Monty Python’s Flying Circus (1969 – 1974) je angleška humoristična skupina, ki je z svojim svojevrstnim humorjem popolnoma spremenila definicije vizualnega humorja. Sestavljali so jo člani John Cleese, Eric Idle, Michael Palin, Terry Jones, Terry Gilliam, in na žalost že leta 1989 umrli Graham Chapman. Šov je med leti 69 in 74 tekel na angleški nacionalni televiziji BBC. Njihov slog slavljen tako med kritiki kot gledalci je temeljil na žaljivih in pogosto popolnoma nadrealističnih skečih. Skeči so se dotikali mnogih tem, satira je tako nemalokrat doletela angleški establishment in aristokracijo, socialna in politična vprašanja, evropsko zgodovino, intelektualno in kulturno dediščino. Ob animacijah Terrya Gilliama zaščitni znak skupine predstavlja preoblačenje v ženske like. Skupina je nastala v sklopu gledališkega poskusa na univerzi Cambridge, ki so jo vsi člani skupine, razen že omenjenega Američana Terrya Gilliama, v tistem času obiskovali. Po razdoru v skupini, se je skupina ponovno sestala za posebno in zelo uspešno ameriško turnejo v letu 1975. Po tem je nastalo še nekaj danes že kultnih celovečernih filmov, preden so se člani dokončno posvetili svojim projektom. Pomembnejša dela: Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life, (1983), The Life of Brian (1979), Monty Python and the Holy Grail(1975) …
(Mr. Bertenshaw and his sick wife arrive at a hospital.)
Doctor: Mr. Bertenshaw?
Mr. B: Me, Doctor.
Doctor: No, me doctor, you Mr. Bertenshaw.
Mr. B: My wife, doctor…
Doctor: No, your wife patient.
Sister: Come with me, please.
Mr. B: Me, Sister?
Doctor: No, she Sister, me doctor, you Mr. Bertenshaw.
Nurse: Dr. Walters?
Doctor: Me, nurse…You Mr. Bertenshaw, she Sister, you doctor.
Sister: No, doctor.
Doctor: No doctor: call ambulance, keep warm.
Nurse: Drink, doctor?
Doctor: Drink doctor, eat Sister, cook Mr. Bertenshaw, nurse me!
Nurse: You, doctor?
Doctor: ME doctor!! You Mr. Bertenshaw. She Sister!
Mr. B: But my wife, nurse…
Doctor: Your wife not nurse. She nurse, your wife patient. Be patient, she nurse your wife. Me doctor, you tent, you tree, you Tarzan, me Jane, you Trent, you Trillo…me doctor!
MAN: (entering a shop) Um, excuse me, is this the undertaker’s?
UNDERTAKER: Yup, that’s right, what can I do for you, squire?
M: Um, well, I wonder if you can help me. My mother has just died and I’m not quite sure what I should do.
U: Ah, well, we can ‘elp you. We deal with stiffs.
M: (aghast) Stiffs?
U: Yea. Now there’s three things we can do with your mum. We can bury her, burn her, or dump her.
M: Dump her?
U: Dump her in the Thames.
M: (still aghast) What?
U: Oh, did you like her?
U: Oh well, we won’t dump her, then. Well, what do you think: burn her, or bury her?
M: Um, well, um, which would you recommend?
U: Well they’re both nasty. If we burn her, she gets stuffed in the flames, crackle, crackle, crackle, which is a bit of a shock if she’s not quite dead. But quick. And then you get a box of ashes, which you can pretend are hers.
M: (timidly) Oh.
U: Or, if you don’t wanna fry her, you can bury her. And then she’ll get eaten up by maggots and weevils, nibble, nibble, nibble, which isn’t so hot if, as I said, she’s not quite dead.
M: I see. Um. Well, I.. I.. I.. I’m not very sure. She’s definitely dead.
U: Where is she?
M: In the sack.
U: Let’s ‘ave a look. (FX: rustle of bag opening)
U: Umm, she looks quite young.
M: Yes, she was.
U: (over his shoulder) FRED!
