Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe - We Regret to Inform You: Rejecting Monty Python

Episode Date: August 20, 2025

This week, more from our Apostrophe Podcast Network family! We think you will enjoy, "We Regret to Inform You: The Rejection Podcast." Sidney O’Reilly shares the stories of successful people who have encountered rejection in their careers – and triumphed nonetheless. For this episode, we enter the wacky world of Monty Python and hear how risky it was for the BBC and others to take a chance on these unconventional comics. So sit back, grab your coconuts and enjoy "Rejecting Monty Python." And for part 2 of the story, check out "We Regret to Inform You" on whatever platform you are using to listen to this podcast.  Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Art has power to inspire us, to unite us, to give us solace and courage when we need it most, to create important stories, lasting memories, a sense of belonging. Your National Art Center serves as a catalyst and communities across Canada, empowering artists, inspiring audiences, and bringing us closer together. Learn more at nac.c.c.c.a slash create in Canada. So if you've been listening to this podcast for a long time, or if you follow us on Facebook or Instagram, then you will have heard me refer to our little vinyl cafe family. And when I say that or when I write that, what I mean is you, the audience, but also our team here

at the vinyl cafe, it really feels that way to me like a family. And like all families or like most families, ours has expanded over the years. And I'm delighted to say that part of our family is now the apostrophe podcast network. As you've heard me say every week since we started, they release this podcast every single week. And they do so much more than that. They are a joy to work with. And you may not know this, but most of the apostrophe podcast network is also a family, a family of O'Reilly's.

You probably know Terry O'Reilly from under the influence on CBC radio, but you might not know that many of the apostrophe folks are related to Terry O'Reilly. There's his amazing wife, Debbie, Debbie O'Reilly, and two of his kids, Callie O'Reilly and Sidney O'Reilly. Sydney has a podcast of her own now, a show called We Regret to Inform You. It's one of the other awesome podcasts from the Apostrophe Podcast Network. But as you know, we've been taking a bit of a break this summer up backstage at the vinyl cafe. We'll be back in a couple of weeks of the brand new season of the podcast, but we thought

it might be fun to share something different for you to listen to while we're away. And we like to keep things in the family. So from our family to yours, this is Sydney O'Reilly with We Regret to Inform You. This is an apostrophe podcast production. This is a production. the Rejection podcast The BBC hierarchy basically hated the show and didn't want to do it.

Terry Jones Post-war Britain stood victorious but vulnerable. Four hundred and fifty thousand lines. lives lost, cities badly bombed, rationing that would continue well into the mid-50s. Eric Idol said England at the time was in black and white, very duffelcoat wearing, very respectable, very serious. News announcers on the radio wore black ties. The first ever televised coronation of Queen Elizabeth II in 1953 was the key event that probably was the key event that probably

prompted many UK households to purchase their first television set. There was just one single television channel. That channel broadcasted a few hours in the morning, followed by a few hours in the evening. In between was dead air. And coronations aside, the BBC wrote that programming at that time ranged from the banal to the dry to the niche. Radio, on the other hand, was something completely different. Yes, radio had delivered important news throughout the war, but it also offered much-needed levity, bringing music and comedy to the masses at an affordable cost, including, in 1951, a series called The Goon Show.

The Goon Show was a BBC radio comedy series starring four goons, Peter Sellers, Spike Milligan, Harry Seacom, and, Michael Bentine. Originally titled Crazy People, the show was conceived on long nights Milligan and Seacombe spent in the Royal Artillery. The Goons was as beloved as it was groundbreaking, a madcap of sketch comedy, musical interludes, and gleeful absurdity, seasoned generously with irreverence and sound effects that defied explanation. On the radio, the Goons did the most goonish things one could imagine. imagine, because they were relying on just that imagination. They could explode bombs, fall through trap doors, drink an entire lake's worth of water without having to build a single set. Their

audience's minds filled in the goonish gaps. The goons were a major influence on the Beatles, and John Lennon in particular. It said Lennon picked up two records on his 16th birthday, Elvis Presley's hound dog and the goons the yingtong song. And across the country, four other lads from England, one from Wales and another from across the pond, were also giggling over the goons. John Cleese and Graham Chapman met at the University of Cambridge at an audition for the campus sketch comedy.

