Diaries 1969-1979_ The Python Years - Michael Palin [259]
Gilliam, needless to say, was on the phone within hours of publication of the interview. He was jolly, but not pleased.
Oh, well, GC once again spices our life up – it’s a pity he had to spice it up with such misanthropic stuff.
Saturday, December 17th
Christmas starts here – well, this weekend, anyway – with two traditional entertainments: the Robert Hewison Saturday mulled-wine party (or how many guests can he fit into 82 Fetter Lane this year?) and the BBC LE party, with its history of tortured heart-searchings as to whether to go or not to go.
Robert’s do is pleasant. Chat with his editor at Weidenfeld1 – a young, attractive lady to whom I am ridiculously coy about my novel. I should either not mention it at all, or be prepared to brag a little about it.
Simon arrives back with the boys, whom he has just taken, as a Christmas present, to see the Circus World Championships at Clapham Common. Then T Gilliam arrives – the irritation of Chapman’s insults mollified a little by reported good business and reviews for Jabberwocky in West Germany this last week, a place in Alexander Walker’s best films of the year round-up, and an award from Films and Filming for being the Best British Film of 1977.
Sunday, December 18th
To the BBC party in the evening.
The usual lot. Val Doonican and Eric Sykes seem to be still fans – Doonican is especially enthusiastic and towards the end of the evening even Eric Morecambe grasps my hand warmly – ‘Great fan,’ he says … ‘Great fan.’
Talk to Richard Beckinsale and Judy Loe, who, with me, Ian Davidson and the Goodies, seem to represent the ‘younger generation’ in a sea of old and well-established faces.
Aubrey Singer, recently transferred to Head of BBC Radio, warns me against a precipitous sale to PBS in the States – ‘The big networks do pay a great deal more,’ he cautioned. Does he know nothing of Python’s struggle against the eunuchs?
Tuesday, December 20th
To BAFTA’s luxurious preview theatre in Piccadilly at 10.30 for a screening of the latest Mark Shivas/Richard Broke TV film, an adaptation by John Prebble of The Three Hostages by John Buchan.
Whereas Scott Fitzgerald’s adult view of the 1920s survives, Buchan’s eternal school prefects don’t. The sheer mechanics of this dastardly plot, with Hannay being constantly hypnotised and men in turbans flashing orientally sinister looks, make it very, very hard for an audience to take seriously. Afterwards Shivas, looking moderately happy, did confess that there were ‘a few more laughs than I’d expected’.
Ended up drinking with Malcolm McDowell. We talked about the state of British films. McDowell dislikes the Lew Grade blockbusters that are taking over the industry and feels that there aren’t any films any more which are trying to say anything. He uses Lindsay Anderson’s O Lucky Man! as an example of a film which tried to criticise and stir up a few passions, but which was crucified by the critics. A serious chap. I like his restlessness, though. He is well-established, but anti-establishment. A useful combination.
To John Goldstone’s party in D’Arblay Street. There meet Graham, whom I roundly and cheerfully take to task over the Melody Maker article. GC retreats in disarray, blaming the press for quoting ‘only the bad bits’.
Sandy Lieberson is there – he tells me he’s nominated me for the Best Newcomer Award at BAFTA!
Wednesday, December 21st
Took Thomas, William and Holly over to Shepperton. We watched them building and rigging Force 10 from Navarone. Twenty-two years after my heart swelled to the ‘Dambusters’ March’, they