Welcome back to the Deep Dive. You are tuning
in for, well, what we think is a crucial shortcut
to being well -informed about one of the most
influential, complicated, and let's be honest,
neurotic, comedic minds of the last century.
That's a good way to put it. Neurotic is definitely
the word. Today, we are undertaking a deep, detailed
exploration of John Cleese, a figure whose influence,
I mean... It spans surreal sketch comedy, iconic
sitcoms, blockbuster Hollywood franchises. And
more and more, this really sharp and often very
controversial political commentary. Exactly.
Cleese's career is less a straight line and more
a series of these explosive creative partnerships.
And they're usually followed by these very deliberate,
almost academic intellectual choices. Right.
And our stack of sources today, it gives us this
phenomenal, really granular look at his entire
evolution from a young Cambridge academic using
humor as a kind of defense mechanism, all the
way to becoming this global voice of satire and
critique. And our mission here is to extract
the crucial insights into his creative mechanism.
How did he actually craft the suppressed rage
of Basil Fawlty or the bureaucratic absurdity
of the Ministry of Silly Walks? And we really
need to understand the influence of his foundational
collaborations. I'm talking about Graham Chapman,
Connie Booth, and even that surprising intellectual
link with the psychiatrist Robin Skiner. And
crucially. We have to analyze his role as this
relentless and, as you said, controversial critic
of bureaucracy in modern culture. He's a master
of precision. Oh, absolutely. The source material
shows that whether he's skewering class anxiety
in a five -minute sketch or spending years writing
a book on family dynamics, his underlying motivation
is, well, it's almost always the same. Challenging
unearned authority. Exactly. We're going to trace
that single motivation from the schoolyard all
the way to the political stage. Understanding
the man who brought us both the dead parrot and,
you know, the fight for human rights through
Amnesty International. An incredible contrast.
OK, so let's unpack this and start literally
at the very beginning. John Marwood Cleese was
born in 1939 in Weston -Super -Mare, Somerset.
Right. But you can't really start a deep dive
into a comedian whose entire work revolves around
names and class and social embarrassment. Without
talking about his original family surname. Exactly.
It's the perfect comedic seed for his whole life's
work. The family name was originally Cheese.
Cheese. It's just, it's almost too good to be
true. I mean, can you imagine the sheer crushing
weight of that name in the rigid British class
system of the early 20th century? It's a punchline
before you've even told a joke. So his father,
Reginald Francis Cleese, decided this name was
just too embarrassing. Embarrassing enough to
formally change it by deed poll in 1923. Though
he'd... apparently already started using clees
when he enlisted in the army during world war
one it's the ultimate almost biblical joke isn't
it the man who would later create one of python's
most famous sketches the cheese shop a satire
on desperate customer service and total bureaucratic
failure was born into the literal inescapable
anxiety of being a cheese it it immediately establishes
this kind of repressed, slightly embarrassed
class anxiety that fuels so much of his comedy.
It absolutely does. It suggests a family that's
striving for respectability, trying to shed a
name that was maybe a bit too working class,
too agricultural. Or silly. Too silly. And that
aspiration, that desperate attempt to appear
proper, is the exact pressure point Cleese targets
in characters like Basil Fawlty. Who is constantly,
desperately trying to punch above his social
wave. Always. And his early education seems designed
to reinforce this striving. He attended St. Peter's
Preparatory School. Paid for by his mother's
inheritance, which is a classic move to maintain
social standing. Right. And later he won an exhibition
to Clifton College at age 13. We see these early
signs that he was much more than just a lanky
comedian. He excelled not only at English, but
also at the highly disciplined, very competitive
sports of cricket and boxing. That discipline
is crucial. He wasn't just observing the world.
He was internalizing the rules of these high
achieving environments only so he could, you
know, deconstruct them later. But the most telling
moment, the foundational shift that really defined
his whole community perspective happened while
he was at Clifton. You're talking about the famous
prank, the one with the Field Marshal Earl Hague
statue. Exactly. The anecdote. And it's a great
one, is that he allegedly painted footprints
on the ground, suggesting the statue, this stiff
-backed embodiment of military authority and
tradition, had climbed off its plinth. And gone
to use the outdoor toilet? It's just an act of
brilliant, low -effort surrealism. And it's aimed
squarely at puncturing pomposity. It's the physical
manifestation of this intellectual realization
he had. Our sources detail that at age 17, when
he was passed over for the role of house prefect.