troop. Kleece said he was perusing the student clubs, walked up to the sketch comedy booth, and they asked, could he sing? He said no. Could he dance? He said no. The only thing worse than his singing was his dancing. So they asked what he could do, and Kleeze said, I make people laugh. So Kleece was invited to audition, where he was introduced to Chapman. Kleece didn't really like Chapman. But were invited to join the troupe. They were paired up as writing partners, started meeting regularly to write, and Cleese just forgot he didn't like him. Cambridge's review called Clump of Plinths was such a hit it made its way to London's West End and even to Broadway. The following year, a new cast member joined the troupe, Eric Idle. Idle would go on to lead the troop, becoming president

in 1965. Meanwhile, two hours away over at Oxford University, two chaps named Michael Palin and Terry Jones joined the Oxford Review, also indulging in a, quote, peculiarly British strain of student humor. So that Cambridge lads traveled over to the city of dreaming spires to suss out their competition. Meanwhile, a Minnesotan named Terry Gilliam saw the Cambridge troop on tour in New York. Basically, a group of highly educated lads with highly goonish senses of humor

all became aware of one another. But they had more in common than they realized. John Cleese had parents who were serious, about their son getting into a respectable field, like accounting or law. Graham Chapman, the son of a policeman, was set to go to medical school. Michael Palin's father thought acting was the way to rack and ruin, and sent him to Oxford to become something. Terry Gilliam's mother wanted him to be a medical psychologist. Terry Jones was a Chaucer-fueled expert in medieval and ancient history, and Eric Idle,

well, Eric Idol always wanted to write. After college, Cleese desperately disappointed his parents when he started writing for a television show called That Was the Week That Was, TW, TW, TW, or TW3, was a late-night show on the BBC hosted by David Frost. When the show was canceled in 1964, Frost called Cleese and asked if he'd come on board his new television series called The Frost Report. On that show, he wanted Cleese to write and act. Each week, the Frost Report did a deep dive on a different topic. The first week, it was authority. The second week, holidays, then sin, then elections. Cleese said the shows were epic shattering in what was a very deferential culture. Soon, more writers joined, and for the

first time, John Cleese, Graham Chapman, Eric Idol, Michael Palin, and Terry Jones all worked together. Making the Frost Report was a high. All day, they'd write, send off their best jokes, and watch them air that night. But by the second season, Cleese was growing a little frustrated. Stifled by the format of the sketches, the tyranny of the punchline. The fact, irreverent and silly ideas would be pitched in the writer's room, everyone would laugh, then immediately veto the idea. Because, what if audiences didn't get it? The Frost Report lasted only two seasons. In 1967, Palin, Idol, and Jones started writing for a children's show called Do Not Adjust Your Set,

with a fresh-off-the-tarmac Terry Gilliam doing animation. A show that, in spite of its target audience being under the age of 12, Cleese said was his treat for the week, the funniest thing on television. Then, in 69, Jones and Palin decided they wanted to do something that spoke to their love of history. So they wrote an absurd breakneck tour through key events from the Stone Age to Oliver Cromwell, replayed as if television cameras had been present to capture them. They called it the complete and utter history of Britain. From his days on Frost,

Cleese had become a household name, and in 1969, the BBC offered Cleese his own series. But the actor wasn't a stand-up or presenter. He preferred to be in a clump of plinths. Cleese pushed for an ensemble cast as Cambridge Comrade came on board, and that's when the pair started recruiting their fellow Frost reporters. Oh, and that one animator from the funniest show on television. Gilliam said Cleese and Chapman brought the confidence.

Eric Idol brought the wordplay. Palin and Jones were more conceptual, and he would handle the animation. So the six of them met at Cleese's Flat in Knightsbridge. Idle said it was the perfect intersection of being young and in charge for the first time. The consensus was they wanted to do something that was ahead of its time that tested the audience's taste, the limits of what one could or could not say. Cleese said they had been obeying conventions they didn't agree with for so long.

It was really like somebody had opened a gate to a field of flowers, none of which had been picked, and they just sprinted in. So Cleese clipped-clopped his way over to the BBC to meet with Michael Mills, BBC's soon-to-be head of comedy. Cleese walked into a room full of suits, wearing jeans at a leather jacket, and Mills asked him, so what do you want to do? Cleese said, we want to do a funny show. Mills said, well, what's the show going to be about? Cleese said, we don't know, really. Mills said, what about film?

