The Complete Fawlty Towers Page 3

  Melbury: Yes, yes, certainly. Well, I’ll be off in a few moments. (he leaves)

  Basil: Well that’s really . . . so incredibly . . . er . . .

  Sybil: Basil!!

  Basil: I’m talking to Lord Melbury!

  Mr. Wareing (slow and loud): A . . . gin . . . and orange . . . a lemon squash . . . and a scotch and water please!

  Basil: All right! All right!

  The reception bell rings urgently; it is Polly. Basil runs out clutching the coins in a box.

  Polly: Oh, Mr. Fawlty . . .

  Basil: Was that Lord Melbury? Has he gone?

  Polly: I rang . . . Mr. Fawlty, I must speak with you.

  Basil: What? . . . can’t you see I’m busy?

  Polly: Please! It’s very important—can we talk in there? (indicating the office)

  Basil: I can’t!

  Sybil (calling from the bar): Basil!!

  Polly: It’s very important!

  Basil (shouting): I’m just dealing with something important out here, Sybil, thank you. (to Polly) All right! (they both go into the office) Yes? Yes, right, well, yes, yes, what is it?

  Polly: It’s about Lord Melbury.

  Basil: Yes?

  Polly: He’s not Lord Melbury . . . he’s a confidence trickster.

  Basil: . . . I beg your pardon?

  Polly: Mr. Brown told me.

  Basil (contemptuously): Haaa!

  Polly: Mr. Brown’s from the CID. They’ve been watching Melbury because he’s pulling some big con trick in the town. They’re going to arrest him when he leaves the hotel so as not to cause you embarrassment. But he asked me to tell you . . .

  Basil (not believing a word of it): Oh, how nice of him!

  Polly: Please, Mr. Fawlty . . .

  Basil: Oh, I don’t know what other tales Mr. Brown of MI5 has been impressing you with but . . .

  Polly: He’s a con man!

  Basil: Oh of course. It stands out a mile, doesn’t it. He’s so common—unlike that cockney git whose ulterior motive will soon no doubt become apparent to you, poor innocent misguided child that you are.

  Sybil (entering briskly): Basil, what is going on?

  Basil: Nothing, my dear, nothing at all.

  Polly: Mrs. Fawlty . . .

  Basil: Now look!

  Sybil: Yes, Polly?

  Basil: I don’t know what she’s . . .

  Sybil: Basil!!!

  Polly: Mr. Brown’s from the CID.

  Basil: Hah!

  Polly: He showed me his identification. They’re watching Melbury. He’s a confidence trickster.

  Sybil: . . . I see. (she goes straight to the safe)

  Basil: What . . . what do you mean, you see?

  Sybil: Let’s have a look at these valuables . . .

  Basil: What are you doing, Sybil? . . . Sybil, I forbid you to open the safe! (she opens the safe) Sybil, I forbid you to take that case out! (she takes the case out) Sybil, do not open that case! I forbid it! (sits down in dismay; she opens the case) I never thought I would live to see the day when a peer of the realm . . . entrusts to us . . . a case of valuables . . . in trust . . .

  Sybil places the open case in front of him. He looks into it for a long time. Then he lifts out an ordinary house brick. Disbelievingly, he shakes it close to his ear, lifts out another and sniffs it, then clinks them together. He puts them down and emits a strange growl.

  Sybil: I’ll call the police.

  Polly: They’re here already, Mr. Brown’s outside. (she leaves; the reception bell rings)

  Sybil: Someone at reception, Basil.

  Basil rises slowly and goes into reception. Hoping it is Melbury, he has clenched his fist—but it is Sir Richard and Lady Morris.

  Basil: . . . Ah! . . . all right . . . er . . . (collects himself) Good evening.

  Sir Richard: I believe you were expecting us.

  Basil: No, I was expecting somebody else. (goes into another reverie)

  Sir Richard: Sir Richard and Lady Morris.

  Basil (absently): Yes, yes, them as well.

  Sir Richard: I’m sorry?

  Basil: How did you know?

  Sir Richard: What?

  Basil: Oh . . . you’re Sir Richard and Lady Morris, I do beg your pardon. I was just think . . . er . . . (he goes off again, thinking revenge; he comes to . . .) Now, would you mind filling this out, please, we’ve given you room . . . (Lord Melbury comes down the stairs) Ah hah!

  Melbury: Ah, Fawlty!

  Basil: Mr. Fawlty to you, Lord Melbury.

  Melbury: I beg your pardon?

  Basil: Oh, nothing, please, forget all about it.

