Went and saw the cinema (re)broadcast of the final Monty Python show last night that was held on Sunday.
To me, the evening was bittersweet.
The show was lovely. Well put together. Beautiful sets and costumes. I love how everything blended together in true Pythonesque fashion. The guys were better than I expected. Truly, I thought I was going to see a bunch of old men making fools of themselves. On the contrary. Sure, they are old men, but they tried. Eric Idle and Terry Gilliam, I thought, were especially in top form. Still quite energetic for their age. Michael Palin as well. Now, John Cleese, I thought, was fine, but he sure sounded like there was an elephant sitting on his chest. I thought he was going to keel over during the Anne Elk sketch. And Terry Jones just seemed tired. Understandably so. I loved how they were able to laugh at themselves when they got sidetracked at some points (like during the Parrot Sketch or when Eric's mustache was falling off during Nudge Nudge). I admit, they've become such lovable old men. Hah hah.
So for all the laughs, how was it I left feeling empty and depressed??
All the glitter and comedic reverie seemed only to mask a void. An unfairness that Graham wasn't there. He wasn't there to shout "BURMA!". Wasn't there to sing "Christmas in Heaven". Or to cry he didn't like Spam. Or to dress all spiffy in a white tux and say his goodbyes along with the rest of them. It just didn't seem fair at all. So I don't know if anyone else in the (rather small) audience saw me crying during the "Christmas in Heaven" number right into "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life". I frankly don't care. I imagined him up there. Wondered what he would have been like at 73 years old.
So, Graham, I will drink a gin to you, my favorite Python. Too special for this world. Bit the dust too soon.
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