The various members of the famed Monty Pyton troupe have all been keeping themselves busy in the years since they disbanded (then regrouped for Monty Python And The Holy Grail, Life Of Brian and Monty Python's Meaning Of Life and disbanded again. Maybe.) Michael Palin has been making travel documentaries and writing books. John Cleese is now James Bond's Q. Graham Chapman is still dead. Terry Jones is writing op-ed pieces for Britain's Observer. And Terry Gilliam has been banging his head against a film version of Don Quixote.
But only Eric Idle has truly stuck with comedy, writing, producing and touring with the sort of verve and energy normally reserved for a mountain climber with double-vision. He is currently close to winding up a tornado of a schedule, 44 cities in three months, of his new show, The Greedy Bastard Tour. Greedy! That's good! A nod's as good as a wink to a blind bat, eh? Now, without further ado:
Do you ever get sick of being asked about Monty Python?
Well, I get sick of answering questions about it. I mean, there's really nothing new to be said, is there? But I love the material. I still do the stuff in my show. It's still jolly good fun.
Let me ask you something more topical, then. You've always made fun of the French. Has your opinion of them changed with their stance on the Iraq war?
Well, it's the rest of the world's stance, by and large, isn't it? This coalition consists of Poland and Spain. Talk about a coalition of the unwilling. I think Americans have been conned into a personal vendetta war. I think the real war was against Osama Bin Laden and to turn on his enemies seems a bit silly. He's the one spending billions of dollars trying to kill Americans, and suddenly it became, "Oh, we don't really care about him anymore." I think your government's been hijacked by idiots. But you've got to be a Brit in order to say that. Luckily, we seem to be in there with you. We may be against you, but we're at least supporting you. That's the ultimate in a ridiculous situation, isn't it?
I've read that your father died in a car accident.
He was actually killed coming home from a war.
And then you were sent off to boarding school. Basically your childhood wasn't as happy as it could've been. Is it necessary to have a troubled childhood to be a comic?
I think so. I don't think comedy comes out of a happy childhood. I think there's some kind of anger there that's being worked out. Whatever it is, it's really a normal response, is it? It's kind of a healthy response to unhealthy circumstances. But it's definitely childish anger. But on the other hand, I don't know if that applies anymore. I'm certainly a mature and happy person now. I actually enjoy doing comedy. I enjoy the crack of the laugh.
As well as your tour, you're also working on a Broadway show called Spamelot, based on The Holy Grail. Are things looking good for that?
The nice thing is when people say, "Yes, you get to do it." I spend a lot of time doing things that people say, "No." We've spent two and a half years on it, my partner John Du Prez who plays with me in the show. We've got a lot of nice songs, and I've been working on the book. We have Mike Nichols directing. You line up the ducks, you try and get as many good things working together, and you hope that the thing will work. You get sense of what people like and what they're ready for. And when I announce it on stage, they go nuts, absolutely nuts. We do the taunter and we do the Sir Robin song, and it just goes gang-busters. I could stop the show right there and do the Grail and they wouldn't mind at all.
Do you have an idea when it will hit the boards?
Yes, absolutely. We start auditioning in Apirl-May, the rehearsals start in September, we'll open out of town sometime in early December, and if it's a good show and it works, it'll go to Broadway in February 2005.
What are you Christmas plans?
I'll be going home. I've got a daughter, 13, and I just go home with the wife, and I think I'm going to miss all the nice, groovy parties, which is really a shame. I'll kick back, watch a lot of soccer and think about what we're doing next. Ultimately, I'd like to mount a whole Python show in Vegas. We were talking about it on the bus. Wouldn't it be great to have all these girls come on dressed as Gumby with their high kicks. So anybody who would like to have a very silly show should just contact me.
Maybe Celine will break a leg or something and it'll open up a spot at Caesars.
Hello! It seems to me that the Siegfried and Monte is really open. We have a Python show and the Pythons don't maul you, at least.
Well, I'll pass that around. My last question is what have you got in your pockets right now?
I've got nothing because I haven't got my pants on. I'm sitting in my bed, in my luxurious coach. I'm just in my Calvin Kleins. I took my pants off to climb into bed and get warm and cozy whilst I make a phone call. If it's too much information, I'm sorry.
No. If I were to push and ask, "What have you got in those," then we'd be in the too much information territory.
What have I got in here? No, no. The wife stays very closely reading my diary. It's OK if I tell her that women ask me, but that's as far as I'm allowed. I'm apt to become a great disappointment to the middle-aged woman. We are getting panties thrown. We had a woman last night came up with some panties and she'd written her phone number on it, saying please call after the show, and on the crotch, she'd written scratch and sniff.
Did you ever envision yourself as a sex symbol?
Not, not really, no. But I think at this sort of age, there's some merit. You know what I mean? I'll take any kind of attention, really. Good, bad. It doesn't really matter. Just the attention.