The heyday of Monty
Python’s surrealist comedy coincided with my teen years, without a doubt a
formative time for me but likewise for 1970s arts and culture. The free-flowing
absurdity of the Pythons’ Flying Circus TV show spared no one from its madness, least of all those who
took themselves seriously. The members of the troupe—Graham Chapman, John Cleese, Terry Gilliam, Eric Idle, Terry Jones, and Michael Palin—overturned the
conventions of traditional sketch comedy during each 30-minute episode by
offering an irreverent and always completely different take on wildly disparate
topics. My high school friends and I were such fans we could freely recite our
favorite skits verbatim.
Nudge, nudge, know what I
mean? Say no more … Know what I mean?
It’s not pining. It’s passed
on. This parrot is no more . . . THIS IS AN EX-PARROT!
Nobody expects the Spanish
Inquisition!
The profession of architecture, with its air of self-importance
and the arrogance of many of its most notable practitioners, proved a worthy target
for Monty Python’s silly brand of satire. First seen in Episode 17 of the TV
show, “The Architects Sketch” is classic Python; watch the video above.
Wikipedia describes the sketch as follows:
The sketch proper begins
with Mr. Tid (Chapman) in an office with two City gents (Palin and Jones). On a
table near the window stand two architectural models of tower blocks. Mr. Tid
informs the City gents that he has invited the architects responsible to
explain the advantages of their respective designs.
First to arrive is Mr.
Wiggin (Cleese), who describes his architectural design and modern
construction, and then explains his killing technique starting with a conveyor
belt and 'rotating knives'. It turns out that Mr. Wiggin mainly designs
slaughterhouses and has misunderstood the owners' attitude to their tenants.
When Mr. Wiggin fails to persuade them to accept his 'real beaut' of a design,
he launches into an impassioned tirade against 'you non-creative garbage' and
blackballing Freemasons. When they still reject his design, however, he begs
the increasingly uncomfortable City gents to accept him into the Freemasons.
Once Wiggin has been
persuaded to leave, the second architect, Mr. Leavey (Idle), arrives. As Mr.
Leavey describes the strong construction and safety features of his design, his
model collapses and catches fire in the manner of the (then) recent Ronan Point disaster, accompanied by a
large on-screen caption reading 'SATIRE'. The City gents assure Mr. Leavey that
provided the tenants are 'of light build and relatively sedentary' there should
be no need to make expensive changes to the design. After his design is
accepted, the model explodes. The City gents exchange bizarre Masonic
handshakes with Leavey. Wiggin reappears at the doorway, breaking the fourth
wall to tell the audience 'It opens doors, I'm telling you.'
Apart from the now unfortunate correspondence between Mr. Leavey’s
fire-prone design with last year’s Grenfell Tower conflagration,
the incisive humor of The Architects
Sketch is undeniable.
At the risk of grossly over-generalizing, most architects are
nothing if not insecure. We all crave approbation from our clients (and especially
from our peers). Many architects longingly seek acceptance and admittance within
the rarefied circles of a cultural and political elite (represented in the skit
by the Freemasons). The bottom line is sometimes who you know is more important
than what you bring to the table. Such is the lot of architects in life.
Additionally, The Architects
Sketch mocks our profession’s proclivity toward insufferable, artistic posturing.
Mr. Wiggin’s plaintive rant falls on the deaf ears of the clients, who clearly understand
their own needs more than he cares to. A takeaway: The architect’s duty first and foremost
resides in the client’s functional brief and not to the architect’s personal
agenda, whatever that might be. The irony contained within the sketch is that
the clients choose to look past the conspicuous failings of Mr. Leavey’s design,
their affiliation as Freemasons trumping all.
Some architects might say Monty Python’s skewering of architects
was misguided, the “sort of blinkered, philistine pig
ignorance [they've] come to expect from . . . non-creative garbage,” to which I
say they meant it all in good fun, even if the grain of truth is there. It’s a
good thing if The Architects Sketch prompts
a twinge of discomfort and recognition upon viewing. Its timelessness is a
testament to both the Pythons’ genius and the frailties of our profession.
But, but . . . I always wanted to be . . . a lumberjack!
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