A huge deal in that kind of school. Oh, a massive
deal. He had this profound realization that authority
was, and this is his quote, not fair, and therefore
it was unworthy of my respect. This isn't just
a disgruntled teenager. This is a philosophical
shift. That moment is the birth certificate.
of Basil Fawlty and of every condescending Python
bureaucrat he ever played. It established this
deep -seated irreverence for any unearned or
arbitrarily maintained power. If authority isn't
based on merit or fairness, Cleese concluded,
then it deserves to be mocked, undermined, and
held in contempt. Which explains why his characters
are so often the ones in authority who are then
exposed as hopelessly incompetent. Or just mad.
Precisely. And as this internal revolution was
brewing, his external influences were shaping
his comedic language. He credits the massive
influence of 1950s BBC radio comedy. The Goon
Show. The Goon Show, written primarily by Spike
Milligan and starring Peter Sellers. It was absolutely
revolutionary. Kids were just obsessed with it.
And why? What was it that was so different? Well,
it completely jettisoned the traditional setup
punchline structure of everything that came before.
It introduced total, often aggressive, audio
surrealism and non -sequitur humor. It gave Cleese
and the future pythons permission to abandon
linearity, to embrace the absurd and to just
follow the internal logic of madness wherever
it led. So he's ready for Cambridge, but even
getting there involves this brief administrative
nightmare, a perfect precursor to his later work.
It really is. He couldn't go straight to university
because the ending of national service had created
this huge backlog of applicants. So he spent
two unexpected years teaching science, English,
history, Latin, and geography at his old prep
school. And as we see throughout Cleese's life,
every single detour becomes useful. That teaching
experience, specifically with Latin, was allegedly
drawn upon when he wrote the scene in Life of
Brian. Oh, the graffiti scene. The graffiti scene,
yes, where he, as a Roman centurion, corrects
Brian's poorly written Latin graffiti, pointing
at the improper use of declensions. It's the
pedantry of a former teacher infused directly
into a joke. He eventually attended Downing College,
Cambridge, to read law, graduating in 1963 with
an upper second. But the real education, the
true creative nexus was... The Cambridge Footlights.
Of course. His audition story for the Footlights
is just a brilliant encapsulation of his whole
personality, confidence wrapped in self -deprecation.
Right. When they asked him if he could sing or
dance, you know, standard review stuff, he just
emphatically said no. He told them he simply
knew how to make people laugh. That self -belief
rooted in his ability to articulate frustration
and absurdity was his key tool. And the Footlights
environment brought him into contact with the
men who would shape the next two decades of British
comedy. Timbrook Taylor, Bill Oddie. And his
future primary writing partner, Graham Chapman.
Their 1963 Footlights review, A Clump of Plinths,
became a sensation. A huge sensation. It was
quickly renamed Cambridge Circus, and it achieved
a level of success that was just unheard of for
a university production. It toured the West.
end went all the way to New Zealand. And eventually
landed them on Broadway, which led to appearances
on The Ed Sullivan Show in October 1964. The
whole structure of British comedy was shifting
dramatically, and Cleese was right at the vanguard.
And it was during his time performing Cambridge
Circus in America, while he was appearing in
the musical Half a Sixpence, that he met American
actress Connie Booth. Connie Booth is perhaps
the most underrated creative partner of his entire
career. I'd agree with that. They married in
1968, and the details of their Unitarian ceremony
in Manhattan perfectly illustrate Cleese's secular
rigor. They actively tried to excise all theistic
language from the ceremony. And they almost succeeded.
They fell short by only a single mention of the
word God, which just speaks to his intense intellectual
skepticism, even when he's dealing with deeply
personal emotional events. Upon returning to
Britain, Cleese fully immersed himself in the
BBC production machine. He's writing for various
radio shows like The Dick Emery Show and joins
the cast of, I'm sorry, I'll read that again.
It's worth noting here, he was sometimes credited
as John Otto Cleese, maybe preferring to sideline
his slightly stuffy middle name, Marwood. Perhaps.
But the true collaboration melting pot, the moment
that really made Monty Python inevitable, was
David Frost's The Frost Report starting in 1965.
That writing staff was. It was just unprecedented.
You had Cleese. Eric Idle, Terry Jones and Michael
Palin. Alongside established greats like Marty
Feldman, Barry Cryer and the iconic duo, the
Ronnie B's Barker and Corbett. It was essentially
the entire future of British sketch comedy, all
clustered in one room. It's unbelievable. And
it was on the Frost Report that Cleese achieved
his performing breakthrough with the classic
class sketch, screened in 1966. This wasn't just
funny. It was a deeply structural piece of social
analysis. It really is. It's mandatory viewing
for understanding British sociology. The genius
of it lay in the physical and linguistic juxtaposition.
