Diaries 1969-1979_ The Python Years - Michael Palin [205]
Thursday, August 5th
Cast of many at Shepperton today for the flagellants’ procession. Graham Crowden is the leader of the fanatics. He’s a splendid figure, but has trouble remembering his many and strange words. Hugely impressive takes of him and his crowd of grotty followers streaming up the mediaeval streets keep ending with Graham, white beard flowing and hand up-raised like Ivan the Terrible, coming to a sort of paralysed halt with a heartfelt ‘Oh, fuck!’
Lunch with Christopher Logue. A nice, gentle chap, he’s playing a flagellant with heart-warming enthusiasm and enjoyment. I ask him about the Private Eye/Goldsmith case soon to come into court. He says Goldsmith is a nasty piece of work, but there is one, though only one, untruth in all Private Eye’s allegations – when he was said to have attended a meeting he didn’t in fact attend.
Michael White is down today. Michael looks around at TG’s carefully chosen extras and declares that this must be the ugliest film ever made.
It’s a long day and the shocking canteen food doesn’t raise any spirits. The chicken at supper tastes, as Crowden puts it, as though it had done panto for two years at Ashton-under-Lyme.
We night shoot until 12.30 a.m. (the extra half-hour will cost thousands as the unions can claim for an entire extra day) catapulting a blazing fanatic over the walls of the castle. The effect works superbly and everyone trails back to the dressing rooms.
Home and to bed by two. A nineteen-hour day, I reckon.
Friday, August 6th
Only the jolly, down-to-earth good humour of Bryan Pringle and the unquenchable cheerfulness of Bernard Bresslaw make this long day of waiting bearable. Finally, having been on set since eleven, am used at five for a 30-second take. It’s the getting dirty and the cleaning up – a process lasting an hour at least – which is the most wearing and when I get home at 8.30 I’m in the mood for a good meal and a chat.
Ring Simon Albury and we go to Au Bois St Jean. Simon very interested in Shepperton – my remarks about food, etc, have led, I’m told, to speedy action from Mr Hollick! SA says he may be asked to run the place (i.e. Shepperton), but says it’s all very vague.
Saturday, August 7th
The alarm shrills into my hangover at seven. God – only five hours’ sleep behind me and I have to curse my enthusiasm in arranging a horse-riding lesson at Luton at nine this morning!
In my still-hungover state, I’m fairly relaxed and once I’ve got used to the size of the horse and the unexpectedly long distance from the ground, I get on well. The horse is used to it – it was under Glenda Jackson on Elizabeth R\ Also ride a mule and a donkey, which cleverly made straight for a metal-roofed cow shed and nearly scalped me.
Tuesday, August 10th
Rushes at lunchtime today were very encouraging. Yesterday we had shot the Knight and Dennis departing the city and Dennis arriving back. For once everybody seemed pleased.
The donkey behaved marvellously this morning and manoeuvred the cheering crowds with great confidence. Better than yesterday when I had to sit on boxes and rock gently, to give the impression I was on a donkey.
Max Wall, as the King, looks quite marvellous and he and John Le Mes have developed this sad, forgetful, melancholic, vaguely homosexual double-act which suits the crumbling kingdom perfectly.
Max has a wonderful drawing power. He sits there, curled up like a caterpillar in his vast robes, never complaining about any discomfort, and people are attracted to him like a magnet – especially a willowy young lady photographer from Celebrity magazine, who sits beside him adoringly. Max enjoys this. His conversation is slow, measured, nostalgic, gentle and wise.
Wednesday, August 11th
In to Shepperton by two. It’s the scene with the Princess and me driving away after we’ve been married. The Princess makes my nose run every time she kisses me. Gilliam instructs ‘No French