jesus Christs’! TJ eventually came up with a replacement. Arthur should say ‘Stephen Murphy’!.
TJ and I drive down to Thames studios at Teddington to talk to Verity Lambert, Head of Plays there. Do we want to write a TV play? Anyway, there is an offer open from Thames, which is nice.
We go and have a pint of Young’s at a nearby tavern. A well-intentioned demonstration march goes by. ‘Evening Classes for Richmond’ is on their banners. Some of the rude labourers from the pub go to the door and shout ‘Eat babies!!’ Much laughter.
As the American bandwagon rolled on, there was an almost insatiable demand for Pythons to help publicise the TV series on PBS and the release of a new record album. The two Terrys, Graham and myself agreed to go over
Friday, March 7th, Marriott Essex House Hotel, New York
We fly from a grey and drizzling London morning at 12.00 on a TWA jumbo. The plane isn’t full, apart from the first class section under the bulbous nose. For us galley slaves back in ‘the coach’ as they coyly call it in the airline publicity, there is plenty of room to wander and stretch out. Terry J has an early burst of windowitis, and thoroughly disturbs himself as he darts from window to window, seat to seat, seeking the perfect view. The journey is inexorably and crushingly boring. Lunch nasty, brutish and short.
Since we were last in New York City, nearly two years ago, there has been the oil crisis and Watergate, the rise of unemployment, the dire situation in the US car industry and President Ford’s drastic economies. But New York is as brash, as bold, as booming as ever.
Once again I was amazed, impressed, excited by the size and grace of these huge soaring steel and glass monsters on either side. Some now are in jet black colours, like huge natural outcrops of granite – not buildings at all. But clustered around the streets at the base of these huge monuments to financial freedom are many small shops and delis, which give New York its life. In a half hour on the street all the cobwebs of that long, dull flight were blown