Right. So you have Cleese, the tallest of the
three, playing the upper -class patrician, speaking
in that clipped, confident accent of inherited
wealth. Then Ronnie Barker, middle class and
middle height, speaks with a more anxious, careful
tone. And Ronnie Corbett, the shortest, embodies
the working class with a thick accent and a deep
sense of resentment. Cleese delivers that defining
line. I look down on him, Barker, because he's
a middle class oik. And Bark replies, I look
up to him, Cleese, because he's upper class,
but I look down on him, Corbett, because he's
lower class. And Corbett finishes with, I know
my place, precisely. The British Film Institute
noted that this sketch, with its minimal script,
was perfect because it physically and linguistically
twinned height with social position. It made
the entire rigid class structure instantly legible
and hilariously absurd. And this became Cleese's
performance blueprint, didn't it? Exploit his
stature, use clip, precise language, and then
completely undermine the inherent superiority
of that position. Exactly. After the Frost Report,
Cleese teamed up with Chapman, Brooke Taylor,
and Feldman to write At Last. the 1948 show.
Which is significant because it's where they
developed the For Yorkshireman sketch, a sketch
that would become a Python staple, really showcasing
that early collaboration. But the pressure was
mounting. Cleese grew profoundly frustrated with
the writing dynamic with Chapman, largely because
of Chapman's struggles with alcoholism. Cleese
felt he was carrying an undue portion of the
workload. And this desire for efficiency and
a better partnership, it directly caused the
next great merger in British comedy. It did.
He invited Michael Palin, a writer he respected
from the Frost Report for his reliability and
creativity, to join him and Chapman. And Palin,
in turn, brought along the rest of his team from
their show Do Not Adjust Your Set. So that's
Terry Gilliam, the animator. Terry Jones and
Eric Idle. This wasn't some premeditated supergroup.
It was an act of triage by Cleese to find a functional
writing environment, and it resulted in the formation
of the core of Monty Python. So Monty Python's
Flying Circus. It ran for four groundbreaking
series between 1969 and 1974. But what's crucial
for our deep dive here is that Cleese, the meticulous,
quality, conscious writer, famously quit after
the third series. Yes, and he cited two major
issues for that. Graham Chapman's continued issues
with alcohol and what he perceived as a declining
quality in the writing output from the group
as a whole. That decision just highlights his
absolute devotion to maintaining high standards,
even at the cost of abandoning global fame. Within
Python, Cleese carved out two very distinct character
archetypes, and both are rooted in his early
rebellion against authority. The first, which
really capitalizes on his height and his education,
is the sophisticate or the authority figure.
This is the role where he excels at bureaucratic
absurdity. He plays the announcers, TV hosts,
military figures, government officials. He uses
his imposing stature, he's 6 '5", and his precise
diction to convey instant, unquestionable authority.
Only to have that authority reveal itself as
utterly, ridiculously useless or just plain mad.
The definitive example is the Ministry of Silly
Walks. Cleese, wearing the suit of a high -level
civil servant, exploits his long, crane -like
legs to perform this grotesquely elaborate, entirely
impractical walk just to cross the stage. It's
a perfect visual satire. It is. The deadpan performance,
the sheer, unblinking seriousness with which
he performs this pointless labor, is what skewers
the self -importance and inherent inefficiency
of Whitehall bureaucracy. He doesn't need to
say the system is wasteful. He shows the wastefulness
in every absurd leg flinging step. It's physical
comedy rooted in intellectual critique. And then
there's his second great archetype, which is
almost the opposite. The loony. This is where
the suppressed rage of the authority figure just
breaks down into sheer unadulterated madness.
We see this in Mr. Prejo, the Norwegian blue
parrot owner. Who delivers that increasingly
specific and aggressive monologue of complaint.
Right. Or the proprietor of the cheese shop,
whose calm patronizing answers mask the ultimate
ridiculous failure of his shop to stock a single
item of cheese. And whether he was playing the
loony or the sophisticate, he was also the man
in the dinner suit. Known for that formal deadpan
announcement. And now for something completely
different. Which became the title of their first
film, emphasizing the break from convention.