  Melbury: Oh . . . er . . . well . . . here’s the cheque for two hundred pounds . . .

  Basil: Ah, thank you so much. (he bites the cheque and throws it away; the Morrises are transfixed) Now, about my priceless collection of coins . . .

  Melbury: Oh yes . . . er, do you still want . . .

  Basil: Do I still want you to take them to be valued by the Duke of Buckleigh, my lord?

  Melbury: Er . . . yes.

  Basil: No, I don’t. Because we’ve just heard that the Duke of Buckleigh is . . . dead! Yes, he got his head knocked off by a golf ball. Tragic! Tragic! (a pause; he beams at Melbury) Well, how are you, Lord Melbury? . . . ’Ow are yer then—all right, mate? (pinches Melbury’s cheek) ’Ow’s me old mucker? (gives Melbury a friendly slap on both cheeks; the Morrises are totally bemused) Any valuables to deposit, Sir Richard . . . any bricks?

  Melbury rushes off in a panic. Sybil has come up beside Basil, looking anxious.

  Basil (to Sir Richard): I do apologise . . . (shouts after Melbury) You bastard!! . . . (courteous again) We’ve given you room twelve with the view overlooking the park . . . I’m sure you’ll like it . . . we’ll have your bags brought up . . .

  Melbury rushes from the bar across the lobby to the dining room, pursued by a policeman.

  Basil: Hello, Lord Melbury! . . . BASTARD!!

  More policemen rush about.

  Basil (to the Morrises): Please think nothing of it.

  Melbury runs out of the dining room as Polly, running from the bar, knocks the table into him and catches him in an uncomfortable place. As he doubles up, Manuel comes out of the dining room carrying a chair, the corner of which repeats the attack. Melbury doubles up in agony on the floor and is surrounded by the police. Basil walks across smiling politely.

  Basil (to police): Do please excuse me one moment. (he puts the boot in, then retrieves the envelope with his two hundred pounds)

  Sybil: Basil, the Morrises are leaving.

  Outside, the Morrises are getting into their car. Basil hurtles down the steps.

  Basil: . . . Where are you going? . . . Where are you going?

  Sir Richard: We’re leaving!

  Basil: Oh, don’t—please stay—you’ll like it here.

  Sir Richard: I’ve never been in such a place in my life. (they drive off)

  Basil (shouting after them): You snobs! You stupid . . . stuck-up . . . toffee-nosed . . . half-witted . . . upper-class piles of . . . pus!!

  He walks disconsolately back up the steps, where he meets the police escorting Melbury out.

  Basil (begging for a chance to thump Melbury): Just one! Just one!

  Policeman (restraining him): Sorry, Mr. Fawlty.

  Basil: Oh just one, please.

  But the police remove Melbury. Basil gives up, and steps backwards into a tub of flowers; he threatens it with his fist. As he goes into the lobby he meets Danny.

  Danny: Sorry, Mr. Fawlty.

  Basil walks past him back into the lobby.

  Basil: Well, I’d better put the picture up . . . Oh . . . thank you Polly for the . . . well done, Manuel.

  Manuel: Qué?

  Basil: Oh . . . Olé.

  Danny (coming back in): I’m sorry about that, Mr. Fawlty . . . can I buy you a drink?

  Basil: No, no, I’d better put this up, I suppose. (picks up the picture)

&
nbsp; Sybil enters from the bar with Mr. Wareing.

  Sybil: Basil!

  Mr. Wareing (very loudly): A gin and orange . . . a lemon squash . . . and a scotch and water please!!

  Basil: Right! (he slams the picture down) Come on, then! (and he frog-marches Mr. Wareing into the bar)

  THE BUILDERS

  Basil Fawlty ..... John Cleese

  Sybil Fawlty ..... Prunella Scales

  Manuel ..... Andrew Sachs

  Polly ..... Connie Booth

  Major Gowen ..... Ballard Berkeley

  Miss Tibbs ..... Gilly Flower

  Miss Gatsby ..... Renée Roberts

  O’Reilly ..... David Kelly

  Lurphy ..... Michael Cronin

  Jones ..... Michael Halsey

  Kerr ..... Barney Dorman

  Stubbs ..... James Appleby

  Delivery Man ..... George Lee

  Second of first series, first broadcast on 26, September 1975, BBC2.

  The hotel lobby. Polly is behind the desk sorting the mail. A guest approaches the desk.

  Guest: . . . Sorry, I forgot my key. (Gives Polly the key and leaves.)