Are you going to use film? Cleese said, uh, film. Yes, we'll probably use film. Mills said, what about music? What about guest stars? Cleese told him they hadn't thought about that yet. Mills said, and a title? They didn't have a title either.

Clees later said it was the worst interview anyone had ever done. And Mills said, I'll give you 13 episodes. And we'll be right back. Over the past year, I've been spending a lot of time in Edmonton while working on Vinyl Cafe, The Musical. Sometimes I go just for a few days, sometimes I'm there for a week or more, and every single time I stay in an Airbnb home. But here's the fun part.

I've taken four different trips over the past year, and I have stayed in four different Airbnb places. Each one has its own personality. The first was in this cool little neighborhood, Riverdale, super close to downtown, but tucked away and quiet. Big trees, a great park, and an amazing neighborhood coffee shop just a few doors down. Next, I wanted to explore something architecturally interesting, so I booked myself into a brand new, modern garden suite, sleek, minimal, beautifully designed. I loved the light in that space. I'd make coffee in the morning. I'd make coffee in the morning. and sit by the big windows while I prepped for auditions. The next time I was craving something urban, so I booked a suite in Strathcona, a short walk away from a yoga studio, and I tried a new restaurant every evening. It turned a work trip into a city getaway. And the last one? I was there for almost two weeks, so I found myself a house in a quiet residential neighborhood. I'd walk to the citadel theater along the river every morning, stopping for coffee along the way. And after rehearsal, I'd walk

home along the other side of the river. I cook myself a healthy dinner, do some yoga in the second bedroom, and then soak in the private hot tub under the stars. What I've loved most is how easy it's been to find places that feel just right. With guest favorites, the most loved homes reviewed by other guests, every stay has felt like the perfect fit, giving me something different each time. Space, calm, routine, inspiration. That's why I can't. keep coming back to Airbnb, because no matter the trip, there's always a place that feels just right. Art has power to inspire us, to unite us, to give a solace and courage when we need it most, to create important stories, lasting memories, a sense of belonging.

Your National Art Center serves as a catalyst and communities across Canada, empowering artists, inspiring audiences, and bringing us closer together. Learn more at nacc.ca.ca slash create in Canada. The budget would be a measly 5,000 pounds per episode. The BBC cared about John Cleese, and that was pretty much it. The rest had mainly done children's television, and to were, in the eyes of the BBC, says Palin, just journeyman's scriptwriters. Though the BBC did propose they drop Terry Gilliam, why would a live-action TV show need an animator? This wasn't Disney, but the group insisted on Gilliam, and the BBC relented, offering the

animator a hundred pounds extra per week to add animation to whatever this was. The content was yet to be determined, but one thing was for sure. They needed to choose a name for themselves. They cycled through a few options. A horse, a spoon, and a basin. Bun Wicked Buzzard Stubble and Boot Owl Stretching Time You Can't Call a Show Corn Flakes And the Toad Elevating Moment It got to the point the BBC

started referring to the group as the Flying Circus A memo from BBC's head of comedy, Michael Mills, was sent to the show's designated director-producer The subject line, The Circus. It read Please will you have a word with the writers? I haven't reacted to the funny titles that have appeared on the script so far. I hoped that they would cease of their own accord.

However, the time has come when we must stop having peculiar titles and settle for one overall title for the series. Please, would you have words with them and try and produce something palatable? Signed, Michael Mills. The goons liked being called a flying circus. Then someone suggested E.L. Moist's flying circus. Will Strangler's Flying Circus. Then Michael Palin saw a woman's name in the newspaper, Gwen Dibbley.

And he thought, what if they inexplicably called themselves Gwen Dibley's Flying Circus? Just because it would be so hilarious to think of this random, suspecting woman finding out she had her own TV show. Ben Legend has it. Eric Idle took the name of Field Marshal Montgomery, one of Britain's top commanders in World War II, and combined it with a, quote, slippery-sounding surname. Monty Python's Flying Circus The BBC hated the name Monty Python.

What did it mean? What was ever happening? But the group said, okay, if it wasn't Monty Python, they would pick a new name, every single week. And the BBC, regretting every decision they'd ever made up until this point, relented yet again. The pythons liked the idea of adopting a stream of consciousness format, anarchic, absurd. There would be no set-up punchline-set-up punchline. It was too formulaic and done to death. So they broke off into writing partners, went away for two weeks, then met in Jones' dining room to read their ideas aloud. At the end of the day, if it made them laugh, it was a go.

