Post-Script

Where are they Now?

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Recently, I was talking about my personal MPS history project with Joe Foering, a.k.a. Gary the Cola Preacher ("Preach, Foering, preach!"). We were comparing some of the people from MPS with members of Monty Python.

Jon Kilgannon, with his towering dark presence and sarcastic, intellectual humor, we felt was a good substitute for John Cleese. Likewise, Matt Pyson, with his reddish hair and subtle silliness, was our answer to Graham Chapman.

Mark Sachs, good at playing affable loons and twisted authority figures, had something of Michael Palin in him, while Bernhard Warg's penchant for playing the most twisted and physically odd characters made him our Terry Gilliam.

"I've always seen myself as the Eric Idle of the group," Joe said.

"So... that makes me Terry Jones?" I asked.

"No...."

"CAROL CLEVELAND?????? I thought at least I'd get to be one of writers!"

"Well, you look better in a skirt," Joe said.

He does have a point. I've seen Bernhard in a skirt, and it isn't pretty.

But it doesn't really matter if I have a direct counterpart among the original members of Monty Python. What matters was simply that, among the Technicolor lunacy of the MPS, I belonged.

Somebody asked me recently how I first found out about the Penn State Monty Python Society. As I told him: "I discovered the MPS while bored in an Amnesty International meeting. Glancing up at the corkboard, a flyer featuring a cartoon Gumby drew my eye. After the meeting, I jotted down the information and showed up at the next MPS meeting. As it turned out, MPS meetings conflicted with Amnesty International meetings, so Amnesty International lost out. Dictators about the world breathed a sigh of relief."

Amnesty International was a worthwhile cause, it's true. But the Monty Python Society, it was a way of life.

Showing up at a meeting, you never knew what (or who) awaited you, what sort of madcap, off-the-wall silliness: whether it was someone cross-dressing or endless jokes about Spam. Whether it was tongue-in-cheek political humor or somebody running around the room with a silly prop, playing a bizarre version of "duck duck goose."

Stress relief? Definitely.

Bonding? Most certainly.

Silly? Indubitably.

The people I met in the Penn State Monty Python Society were my homies, my peeps. They understood me, and most importantly, they didn't judge me. I've never met a more genuinely caring and supportive group of people. Does occasionally lapsing into a poor British accent have anything to do with it? Perhaps.

I have a theory, which is mine, about the role of pop culture in the modern world. In this global world, the world of instant messaging and satellite television, we no longer sit around campfires with our clans, sharing stories of our ancestors. Instead, our instant ability to communicate with like-minded people all around the world gives us the ability to form our own subcultures, our own tribes.

For instance, if you're a David Bowie fan, you might connect with other David Bowie fans. Or if you're a dog fancier, with other dog fanciers. Britney Spears haters with other Britney Spears haters. You get the idea.

But it's not just the pop cultural artifact that links you, I believe. Something inherent in your personality, something about who you are, what you believe, what you value, made you identify with that pop cultural artifact, be it Ben and Jerry's ice cream or Gérard Depardieu.

In the case of Monty Python fans, I'd guess there's something about us that identifies with the sort of humor that troupe represented. Something about us loves their playful satire of the world's dogmas (religion, politics, celebrity worship); their oblique yet relevant social commentary; their nonsensical thrashing of old clichés; their affectionate (nudge-nudge wink wink) teasing about our every day experiences.

And the sex jokes. Especially the sex jokes.

Monty Python, in essence, is about the very nature of being human. So are all humans Monty Python fans? No, but perhaps they should be.

To quote George Herbert Walker Bush, in his landmark work, All I Really Need to Know I Learned at the Monty Python Society:

 

Truer words were never spoken. We should all take them to heart and learn from these silly sketches, movies, books and films to live fuller, richer lives filled with archbishops and crunchy frogs. I know I do.

Now, bugger off.

 

Still silly after all these years