  Polly: Oh, thanks. (the phone rings; she answers it) Hallo, Fawlty Towers . . . yes . . . yes . . . no, this afternoon, that’d be fine . . . no, it’s sixteen Elwood Avenue . . . sixteen, that’s it. Thank you.

  She rings off. Basil comes down the stairs carrying two suitcases, followed by Sybil.

  Basil: I’ll put these outside, shall I dear?

  He goes out through main entrance. Sybil gives Polly a piece of paper.

  Sybil: Polly, this is where we’ll be if you need us. There’s the number. So if Mr. Stubbs wants to know anything when he comes, just ring, but don’t if you don’t have to, love, it’s the first weekend we’ve had off since Audrey had her hysterectomy.

  Polly: Not to worry. I know what they’ve got to do. Oh, and somebody called about a garden gnome.

  Sybil: Oh, yes.

  Polly: Well, it’s in, and they’re going to deliver it this afternoon.

  Sybil: Oh, good. (to herself) Golf shoes . . . (the Major comes in) Good morning, Major.

  The Major: Very well, thank you.

  Sybil (to Polly): Now, does everyone know about dinner tonight?

  Polly: I think so.

  Sybil: But you’ll be able to handle breakfast tomorrow, will you?

  Polly: Oh yes, there’s just the ladies and the Major.

  Sybil: Now where are those shoes?

  She makes for the drawing room (the door to which is in the rear wall to the left of the main entrance). Manuel enters from the dining room, practising English to himself.

  Manuel: One moment please. I will het your vill. I will . . . hhhet your vill.

  Polly: Manuel . . . Get your bill.

  Manuel: I will het your bill?

  Polly: Get, guh, guh.

  Manuel: Get! Guh, guh, guh!

  Polly: That’s it.

  Manuel (trotting off): I will get your vill.

  Sybil comes out of the drawing room with her golf shoes.

  Sybil: Oh, Manuel—put these in the cases, will you?

  She gives Manuel the shoes and goes into the office. Manuel looks at the shoes, confused. Basil comes back in.

  Basil: Ah, now, Manuel! While we’re away . . .

  Manuel (proudly): One moment please, I will get your bill! (he bows)

  Basil: What?

  Manuel: I will get your bill. Si?

  Basil: What are you talking about?

  Manuel: Listen, please . . . Today . . . we have veef, beal or sothahhhes!

  Basil: What?!

  Manuel: Bang . . . hhhers.

  Basil: Shut up.

  Manuel: Qué?

  Basil: Shut up!

  Manuel: Oh, si, si—‘Shut up’. Yes, I understand, yes.

  Basil: Well, will you shut up, then?

  Manuel: Si, si, I shut up.

  Basil (very slowly): . . . While we’re away . . .

  Manuel: Shut up.

  Basil: Shut up! . . . While we’re away . . . gone . . . clean the windows. (Manuel nods blankly) Ah . . . Look . . . Quando nosotros somos . . . what’s ‘away’ in Spanish?

  Manuel: Qué?

  Basil: ‘Away’ . . . You know . . . ‘away’. Away!

  Manuel: Oh, si, si. (starts to leave)

  Basil: No, not you! Us! (catches him) Clean the windows! (Manuel stares; Basil points to the dining room)

  Manuel: Green?

  Basil: No, look—clean . . . the windows . . . (puts a handkerchief in Manuel’s hand and circulates the latter)

  Manuel (continuing the circular movement uncomprehendingly): Clean?

  Basil: Go on, go on!! (he picks Manuel up and carries him into the dining room, past the Major . . .)

  The Major: Morning, Fawlty.

  Basil: Morning, Major . . . (and deposits him in front of the window)

  Basil (demonstrating): The window! See . . . look—clean the windows!

  Manuel continues to do so. Basil turns to leave but Miss Tibbs and Miss Gatsby have blocked his exit. They look playful.

  Miss Tibbs: Mr. Fawlty.

  Basil: Ah, good morning, ladies.

  Miss Tibbs: Ursula and I think you’re a very naughty boy, don’t we, Ursula?

  Basil (to himself): Oh God . . . (with an attempt at charm) Oh really?

  Miss Tibbs: Going away for the weekend and leaving us all alone.

  Miss Gatsby: Tch, tch, tch.

  Basil: Ah, yes.

  Miss Tibbs: Ah, but we know where you’re going—the cat’s out of the bag.

  Miss Gatsby (coyly): You and your wife!

  Basil: Well, it’s only Paignton.

  Miss Tibbs (patting his arm): Aah! Well, have a lovely time. It’ll do you good. You need to get away from things.

  Basil: Yes, well, we’re going together . . .

