ERIK THE VIKING
Written and directed by Terry Jones
Starring Tim Robbins, John Cleese, Terry Jones
Released in 1989
Written and directed by Terry Jones
Starring Tim Robbins, John Cleese, Terry Jones
Released in 1989
I have noticed that not for everyone is the humor of the cast of Monty Python. No less a talent than Stephanie Miller has bemoaned the fact that she herself simply "does not get it." Seeing as how Ms. Miller is, to me, one of the sexiest people on this planet, my heart falls like a resilient rubber turd every time I think about the dear girl scratching her head at the references to class warfare in The Holy Grail. Ah, but that's my own personal chalice to drain.
One reason that those of us to whom the sun does not pierce the stratosphere without a daily dose or two of Python-ology love that gang of comedic hoodlums so much is specifically because certain other people do not get it, to use Ms. Miller's phraseology. Some people enjoyed "Three's Company" for its intellect and wit. The rest of us grooved to "Monty Python's Flying Circus."
It's not so much the occasionally indecipherable and definitely rapid-fire dialect of the actors. It's not the often esoteric-in-extremisnature of the guffaws. It's not the fact that most of us originally gained our enlightenment on Saturday nights watching PBS while our compatriots were out schtupping their way through the neighborhoods with a bottle of Remy Martin in one hand and a condom dispenser in the other. Well, actually, that last item might have a bit to do with it. But what it really is, I think, is that Graham Chapman, Eric Idle, John Cleese, Terry Jones, Michael Palin and Terry Gilliam were, are, and some day with God's help will be five, six or seven extremely funny people, albeit, five, six, or seven extremely funny people that Stephanie Miller does not quite get.
There has been much talk over the years about who--if indeed anyone--was the sixth, seventh, or eighth Python. As of this date there can be no dispute that this person was none other (or any other, for that matter) than Neil Innes. This musical manchild had made and buried his bones with the cosmic act The Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band sometime between 1962 and 1970. Along the way he made the appropriate navigation away from Vivian Stanshall and linked his mind with that of former, future and present Python alum Eric Idle, the two forming a satiric and genuinely talented band of pre-fab four called The Rutles.
The Rutles were simply fantastic. They were also complexly fantastic. In one simple--yet complex--album, they managed to parody every song The Beatles ever made, plus a few more still in the developmental stages. Ah, but like their inspiration, the band eventually went the way of all good jokes and descended into a flat-lined whoopie cushion.
Still, there were all kinds of side projects the original troupe involved itself in. Mr. Chapman went on to make and star in the sixth worst movie ever filmed, one called Yellowbeard. It is possible, although not very likely, that the making of this film is what finally killed Chapman. But you didn't read that here.
Michael Palin fared well post-Python. He co-wrote with Terry Gilliam the merely silly and not merely over the top Time Bandits in 1981. Still, according to many people using my name, his best work was as Jack Lunt in Brazil, the sixth greatest film ever made.
John Cleese has been in dozens of films and has excelled in them all. From his small role in Silverado to his expanded performance inThe Wind in the Willows, Cleese has done it all and has done all of it.
That leaves poor Terry Jones, in many ways a very funny fellow and certainly one of the smartest folks to ever walk with a hyphenated limp. It also brings us to tonight's film review and the movie that inspired that review, Erik The Viking. It would seem that this movie had everything in the world going for it: a director (Terry Jones), a writer (Terry Jones), and actors (one of whom was named Terry Jones). The actors themselves can be said to have played no part in this film's failure as a comedic tour de force, or even pub-crawling de force. It stars Tim Robbins as Erik, a Viking who gets a sense that there may be more to life than just raping and pillaging. And drinking. And fighting. There might be something more, something like sunshine. So he visits Eartha Kitt and gets some advice. He is told to cross the sea and find the horn. He should blow the horn, or see that the horn is blown, or facilitate the voyage that leads to the blowing of the horn. He must also avoid hating people.
He gathers together an amusing group of Viking warriors to launch this mission. The voyage gives us all a chance to laugh at Stephanie Miller because she probably wouldn't get the references to Vahalla. I didn't get most of them myself, but I wasn't about to admit that to the bevvy of beauties sitting on my remote control while I watched this disaster film. Two of those warriors are the father and son team known as the Bezerkas, two of the funniest folks in the film.
John Cleese makes recurring appearances in Erik the Viking and those appearances add a lot of black humor to the story. Halfdan the Black is a professional torturer and when someone in that occupation saves a film from the spittoon of history, well, I suppose that tells us something about the quality of the celluloid, although I'm not quite certain what. All in all the whole experience is visually impressive, if not a bit in your face. But what actually saves this film from Spittoon Land (aside from the aforementioned work of Mr Cleese) is Neil Innes' music. Well, that and the hilarious demise of the island of Hy-Brasil, which Terry Jones, as the king of said island denies is actually sinking because it simply cannot be. "Be calm," he announces. "This is not happening." One might wish the same for oneself as one disgorges oneself from one's telephone booth after watching this disappointing effort from some otherwise very talented, smart and too-dense for Ms. Miller talents.
