First, a personal note. I was an adolescent when "Monty Python" began showing on PBS in America. I had never heard of the show but was intrigued by curious TV GUIDE entries (i.e., Karl Marx and Che Guevara on a game show). The first episode I tuned in contained the "Silly Walks" sketch. I was, understandably, a Python addict from the first, and have remained so for upwards of thirty years.
Sketch comedy had been done before. Done, in fact, to death. Pryor to Python, it had even been done lopsidedly by the likes of Spike Milligan. Yet the six incisive brains behind "Monty Python's Flying Circus" saw ways to turn every television convention on its side, on the bias, upside-down -- every which way. They worked within the formula while pushing back its barriers. The boys, without network brass peering over their shoulders, were irreverent toward any institution.
While in America new ground was broken by "Rowan & Martin's Laugh-in" Great Britain was treated to the earth-moving Pythons.
Ironically, the "Monty Python" crew were so successful, they became an institution. Like most counter-culture, the team eventually defined culture. Their humor had a broad appeal. They were all extremely well educated (5 of the six at Oxford and Cambridge) and while they cracked jokes mentioning Marcel Proust, their humor rarely rose above the sophomoric or scatological. Exploding animals and sketches about "argument clinics" and restaurants that only serve Spam do not require an intellectual quotient as high as the highbrows seem to think.
Nor was their humor truly outrageous, in the style of Olsen and Johnson. In "Live at Aspen", the celebrity audience roundly applauds when the Pythons explain how and why they were -- early on -- left alone by the suits at the network. But their material was always well written and meticulously threshed out. Their "freedom" still remained within the boundaries of their craftsmanship.
The Pythons were all skilled writers. Their sketches went through a careful weeding and re-writing process. Python shows were, from the beginning, carefully conceived and precisely written by professionals. That was the true reason for their success, rather than their much-advertised lunacy.
After the series ended and the team continued through the movies, while Python itself was becoming an institution, the Pythons never lost their edge. They may sometimes seem to be in a time warp -- like others who like to think themselves irreverent, they still tend to bash easy targets like the Church, despite society being largely unChurched, rather than taking on modern targets of the establishment like Global Warming.
And they were all able to parlay their success in Python into often lucrative success in subsequent endeavors -- John Cleese had tremendous success and lots of money in his acting and training films; Terry Gilliam leapt from the animation that gave Python its unique "look" to making movies of rare and individual brilliance; Michael Palin became the BBC's resident globe-trotter. But despite their individual successes, they were still "Python" -- as Eric Idle seemed to realize when he brought forth the popular stage-musical "Spamalot." Like it or not, once a Python, always a Python.
"Live at Aspen" is a group interview (conducted by comic Robert Klein) of the surviving Pythons before a live audience. "Aspen" masquerades as five wealthy, successful older men gathering to recount stories of their glory days (as in their sketch of the Four Yorkshiremen "We were so poor" sketch). The Pythons themselves are worth hearing. They have retained their irreverent edge, as personified by an infamous episode concerning the ashes of the late Graham Chapman.
The problem with the show is that it seems a little too canned -- and not just Graham Chapman. Klein's interview questions are often culled from the Python website, and most of them are softballs. The audience itself is comprised largely of actors, so the laughter is probably about as spontaneous as you'd see on a Dean Martin celebrity roast. And all the Pythons get a fair opportunity to speak -- which probably wouldn't happen if it was impromptu.
There's nothing new here for the long-term Python fan. But the group still manages some laughs, and one is left with the feeling that even at the geriatric stage, if they could get past tilting at the windmills of their society of forty or even fifty years ago, they could still put together a project that would best whatever else is out there.
Sketch comedy had been done before. Done, in fact, to death. Pryor to Python, it had even been done lopsidedly by the likes of Spike Milligan. Yet the six incisive brains behind "Monty Python's Flying Circus" saw ways to turn every television convention on its side, on the bias, upside-down -- every which way. They worked within the formula while pushing back its barriers. The boys, without network brass peering over their shoulders, were irreverent toward any institution.
While in America new ground was broken by "Rowan & Martin's Laugh-in" Great Britain was treated to the earth-moving Pythons.
Ironically, the "Monty Python" crew were so successful, they became an institution. Like most counter-culture, the team eventually defined culture. Their humor had a broad appeal. They were all extremely well educated (5 of the six at Oxford and Cambridge) and while they cracked jokes mentioning Marcel Proust, their humor rarely rose above the sophomoric or scatological. Exploding animals and sketches about "argument clinics" and restaurants that only serve Spam do not require an intellectual quotient as high as the highbrows seem to think.
Nor was their humor truly outrageous, in the style of Olsen and Johnson. In "Live at Aspen", the celebrity audience roundly applauds when the Pythons explain how and why they were -- early on -- left alone by the suits at the network. But their material was always well written and meticulously threshed out. Their "freedom" still remained within the boundaries of their craftsmanship.
The Pythons were all skilled writers. Their sketches went through a careful weeding and re-writing process. Python shows were, from the beginning, carefully conceived and precisely written by professionals. That was the true reason for their success, rather than their much-advertised lunacy.
After the series ended and the team continued through the movies, while Python itself was becoming an institution, the Pythons never lost their edge. They may sometimes seem to be in a time warp -- like others who like to think themselves irreverent, they still tend to bash easy targets like the Church, despite society being largely unChurched, rather than taking on modern targets of the establishment like Global Warming.
And they were all able to parlay their success in Python into often lucrative success in subsequent endeavors -- John Cleese had tremendous success and lots of money in his acting and training films; Terry Gilliam leapt from the animation that gave Python its unique "look" to making movies of rare and individual brilliance; Michael Palin became the BBC's resident globe-trotter. But despite their individual successes, they were still "Python" -- as Eric Idle seemed to realize when he brought forth the popular stage-musical "Spamalot." Like it or not, once a Python, always a Python.
"Live at Aspen" is a group interview (conducted by comic Robert Klein) of the surviving Pythons before a live audience. "Aspen" masquerades as five wealthy, successful older men gathering to recount stories of their glory days (as in their sketch of the Four Yorkshiremen "We were so poor" sketch). The Pythons themselves are worth hearing. They have retained their irreverent edge, as personified by an infamous episode concerning the ashes of the late Graham Chapman.
The problem with the show is that it seems a little too canned -- and not just Graham Chapman. Klein's interview questions are often culled from the Python website, and most of them are softballs. The audience itself is comprised largely of actors, so the laughter is probably about as spontaneous as you'd see on a Dean Martin celebrity roast. And all the Pythons get a fair opportunity to speak -- which probably wouldn't happen if it was impromptu.
There's nothing new here for the long-term Python fan. But the group still manages some laughs, and one is left with the feeling that even at the geriatric stage, if they could get past tilting at the windmills of their society of forty or even fifty years ago, they could still put together a project that would best whatever else is out there.