  Miss Gatsby: And don’t you worry about us.

  Basil: Oh! All right! Now . . . you know men are coming to do some work here?

  Miss Tibbs: Oh, yes.

  Basil: So you have to go to Gleneagles for your din-dins tonight? Yes? And Polly will be in charge if you need anything.

  Miss Tibbs: Now, have a lovely weekend.

  Miss Gatsby: And don’t do anything we wouldn’t do.

  Basil: Just a little breathing, surely? (he manages to get away from them) Well, I must buzz off now. (he goes into the lobby)

  Miss Tibbs: Buzz?

  Miss Gatsby: Yes, you know, Abitha . . . bubbity-bumble.

  Miss Tibbs: Oh, buzz, buzz, buzz . . .

  In the lobby, Basil is going behind the reception desk when he notices, lying on it, a drawing of Polly’s. She comes in from the office as he stares at it.

  Basil: Polly, I’ve asked you please not to leave your strange drawings lying around . . . I’m sorry, but what is this supposed to be?

  Polly: Oh, it’s just a sketch. (she reaches for it)

  Basil (keeping it away from her): But what is it, what are you trying to do, this is a junk yard, isn’t it?

  Polly: Can I have it?

  Basil: Well, why’s it got a collar and tie underneath?

  Polly: It’s not finished.

  Basil: It’s very good . . . you know, old soup tins, broken-down car, dustbins and mattresses and hoovers . . . and a nice smart collar and tie underneath. I mean, what’s it supposed to be?!

  Polly: It’s not important—can I have it back?

  Basil (surrendering it grudgingly): It’s irritating. I mean, do you ever sell any of those?

  Polly: I sell a few portraits now and again, thank you.

  Basil: Choh!

  Polly (quietly): I haven’t much hope for this one.

  Basil: Would you give me the stapler, please. I mean, what is the point of something like that?

  Polly: No point.

  Basil: No point?

  Polly: What’s the point in being alive?

  Basil: Beats me. We’re stuck with it, I suppose. Will you g
ive me the stapler please.

  Polly (giving him the date stamper): If you don’t go on at me.

  Basil: The stapler!

  Polly: Sorry. (gives him the stapler)

  Basil: What’s the matter with you?

  Polly: I didn’t get much sleep last night.

  Basil: We are leaving you in charge.

  The telephone rings. Sybil bustles in from the office and answers it.

  Polly: I didn’t do it to spite you, I promise.

  Basil: Oh good! Well, you won’t feel so tired then, will you.

  Sybil (to phone): Fawlty Towers . . . (to Basil) Basil . . .

  Basil: Who is it?

  Sybil (not pleased): It’s Mr. O’Reilly, Basil.

  Basil (taking the phone): That’s odd. Must be about the garden wall . . . Hallo . . . O’Reilly? Now look! When are you coming to finish the wall? We are sick and tired of having that pile of bricks blocking . . . (seeing that Sybil and Polly are now out of earshot) Now listen, I told you not to call. You know my wife thinks Stubbs is doing the doors . . . Well what time will they be here? . . . Right, four o’clock . . . no, listen, if there are any problems get Polly to call me, you understand? (hears Sybil coming back) So next week’s definite, is it? Oh good, that’ll be nice, won’t it—I mean, we’ve waited for that wall about as long as Hadrian. No, Hadrian. The Emperor Hadrian . . . oh, it doesn’t matter, I’ll explain it next week. Goodbye. (rings off grandly)

  Sybil (unimpressed): You don’t believe all that, do you Basil? We’ve been waiting four months, why should he do it now?

  Basil: Oh, I think he will this time, dear.

  Sybil: If you’d used Stubbs . . .

  Basil: We’d have had a huge bill.

  Sybil: Look! You get what you pay for. O’Reilly’s a cut-price cock-up artist.

  Basil: Oh, Sybil!

  Sybil: With Stubbs, we may pay a little more . . .

  Basil: A little more?

  Sybil: Yes, a little. But he does a really professional job, and he does it when he says he will. You’ll see. When’s he coming?

  Basil: Oh, about four o’clock, I think, dear.

  Sybil: And you’re going to wear that jacket, are you?

  Basil: Yes I am, thank you, dear, yes.

  Sybil: You just haven’t a clue, have you.

  Basil: You wouldn’t understand, dear—it’s called ‘style’.

  Sybil (spotting her friends’ car drawing up): Yoo hoo!! They’re here, Basil.

  Basil: Oh, how fabulous!

  Sybil: Do try and be agreeable this weekend, Basil. Now have I got everything?