Each show would be 30 minutes. Some sketches would be pre-taped on location, others filmed in front of a live studio audience. All would be intentionally under-rehearsed. The first sketches to make it into the show included Flying Sheep and Famous Deaths presented by Mozart. Filming began and Cleese said, Do you realize we could be the first people in history to do a 30-minute comedy show to complete silence? Palin felt the same. After their first recording, he thought there was no way this was going to work. The pythons were given a discrete time slot, 10.55 p.m. on Sundays.

And on Sunday, October 5, 1969, the first ever episode, of Monty Python's Flying Circus, aired on BBC One. At first, not all regions agreed to broadcast Monty Python. Some viewers thought it was going to be an actual circus and were disappointed. Others thought it was going to be a pleasant little variety show and were stunned. One BBC executive said the first episode was in appalling taste, and what was with the animation? Then letters started flooding the BBC.

The older generation didn't get it. Those born after 1940 couldn't get enough. The show was making noise. Everybody was talking about it, for better or for worse. Idle played weekly football in the park with his friends, and after the first Monty Python show, his mate said, that was a crazy show you did last night. By the second week, they said, that was a really strange show.

By the third week, they said, I like that weird show you're doing. Then by episode four, BBC pulled the plug. Terry Jones said the broadcaster's hierarchy just hated it. But to a band of rebellious 20-somethings, The notion that this irreverent show was being censored by the nation's most respected broadcaster only made it more irresistible. And letters started flooding in again, this time begging the broadcaster to bring the boys back. And against their better judgment, the BBC resuscitated Monty Python.

Some memos circulating the broadcaster, included the lines. Continually going over the edge of what is acceptable. This episode contained two really awful sketches. The treatment of the national anthem is not amusing. The values of the program are nihilistic and cruel. Parts of this episode are disgusting. And the death sequence was in appalling taste. Once in the middle of a shoot, a middle class lady came up to Eric Idle and said, oh, Monty Python, I hate you lot. And the pythons took it as the ultimate compliment. Jones said the BBC was changing, more sensitive to political pressure,

and special attention was being paid to the pythons because they were, quote, naughty boys. They continued to put out episode after episode to rave reviews. But by the third season, the BBC demanded to see each episode before it air. By the 70s, the pythons put out records. They started doing live shows touring around Britain and Canada. They didn't make any money, but throngs of people showed up dressed in costumes, armed with catchphrases. Paul McCartney even came out to see the circus. They put out a film of their best sketches, but they didn't have final cut, and that was the final.

straw. By season four, Cleese felt like they'd run their course. He took a step back from the show appearing as a guest star only in what would become their last season. They'd reached the highest tower of the sketch comedy castle. Perhaps it was time they moved on. Then they got word. Another broadcaster was interested in bringing the flying circus to town. PBS. Wait. Were they suggesting these coconuts migrate? In our next episode, the Knights of the Roundtable head west. Hugh Hefner enters the chat, rabbis protest, and the life of Monty Python is saved by a beetle.

Join us next time for Rejecting Monty Python, Part 2. The Rejection podcast is an apostrophe podcast production and is recorded in our airstream mobile recording studio. This series is written by me, Sydney O'Reilly. Production and research, Alison Pinch's, director Callie O'Reilly, engineer Jeff Devine, theme music by James Aiton, Jeremiah Pick, and Casey Pick. provided by APM music, and we're powered by ACAST. If you enjoyed this episode, you might also like Rejecting Jesus Christ Superstar from Season 3.

Jesus Christ Superstar is one of the most successful musicals of all time, grossing $230 million worldwide. But before a composer Andrew Lloyd-Weber and lyricist Tim Rice launched their Technicolor dream careers, the pair was told their proposal of a Christ-themed musical was the worst idea in history. They were rejected by music labels, producers, emprosarios, then came news from the Vatican. Major sources for this episode are listed in the show notes on our website, apostrophepodcasts.ca.ca. Follow us on socials at ApostrophePod.

This series is executive-produced and co-hosted by Terry O'Reilly. See you next time. Art has power to inspire us, to unite us, to give us solace and courage when we need it most, to create important stories, lasting memories, a sense of belonging. Your National Art Center serves as a catalyst and communities across Canada,

empowering artists, inspiring audiences, and bringing us closer together. Learn more at nacc.ca.ca slash create in Canada.