Diaries 1969-1979_ The Python Years - Michael Palin [325]
Monday, February 19th, Penzance
Woke, seconds before production assistant John Adams’ alarm shattered the peace of the Longboat Hotel at six. Easily caught the 6.31, and I was almost sorry to leave the attractive, atmospheric chunkiness of Penzance Station, after a whirlwind scouting of locations for ‘Whinfrey’.
At Plymouth, two hours later, the train filled to the brim with eager southwestern businessmen. We ate breakfast and I read the treatment of Terry Gilliam’s new film, Brazil.
Marvellous effects and stupendous graphic ideas in TG’s story – but with such stunning sets and surroundings the story needs to be very straight and simple or utterly fantastic. It isn’t comfortably either.
Arrive at Paddington at half past twelve. No let-up for location hunters and Alan [our director] insists that we take a cab over to the Turf Club to see one of our London locations for’Whinfrey’.
The club is in Carlton House Terrace and we meet our designer, Gerry Scott,’ outside. The suave and elegantly pin-striped club secretary is thrown into frightful confusion by our arrival. He looks us up and down and then very reluctantly lets us in.
We have broken all the rules – especially bringing Gerry, quite manifestly a female, into these hallowed quarters – but there has been no revolution or mass resignations, so he’s happy. I think he quite enjoys the frisson of naughtiness which letting us in involves. When it boils down to it, there are not many places we have visited whose head isn’t turned by the BBC’s name and the BBC’s money.
Monday, February 26th, Southwold
My long-delayed visit to Southwold.
The weather continues fine, clear and sunny – the countryside up in East Anglia emerging from its most severe winter since 1947. Mother has survived the worst that this harsh winter can bring – and on her own as well. She looks a good colour and seems very bright and vigorous.
After lunch, a walk on the front to survey the damage of the gales – breakwaters smashed like matchsticks and the pier, landmark of my courting days with Helen, lies truncated, a mass of bent and twisted metal curving up from the sea.
Watch a marvellously constructed, very funny Fawlty Towers. It’s so good it makes me want to give up!
In bed by eleven.
Tuesday, February 27th, Southwold
After breakfast, I work for a couple of hours, bringing the diary up to date and rewriting (again) D Leland’s speech as the Football Manager. I think it should be a nervous breakdown, Alan Bell doesn’t. Difficult to decide, but I think I must follow my own instinct. Dictate new nervous breakdown speech to the office over the phone.
Ring JC on impulse and congratulate him on last night’s disgustingly funny Fawlty. JC worried that three jokes out of the still to be broadcast Fawltys have appeared in films he’s seen over the last couple of weeks. Particularly worried that a scene of Fawlty talking to a dead body, which he wrote a year ago, has just cropped up in Altman’s A Wedding.
He is very anxious to be in one of the next two Yarns. He says he will do anything silly for expenses only – provided 65% of his body is in shot.
Friday, March 2nd
Woke early – rewriting my words for the day over in my mind. The excitement and peculiar nervous tension involved in the first day of any new acting project does not lessen as the time goes on. Instead one grows to learn to accept it and how to deal with it, but it’s still there. Tight stomach and loose bowels.
Today is the first day on the first of the two remaining Yarns – with a predominantly new crew and with scripts patched and sewn together more rapidly than the others.
Helen dropped me off at Russell Square, after I’d taken Rachel to playschool, and we set to on the single-shot,