Peter Sellers, International Man of Mystery
The opening bars of "Soul Bossa Nova" were an instant signifier that the Go-Go cool of Peter Sellers' classic work was the touchstone for Austin Powers (That, and the glasses). It's a broad frame of reference, encompassing sight gags, awful puns, brilliant parody, and an abounding silliness. Though the films stand brilliantly on their own two feet, they do often pay direct hommage to Sellers, and before we get into all that, we feel compelled to point out the utter weirdness of seeing such a cool (and utterly serious) preview for Casino Royale.
Anywho, the scene at Alotta Fagina's penthouse is based on a sketch Peter did with Sophia Loren, "I Fell in Love With an Englishman". At every occassion, in response to Alotta's silky seductiveness, Austin is unrelettingly awkward, cracking bad jokes, fumbling with his cravat, farting in the hot tub. But he still shags her.
In Goldmember, there's a direct lift of a gag from 1966's After the Fox, where Nathan Lane lip sync's for Beyonce.
Most of the references to Sellers are more oblique, such as the next scene, where Myers speaks "English English" with Michael Caine, calling to mind Sellers' "A Right Bird".
Or the prelude to "Scotty Don't", where Dr. Evil and the Frau toss "yeah's" at each other in the style of Sellers' classic "She Loves You" renderings.
But our favorite hommage to Peter Sellers from all three films is Dr. Evil's speech to a group therapy session lead by Princess Leia. The deadpan zaniness is one of Sellers' comedic calling cards, and while there's plenty of examples to share, the one that always comes to mind is "Setting Fire to the Policeman".
Labels: jodru
posted by jodru at 17:42
6 Comments:
After the frustration of many failed searches, I bit the bullet and transcribed to the best of my abilities, Setting Fire to the Policeman. The writing credits list Munro-Smith as the authors... no idea who he/she/they would be. Anyway, this seems like a fine place to post it, and so, here in its entirety, is the text from "Setting Fire to the Policeman" Enjoy!
-Ersatz McCoy
Setting Fire to the Policeman,
70 years ago, long before the days of the wireless and the cinematograph entertainment. We young lads had to make our own amusements.
Such games as stoning the lamplighter, and tripping the muffin man – provided harmless outlets for the release of our boyish energy.
But the most popular of all our escapades was undoubtedly the one called, quite simply, setting fire to the policeman.
Now this risky operation was invariably carried out at night. Since darkness made it less likely that we would be recognized, and at the same time lent dramatic emphasis to the spectacle of the flaming bobby.
Eh-There were several alternative methods and variations used in perpetrating this jape, but I will confine myself to describing the standard procedure we usually employed.
Three carefree young limbs would sally forth for the evening, each one knowing by heart what he had to do.
One lad, selected for his fleetness of foot, would be wearing plimsoles.
Another, chosen for his golden ringlets and generally angelic appearance, would be clad in a velvet suit.
Whilst the third, uh, the strongman of the party, would be carrying a packet of lucifers, and an enormous bucket which was half filled with kerosene.
The time of the rendezvous with the previously selected, but unsuspecting constable (always a man known for his good nature and his kindness to children), it was planned to the split-second. And it was so arranged that the encounter took place in the darkest portion of some ill-lit street.
On arrival at the appointed place the team would spring into action like clockwork. Pretending to blubber, you see, the velvet clad cherub would approach the officer and murmur, rather inaudibly through his sobs, that he was lost. Whereupon the worthy custodian of the law would kneel or bend down in order to make out what the pathetic infant was saying.
Now then, at this, at this precise moment, the bearer of the kerosene filled bucket would swiftly emerge from the shadows and empty the entire contents of his utensil over the pillar (?). Then, like lightening, the Lucifer was produced, struck, run along the hem of the blue tunic and, hey presto, yet another policeman in a state of combustion. Well done lads.
Very well, there’s no time to be lost in self congratulation. The fire brigade must be summoned before the constable can sustain any serious burns. So off like the wind goes our young runner to the nearest fire station, his twinkling plimsoles barely touching the pavement as he speeds on his errand of mercy.
Before long, the exciting sound of the horse-drawn fire appliance can be heard in the distance, growing louder every second. Now this sound, unfortunately, is something that is no longer to be heard nowadays. Pity. True the bell still rings, but where is the heavy rumble of the wheels, the jingling of the harness, the crack of the whip, the clatter of the hooves, the snorting and the panting of the horses? Now they were sounds to stir the blood… gone, alas, forever. And gone with them, half the fun of the fire, but I digress.