Now, understanding the writing pairs within Python
is essential. The Cleese -Chapman partnership,
though personally challenging, produced Python's
darkest, angriest, and most structurally unique
material. Absolutely. Cleese admitted Chapman
was his greatest sounding board. The dynamic
was often Cleese doing the structural, laborious
work, setting the scene, writing the dialogue
of frustration, until Chapman would arrive with
a single, sudden, surreal suggestion that elevated
the sketch from merely funny to iconic. The dead
parrot sketch is the textbook example of this
creative synthesis. It is. Cleese originally
conceived it as a straightforward satire on poor
customer service, involving maybe a faulty toaster
or a broken car. He'd even use that premise in
the pre -Python special, how to irritate people.
But then Chapman, out of the blue, suggested
changing the faulty item to a dead parrot. And
not just any parrot, but a Norwegian blue. This
tiny detail transformed the sketch. It ceased
being a relatable consumer complaint and became
a descent into shared aggressive absurdity. The
focus shifted from the failure of the product
to the magnificent escalating rage of the customer,
Mr. Praline. Cleese provides the rhetorical precision.
Chapman provides the surreal element that makes
it unforgettable. Now let's contrast that with
the Cleese -Palin dynamic, which Cleese often
cited as his favorite collaboration, mainly due
to Palin's reliability. Their sketches were based
on a perfect theatrical opposition. They worked
with contrast in two dimensions, physical size
and temperament. So you have Cleese's towering
figure and his crazed aggression. Think of the
argument clinic bureaucrat whose whole job is
just to argue. perfectly bounced off the shorter
Palin's shuffling inoffensiveness. Palin was
often the victim, quietly enduring Kreese's explosion,
which often stunned from these trivial, bureaucratic
frustrations. And that seething, suppressed rage
is Kleese's signature emotional contribution
to Python. It's what differentiated his sketches
from, say, idle's more linguistic, wordplay -focused
material. The rage was always palpable. barely
contained by the constraints of the suit or the
office. And that rage later refined itself into
the most perfectly crafted character of post
Python British comedy. But before we get there,
we should note that sometimes the dynamic flipped.
It did. as in the fish license sketch, where
Palin plays the stone -faced, immovably frustrating
bureaucrat, while Cleese is the confused, increasingly
desperate applicant. It's a brilliant reversal
that still uses the same comedic architecture
of frustrating officialdom. Despite his temporary
walkout from the TV show after the third series,
Cleese remained integral to the big -screen life
of Python. He returned for all three main films,
Monty Python and the Holy Grail in 75, Life of
Brian in 79. The Meaning of Life in 1983. And
his film roles are arguably even more quoted
than his TV sketches, partly because they leverage
his physical comedy to such high effect. The
Black Knight in Holy Grail. Ooh, The Black Knight,
who sustains increasingly horrifying physical
damage while maintaining his clipped absolute
confidence. It's a brilliant, absurd fusion of
physical pain and this unwavering, idiotic English
stoicism. And then, the intellectual genius of
his role in Life of Brian, when he attacks Roman
rule by asking the group, what have the Romans
ever done for us? And he's immediately met with
a string of undeniable benefits. Roads, sanitation,
wine. Public order. It's perfect satire. It uses
the logic of political argument, starting with
a sweeping biased premise and immediately undercuts
it with empirical undeniable facts. It was ranked
the seventh funniest line in film in a 2002 poll,
which just shows how his blend of high intellect
and theatrical delivery resonated globally. His
commitment continued well beyond the films, too.
He participated in various live performances,
notably Monty Python Live at the Hollywood Bill
in 82 and the final reunion, Monty Python Live,
mostly, in 2014. It really showcased the enduring
bond even after Chapman's death. That bond was
never more evident or more darkly humorous than
the eulogy Cleese gave at Graham Chapman's memorial
service in 1989. Cleese's use of black humor
there was deliberate and powerful. He delivered
the infamous line, good riddance to him, the
freeloading bastard, I hope he fries. It was
shocking. but perfectly fitting for their relationship
and the whole tone of Python. And Cleese himself
explicitly stated that he traced his fondness
for black humor to his mother, who lived to be
101. He saw this eulogy, along with the dead
parrot sketch in the Kipper in the Corpse episode
of Fawlty Towers, as necessary, cathartic uses
of dark comedy to cope with the absurdity of
life and death. Okay. Before we get to Fawlty
Towers, we have to contextualize his brief period
in academia and governance. From 1970 to 1973,
he served as rector of the University of St.