One reason that those of us to whom the sun does not pierce the stratosphere without a daily dose or two of Python-ology love that gang of comedic hoodlums so much is specifically because certain other people do not get it, to use Ms. Miller's phraseology. Some people enjoyed "Three's Company" for its intellect and wit. The rest of us grooved to "Monty Python's Flying Circus."
It's not so much the occasionally indecipherable and definitely rapid-fire dialect of the actors. It's not the often esoteric-in-extremisnature of the guffaws. It's not the fact that most of us originally gained our enlightenment on Saturday nights watching PBS while our compatriots were out schtupping their way through the neighborhoods with a bottle of Remy Martin in one hand and a condom dispenser in the other. Well, actually, that last item might have a bit to do with it. But what it really is, I think, is that Graham Chapman, Eric Idle, John Cleese, Terry Jones, Michael Palin and Terry Gilliam were, are, and some day with God's help will be five, six or seven extremely funny people, albeit, five, six, or seven extremely funny people that Stephanie Miller does not quite get.
There has been much talk over the years about who--if indeed anyone--was the sixth, seventh, or eighth Python. As of this date there can be no dispute that this person was none other (or any other, for that matter) than Neil Innes. This musical manchild had made and buried his bones with the cosmic act The Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band sometime between 1962 and 1970. Along the way he made the appropriate navigation away from Vivian Stanshall and linked his mind with that of former, future and present Python alum Eric Idle, the two forming a satiric and genuinely talented band of pre-fab four called The Rutles.
The Rutles were simply fantastic. They were also complexly fantastic. In one simple--yet complex--album, they managed to parody every song The Beatles ever made, plus a few more still in the developmental stages. Ah, but like their inspiration, the band eventually went the way of all good jokes and descended into a flat-lined whoopie cushion.
Still, there were all kinds of side projects the original troupe involved itself in. Mr. Chapman went on to make and star in the sixth worst movie ever filmed, one called Yellowbeard. It is possible, although not very likely, that the making of this film is what finally killed Chapman. But you didn't read that here.
Michael Palin fared well post-Python. He co-wrote with Terry Gilliam the merely silly and not merely over the top Time Bandits in 1981. Still, according to many people using my name, his best work was as Jack Lunt in Brazil, the sixth greatest film ever made.
John Cleese has been in dozens of films and has excelled in them all. From his small role in Silverado to his expanded performance inThe Wind in the Willows, Cleese has done it all and has done all of it.
That leaves poor Terry Jones, in many ways a very funny fellow and certainly one of the smartest folks to ever walk with a hyphenated limp. It also brings us to tonight's film review and the movie that inspired that review, Erik The Viking. It would seem that this movie had everything in the world going for it: a director (Terry Jones), a writer (Terry Jones), and actors (one of whom was named Terry Jones). The actors themselves can be said to have played no part in this film's failure as a comedic tour de force, or even pub-crawling de force. It stars Tim Robbins as Erik, a Viking who gets a sense that there may be more to life than just raping and pillaging. And drinking. And fighting. There might be something more, something like sunshine. So he visits Eartha Kitt and gets some advice. He is told to cross the sea and find the horn. He should blow the horn, or see that the horn is blown, or facilitate the voyage that leads to the blowing of the horn. He must also avoid hating people.
He gathers together an amusing group of Viking warriors to launch this mission. The voyage gives us all a chance to laugh at Stephanie Miller because she probably wouldn't get the references to Vahalla. I didn't get most of them myself, but I wasn't about to admit that to the bevvy of beauties sitting on my remote control while I watched this disaster film. Two of those warriors are the father and son team known as the Bezerkas, two of the funniest folks in the film.
John Cleese makes recurring appearances in Erik the Viking and those appearances add a lot of black humor to the story. Halfdan the Black is a professional torturer and when someone in that occupation saves a film from the spittoon of history, well, I suppose that tells us something about the quality of the celluloid, although I'm not quite certain what. All in all the whole experience is visually impressive, if not a bit in your face. But what actually saves this film from Spittoon Land (aside from the aforementioned work of Mr Cleese) is Neil Innes' music. Well, that and the hilarious demise of the island of Hy-Brasil, which Terry Jones, as the king of said island denies is actually sinking because it simply cannot be. "Be calm," he announces. "This is not happening." One might wish the same for oneself as one disgorges oneself from one's telephone booth after watching this disappointing effort from some otherwise very talented, smart and too-dense for Ms. Miller talents.