F: (offstage) Yea!
U: I THINK WE’VE GOT AN EATER!
F: (offstage) I’ll get the oven on!
M: Um, er…excuse me, um, are you… are you suggesting we should eat my mother? (pause)
U: Yeah. Not raw, not raw. We cook her. She’d be delicious with a few french fries, a bit of stuffing. Delicious! (smacks his lips)
M: What! (he stammers) (pause)
M: Actually, I do feel a bit peckish – No! NO, I can’t!
U: Look, we’ll eat your mum. Then, if you feel a bit guilty about it afterwards, we can dig a grave and you can throw up into it.
M: All right.
A PET SHOP
M=Man [JC], S=Shopkeeper [MP], G=Harry [GC]
Caption: A PET SHOP SOMEWHERE NEAR MELTON MOWBRAY
M: Good morning, I’d like to buy a cat.
S: Certainly sir. I’ve got a lovely terrier. [indicates a box on the counter]
M: no, I want a cat really.
S: [taking box off counter and then putting it back on counter as if it is a different box] Oh yeah, how about that?
M: [looking in box] No, that’s the terrier.
S: Well, it’s as near as dammit.
M: Well what do you mean? I want a cat.
S: Listen, tell you what. I’ll file its legs down a bit, take its snout out, stick a few wires through its cheeks. There you are, a lovely pussy cat.
M: Its not a proper cat.
S: What do you mean?
M: Well it wouldn’t miaow.
S: Well it would howl a bit.
M: No, no, no, no. Er, have you got a parrot?
S: No, I’m afraid not actually guv, we’re fresh out of parrots. I’ll tell you what though … I’ll lop its back legs off, make good, strip the fur, stick a couple of wings on and staple on a beak of your own choice. [taking small box and rattling it] No problem. Lovely parrot.
M: how long would that take?
S: Oh, let me see … er, stripping the fur off, no legs … [calling] Harry … can you do a parrot job on this terrier straight away?
H: [off-screen] No, I’m still putting a tuck in the Airedale, and then I got the frogs to let out.
M: No I need it for tomorrow. It’s a present.
S: Oh dear, it’s a long job. You see parrot conversion … Tell you what though, for free, terriers make lovely fish. I mean I could do that for you straight away. Legs off, fins on, stick a little pipe through the back of its neck so it can breathe, bit of gold paint, make good …
M: You’d need a very big tank.
S: It’s a great conversation piece.
M: Yes, all right, all right … but, er, only if I can watch.
(A tourist approaches a shepherd. The sounds of sheep and the outdoorsare heard.)
Tourist: Good afternoon.
Shephrd: Eh, ’tis that.
Tourist: You here on holiday?
Shephrd: Nope, I live ‘ere.
Tourist: Oh, good for you. Uh…those ARE sheep aren’t they?
Tourist: Hmm, thought they were. Only, what are they doing up in the trees?
Shephrd: A fair question and one that in recent weeks ‘as been much on my mind. It’s my considered opinion that they’re nestin’.
Tourist: Like birds?
Shephrd: Exactly. It’s my belief that these sheep are laborin’ under the misapprehension that they’re birds. Observe their be’avior. Take for a start the sheeps’ tendency to ‘op about the field on their ‘ind legs. Now witness their attmpts to fly from tree to tree. Notice that they do not so much fly as…plummet.
Tourist: Yes, but why do they think they’re birds?
Shephrd: Another fair question. One thing is for sure, the sheep is not a creature of the air. They have enormous difficulty in the comparatively simple act of perchin’. Trouble is, sheep are very dim. Once they get an idea in their ‘eads, there’s no shiftin’ it.
Tourist: But where did they get the idea?
Shephrd: From Harold. He’s that most dangerous of creatures, a clever sheep. ‘e’s realized that a sheep’s life consists of standin’ around for a few months and then bein’ eaten. And that’s a depressing prospect for an ambitious sheep.
Tourist: Well why don’t just remove Harold?
Shephrd: Because of the enormous commercial possibilities if ‘e succeeds.