Michael Palin - From Python to a Nation's Conscience

And now for someone completely different….  Not many entertainers achieve a six-decade career with barely a blemish but Sir Michael Palin has sailed serenely towards not only my personal but also ‘National Treasure’ status for being funny, interesting, self-effacing and just, well, extremely nice. Even within the Monty Python set-up, he always struck me as the more level-headed one. With his cheeky face and apparent permanent possibility of ‘corpsing’ mid-performance, Palin always seemed ‘one of us’. 

That could not be said of his early years. He may be a son of Sheffield but Michael was never heading for a job in a steelworks, and an education CV reading Shrewsbury School and Brasenose, Oxford hardly reads as that of an ordinary bloke.

And yet while his fellow Oxonian and future writing partner Terry Jones seemed born to don a woman’s hairnet, and Cambridge’s John Cleese to play civil servants, Palin’s roll-call of comedy sketch characters was remarkably wide-ranging. 

Like the vast majority of people, be they adults or eight year-old boys, I didn’t watch Monty Python’s Flying Circus when it was first broadcast in 1969. It was only when repeated, and subsequent series shown on the Beeb, that I became a fan of the show. To a child, it was John Cleese who stood out, whether he was doing funny walks or sitting behind a TV newsreader’s desk on a freezing beach. However, with more viewings, it was the boyish Palin’s characters who so often seemed to be the most memorable. 

Whether dressed as a lumberjack (with self-confessed transvestite tendencies!), a strait-laced bloke paying to have an argument (it still seems very funny now) or a vendor of deceased Norwegian Blue parrots (“Beautiful plumage”) he proved to be one of the all-time greatest sketch actors. Years later, I was watching a re-run of the Spanish Inquisition episode on BBC2, and Mum was present. Now, Python could in no way have defined her comfort zone. However, when the programme ended with Palin’s scarlet inquisitor, having had to take the bus over the closing credits, storming into a courtroom, launching into his “Nobody expects the…” exclamation only for the screen go blank, Mum reacted to the character’s exasperated “Bugger!” with uncontrollable laughter. I’d never seen her roll around the settee in such mirth, a joy to behold. Thanks, Michael!

In ’76, it was me and, I think, Catherine, who were thoroughly entertained by the first in what became a new comedy strand by Palin and Jones called Ripping Yarns. It was launched by an extended tale called Tomkinson’s Schooldays, with Palin’s teenager enduring public school horrors such as the appointed school bully, maggot pit and school leopard, used to retrieve escapees. I’m not sure how well its humour stands up today but for years we adopted phrases from the script as enthusiastically as any Python fan. 

Subsequent Ripping Yarns introduced us to more delightful creations like the Yorkshire shovel nerd Eric Olthwaite, Roger of the Raj and serial PoW camp escape failure Major Phipps but it was Tomkinson who most successfully overshadowed Michael Palin’s Python past. It was unfortunate that John Cleese’s contemporary sitcom Fawlty Towers stole his thunder but in our household the Yarns weren’t forgotten.

There couldn’t have been too much rancour because the pair reunited for the triumphant cinema successes Life of Brian and A Fish Called Wanda, but I don’t recall any other TV comedy roles. The big screen beckoned in the Eighties and he wrote, but didn’t appear in, the engaging autobiographical East of Ipswich, which we all enjoyed.

Then in 1991 came his unexpected serious part in Alan Bleasdale’s drama serial GBH. I’ve already mentioned Robert Lindsay’s contribution as a left-wing local politician whose ambition leads him into all sorts of problems. Amongst these was crossing swords with a meek and mild schoolteacher played by Palin who surprises everyone by fighting his corner so brilliantly.

By this time Michael had begun to reinvent himself not as comedian, nor even serious actor and dramatist (although they were indeed strings to his bow), but as a travel documentary-maker and explorer for the late twentieth century. I’d had an early taste of this potential new career in 1980 when he’d presented one of BBC2’s Great Railway Journeys of the World films. Others travelled to far-off countries like Peru, India or Australia but our Michael’s exotic trips would have to wait. In fact he didn’t even require a passport because, in Confessions of a Trainspotter, his route led from London to the Kyle of Lochalsh. From the amusing intro to his departure from the Scottish ferry terminus, he made for a very agreeable companion. As an unrepentant number-collector and defender of this noble outdoor leisure pursuit, I felt we were kindred spirits although back then I had yet to set foot on the platforms of Sheffield Midland  Regretfully I’ve still never been to the Kyle. 

Nor have I crossed the Arabian Sea, the plains of Africa or the straits between China and Japan, and am extremely unlikely to do so, especially in the insular world post-Covid-19. However, maybe I no longer need to spend the requisite time and money because Michael Palin did it for me. 1989’s Around the World in 80 Days was a riveting travelogue, made in an era when world travel remained a thing of beauty and wonder for a modest twenty-something explorer like me. There was also the thriller element: would he and the crew complete the circumnavigation within the deadline?

There was more of the same in Pole to Pole three years later, with another delightful opening, this time in the Arctic, and 1997’s Full Circle which included a segment in China just as the economic boom was taking off. However, by the time Palin set off for the Himalaya in 2004, I was becoming rather jaded. His sojourn in Tibet was unforgettable but these series, like David Attenborough’s astonishing wildlife series, no longer held the same mystique. 

The seemingly endless cycle of TV-video-book-chat show money-spinners were no longer grabbing me and compelling me to watch, let alone buy the accompanying merchandise. Nothing against Mr Palin, who still did his thing with consummate ease and good humour. It’s just that international travel shows have become so commonplace. From Top Gear specials to celebrity environmentalists, dramas like Our Girl to the long-distance game show Race Across the World, foreign climes are constantly brought to our screens as entertainment. 

Perhaps the extended hiatus in foreign adventures for people like me caused by the Coronavirus will make me once again hanker for a Michael Palin travelogue but for now I’m happy to watch his back catalogue on YouTube or iPlayer. He is still relevant as an eloquent commentator and writer, and was always an engaging chat show guest whether reflecting on his journeys, childhood or comedy creations. 

His knighthood in 2019 was apparently awarded for services to travel, culture and geography. I can only presume that those hazy days of Python and Ripping Yarns are encompassed in the term ‘culture’, and so they should. Sir Michael has contributed so much to my entertainment over the years. In acknowledgement of the Black Lives Matter movement, he has courageously questioned the ‘racist’ design of the medal but a KBE is the bare minimum he deserves.