Friday, January 15, 2016

Fawlty Stories


I was really anticipating reading the now in paperback version of the autobiography of splendid comedian John Cleese entitled So, Anyway.

Cleese you may remember is part of some comedy that is firmly in the fabric of  the life of baby boomers worldwide--Fawlty Towers, Monty Python and A Fish Called Wanda to name a few iconic favorites.  I still howl with laughter thinking about sketches and scenes from these shows and films.

As can be the case however,  the personal stories and "real life" of a comedy star or personality may not measure up in interest to their body of work on the big and small screen.  I think it was Rita Heyworth who said, "Every man went to bed with Gilda and woke up with me."  So, Anyway did not deliver.

If the reader is expecting a book full of great stories surrounding the making of these iconic films and television shows, you will be disappointed.  The book reads more like the notes of a lifetime of psychiatric visits of a man trying to get to the bottom of why he is who he is and how he could pin blame on people who messed him up.  I really don't mean multiple people--as the focus of his angst is his mother.  A more accurate book title would be "Let's Beat Up on Mummy."  Mummy was emotionally distant.  Mummy was a dimwit.  Mummy made me have fractured relationships with women, etc. etc.  Particularly disturbing  to me was a lengthy story in which he verbally baited his mother and answered her questions with responses he must have thought Oh So  Clever.  These jokes at his mother's expense were made in the company of friends and made her look uneducated and stupid. How nice.

The book is practically at the conclusion before he sort of mentions Fawlty Towers and Monte Python and practically nothing on A Fish Called Wanda.  The only wife he mentions is the fabulous Connie Booth--and nothing about their professional collaboration.  The majority of the book concerns memories of his while still in a pram,  English boy's school stories, and the fits and starts of his work at the BBC under the guidance of David Frost.  The book races along at break neck speed--sort of like a Basil Fawlty comedy routine--and the multiple tangent trains of thought are brought back on point with the phrase,  So Anyway.

If you are interested in Cleese's frenetic writing style and information about his life before the iconic creativity, this one is for you.   If you want to read a book penned by a man in his mid 70s who is still blaming is mother for his troubles--grab yourself a copy.  If you want to see this fabulous comedian in some timeless comedy--you might be better served by viewing some DVD's.
I received this book from Blogging for Books for this review.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Elkhorn Antique Market August 11, 2019

"Summer afternoon, summer afternoon--to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language." Henry ...