Our policeman is by now well and truly alight. See how he lights up the dingy street for yards around? Franticly he blows his whistle and flails himself about the body with his truncheon, in a vain attempt to put out the flames. A knot of eager spectators has now gathered and many a course jibe and ribald comment will be made at the expense of the luckless limb of the law. Perhaps a wag in the crowd will cry out something like “policemen should keep cool at all times”. Or an elderly slattern reeking of intoxicants may be heard to shriek “smoking on duty, that’s what ‘e’s a doing - ought to have the law on him, that’s what.” Each sally being greeted by a general burst of merriment from the assembled bystanders. Hehehe…
The policeman’s plight would seem to be desperate, but, help is close at hand. The fire appliance draw up with great commotion and the nimble firemen leap into action. There is no time to find a hydrant and the hand pump is operated at once from the emergency barrel which is always carried. Whist his perspiring comrades pump valiantly, one brave fellow takes the hose and gets as near to the incandescent officer as the heat of the flames will allow. The flow of water is released, and the stream is directed point blank at the target.
Much too soon it’s all over. There is nothing to look at, save the charred and saturated object, scarcely recognizable as a human being lying on the pavement.
The sightseers, their holiday mood gone, begin to disperse in silence and go about their business. Sometimes before they went, one of their number would make a collection on behalf of the gallant little lad who had the presence of mind to run to the fire station. On these days it was three tired, but very happy youngsters who trudged with their golden sovereigns and half sovereigns jingling in their pockets, very pleased with their evenings work and after all, who can blame them?
All this, as I say, took place more then 70 years ago. But even today, whenever I see a policeman I am still gripped by an almost insane desire to set fire to him.
You have done a great service.
Cheers!
Then why not do one more... (not positive on the song title mentioned... also, "bar school" was as best as I could make out, given my SoCal upbringing and MD residing - guess I could run it by one of my brit friends) - also, most occurrences of "who" are pronounced "oo" but I think I'm probably preaching to the choir on that one...
-EM
A Right Bird
1st man: WhooAaah, she was a right bird, wasn’t she?
2nd man: What?
1st man: I say she was a right bird, wasn’t she?
2nd man: Who?
1st man: Marge.
2nd man: Marge?
1st man: Yeah, you remember Marge, don’tcha?
2nd man: No.
1st man: Course you do. You remember the party you come to at our place, the one for my mum’s golden wedding.
2nd man: Wha’, when we set fire to her curtains?
1st man: Yeah that’s it. Well, ‘er.
2nd man: Who, your mum?
1st man: Nooooo, the bird.
2nd man: What bird?
1st man: You know the one that works at the pickle factory with our Reg!
2nd man: Who?
1st man: God almighty! Our Reg! The cousin of mine who come outta bar school and got engaged to the girl next door.
2nd man: Oh yeah.
1st man: Well ‘er.
2nd man: Oh your Reg’s girl?
1st man: No, no not Reg’s girl, you twit! Our Reg works with this bird. Listen, she was the sister of that bird who was with that fellow who tried to lay one on you that night.
2nd man: Oh yeah?
1st man: Well you remember ‘er?
2nd man: No.
1st man: You don’t? You must do, you! - She sang, don’t you remember she sang “anyone w’out an ‘eart?”… and her stockings fell down?
2nd man: Oh, oh that one, I remember ‘er. All that black ‘air all up at the back.
1st man: Yeah!
2nd man: And the tight green sweater?
1st man: Yeah!
2nd man: Red skirt and the pink shoes wi’ the big stiletto ‘eels on?
1st man: Yeah, yeah!
2nd man: Yeah, I remember ‘er.
1st man: Yeah, now right, now do you remember ‘er mate?
2nd man: No, don’t remember no mate.
1st man: You don’t remember ‘er mate? You must do, you remember the bird who reckoned she could drink four stout, four scotches, four crème de menthes and then did it?
2nd man: Oh yeah.
1st man: And you held her head down after!
2nd man: Yeah!
1st man: Well ‘er!
2nd man: Little bit in the matador pants with the split all down the …
1st man: Yeah!
2nd man: Yeah, was that Marge?
1st man: Yeah!
2nd man: Yeah I remember ‘er, what about ‘er?
1st man: WELL, SHE WAS A RIGHT BIRD, WASN’T SHE?!
2nd man: Yeah!
1st man: Well!
Great job! This is one of my favourite comedy monologues of all time. Black comedy at its finest.
One little thing: it's not "pillar" in "empty the entire contents of his utensil over the pillar", it's "peeler" -- London bobbies used to be called by this nickname many years ago, after Robert Peel who founded the Metropolitan Police in London.
Thanks again for a great job!
Lyndon! Thanks for the clarification of "peeler." This was a labor of love, and so it's nice to have it right.
-Ersatz McCoy
This just in... just ran across this: http://www.archive.org/details/SettingFireToThePoliceman
'twould seem Brainiac has eaten poor Mr. Sellers... very bizarre. Is resistance futile? So it would seem...
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