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The Pythons were never any different, but one always sensed that while much of the material simply depicted tragedy in a comedic, ridiculous fashion, Cleese's work was itself BORNE of tragedy and anger, brilliantly turned on its head into ridiculous, glorious tragicomedy. Still, towards the very end, it drags a bit. For some reviewers, that makes this film suffer in quality. But the final host segment brings it all right back to the towering genius that is this work.
At first, Cleese looks nervous, on edge, particularly in his host segments. But at the same time, his comedic use of them as champions of irritation is only a thin veil for his envy of their abilities. One gets the feeling that Cleese really would love to do these things to people, and perhaps even did some of them. If you want an hour and a half of nothing but John Cleese's finest, most unadulterated work, with some superb performances from Michael Palin and Graham Chapman, pick up this, Cleese's manifesto, his bitter screed against the most indefensible species: humanity. Combine that with the single-minded topic of an hour and a half of sketches (unheard of for most sketch writers), and there's no mistaking Cleese's message here: "I hate you. The greatest comedy is somehow tragic in nature. John Cleese was, to me, always the finest of the very fine Python crew, and it was because of his perpetually barely-disguised contempt for humanity.
All of you." And unlike the canned, easily seen-through bravado of Andrew Dice Clay or Joe Rogan, this is a real contempt and hatred for the audience, the population, the politicians, the technicians, the smart ones, the dumb ones, the good ones, the bad ones, and EVERYONE. But after a few sketches, one starts to realize that the quiver in his voice and the strange urgency of his delivery style are not borne of fear or stage fright, but of an anger that cannot be put into words. This rage can be mistaken early on. There are seeds of it, to be sure, seeds of its darker side, but the emotions of the day here are contempt, rage, and anger. Cleese rails against everyone from airline pilots to little old ladies, putting caricatures of them on center stage, exaggeratedly irritating everyone around them.
Whereas much of the troupe's material was borne of whimsy, Cleese's randomness came from what he saw as the anarchy and chaos of the mundane, things that REALLY HAPPEN to people, but with only minor tweaking seem ridiculous and laughable (Dead Parrot sketch). The last two sketches should have been cut, to be discovered decades later and cheaply passed off as Monty Python deleted scenes. This attitude always undergirded Cleese's later work in Python, and even in later material, but here it is on full display. As several previous reviewers have pointed out, the whimsy, the randomness, the spontaneity, the madcap devil-may-care attitude of Monty Python's Flying Circus is nowhere to be found here. I say nonsense to that.
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