The long and fabled history of Monty Python has now reached its footnotes and afterthoughts era. After years of interpersonal disputes, multiple forays into the culture war and one very expensive divorce, 85-year-old John Cleese goes solo with a thin 80-minute travelogue, undertaking a European mini-tour while enduring a roll call of ailments (partial deafness, bone spurs, vertigo) which appears at least as substantive as his onstage material. Explaining his motivation, Cleese is not untypically blunt: a wheezy “I need the money” is the closest this film locates to a running gag.
What are we offered in return? Near-relentless gripes and grievances that mesh with Cleese’s recent media profile, ranging from the endless repacking to being filmed at all hours. (Perhaps understandable, given director Andy Curd’s often unflattering angles.) Also lambasted: audiences who refuse to titter at such routines as the one in which Cleese spends a small eternity hacking up phlegm. We get oddly little of the show itself, instead there’s much B-roll filler in fish markets and cheese shops, and an unlovely photomontage of the comic’s battered big toe. (In fairness, he warns us: “If you’ve just had a mouthful of popcorn, look away now.”)
Sporadically, the old silliness and joy poke through. Cleese is tickled to have had a lemur named after him, and his curiosity is reawakened by a Buddhist temple. (The most illuminating aspect is archival: footage of the comic’s 1991 sit-down with the Dalai Lama.) But sustained inner peace seems out of reach, and even his more jocular asides have an ungenerous edge. The Michael Palin-razzing sounds far more sour than fond; and on hearing of one ex-wife’s passing, Cleese quips “it was the wrong one”.
Those with misty-eyed memories of the old days might do better sticking with their Fawlty box sets, but this bathetic endeavour proves unintentionally revealing in one respect. This Cleese – still front-facing, but fragile and frazzled – inhabits a strange limbo: can absolutely no one now afford a long, happy and restful retirement? Is it capitalism or pure show business compulsion dogging our erstwhile heroes in their twilight years?
John Cleese Packs It In is in UK and Irish cinemas, and in Australian cinemas from 27 November.