Thursday, July 17, 2008

"But it's My Only Line!"

When I was a little boy in a very boring town, my beloved older sister turned me on to an incredible window into another world: Monty Python's Flying Circus.

Carol is Mrs. Atilla the Hun

Mrs. Premise and Mrs. Conclusion; The Larch; "Cuidade, cuidade, cuidade - los llamas!" But most of all - even more than the glory that was Terry Jones in drag or Graham Chapman on a tear - I adored Carol Cleveland.

She had the deadpan, not-quite-in-on-the-joke affect of Margart Dumont, plus a very specific early-70s glamor that was a nice offset for the Python boys, whether she was playing a bride in search of a bed or a girlfriend attacked by Deidre, a terrifying hag who "smells a bit, but has a heart of gold."

Sadly, though, I didn't grow up to be a kicky Brit TV blonde. In fact, I suppose, I'm great deal more like a far more recent crush: the extraordinary Mrs. Bubbles DeVere.

While shopping last weekend at a vast outlet clearance scale, I heard a peal of Mr. Muscatoish laughter two rows over. I trotted over to find him propped against some shelves, heaving with giggles, holding up a terrycloth wrap with a velcro close. "I thought," he gasped, "They made these up for Bubbles!"

Fortunately, I was able to convince him not to buy it. But really, it looked very comfortable...

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