Andrews. Right, a position that's historically
been seen as mostly ceremonial. But Cleese treated
it seriously. He actively modernized the post,
changing the assessor deputy role from an often
ignored traditional figure into a position for
an elected student. Which gave the students direct
representation and influence on the university
court. It's yet another example of Cleese. the
anti -authoritarian, using an establishment position
to dismantle entrenched arbitrary systems. The
true cultural explosion, however, was Basil Fawlty.
Fawlty Towers. It only ran for two short series,
1975 and 1979, totaling just 12 episodes. Just
12. And yet the show is consistently ranked as
the greatest British sitcom of all time. And
the short run is the secret to its genius, isn't
it? Absolutely. Cleese and Connie Booth insisted
on that limit to avoid compromising quality,
unlike American sitcoms that are designed for
endless renewal. The intensity, the pacing, the
structural perfection of those 12 episodes are
a direct result of that self -imposed constraint.
And the inspiration for this masterpiece came
directly from a real person. Donald Sinclair.
The Python team encountered him in 1970 while
staying at the Glen Eagles Hotel in Torquay.
And Cleese later famously described him as the
most wonderfully rude man I have ever met. The
anecdotes that fueled Basil are just terrifyingly
specific. Oh, they are. Sinclair allegedly found
Eric Idle's briefcase suspicious and threw it
out of the hotel in case it contained a bomb.
He complained bitterly about Terry Gilliam's
American table manners, suggesting they were
vulgar. And the bus timetable. The bus timetable.
In one astonishing incident, he threw a bus timetable
at a guest who dared to ask when the next bus
was due. You can see the birth of Basil in those
details, that high -stress, arbitrary, petty
cruelty directed at guests. Basil is Sinclair
filtered through Cleese's comedic lens of suppressed
rage. In the physical comedy of Basil, the tiptoeing,
the manic flailing, the way his body language
constantly betrays his anxiety, that's Cleese
channeling his personal neuroses into a creative
pressure cooker. What makes the show even more
remarkable is the writing partnership. The second
series was written and aired after Cleus and
Connie Booth had divorced in 1978. Which is incredible.
They were able to successfully revive their creative
collaboration despite the personal separation,
demonstrating a level of professional dedication
and commitment to the material that is almost
unprecedented. The accolades just underscore
this achievement. Cleese won the 1980 BAFTA for
best entertainment performance. The show topped
the BFI's 100 greatest British television programs
in 2000. And Basil Fulte was ranked second only
to Homer Simpson in a 2001 poll of the 100 greatest
TV characters. That confirms his global cultural
impact. And if we look at the specific lines
that resonate, it's always the moment the pressure
overcomes him. Basil's desperate whispered don't
mention the war comment in the Germans episode.
It was ranked the second funniest line in television
in 2002. It perfectly captures his frantic attempts
to maintain a veneer of British politeness while
his suppressed aggression threatens to erupt
into total chaos. So as Fawlty Towers was cementing
his legacy, Cleese made a very interesting pivot
by co -founding Video Arts. This wasn't a standard
show business venture. No, this was yet another
fusion of his dual interests, comedy and instruction.
Video Arts produced highly entertaining training
films like Meetings, Bloody Meetings. Cleese
recognized that traditional corporate training
was often dull and ineffective. So by using high
quality comedy and performance, often starring
himself as the exasperated narrator or manager,
he made complex business processes like chairing
a meeting palatable and memorable. This business
venture demonstrates his practical intellectual
side, the desire to apply principles of structure
and clarity, which he honed in comedy writing,
to the corporate world. The 1980s saw him diversify
his film roles. We see him in Terry Gilliam's
Time Bandits in 81 as a very proper British Robin
Hood. Then he took that surprisingly dramatic
role as the silver -haired sheriff in the Western
Silverado in 85, showing he could dial back the
overt comedy. But his next major comedic role
solidified his post -faulty archetype, the punctuality
-obsessed headmaster in the successful British
comedy Clockwise from 1986. And clockwise won
him the Peter Sellers Award for comedy. The character's
rigid adherence to timing and schedule, which
unravels spectacularly throughout the film. It's
just Basil Fawlty's psychological rigidity applied
to the school system. It demonstrates how Cleese
could mine that specific neurotic vein for enduringly
successful comedy. And this is where he truly
conquered Hollywood, but on his own terms. In
1988, Cleese wrote and starred in A Fish Called
Wanda. Playing the stifled, respectable barrister.
Archie Leach, a deliberate homage to Cary Grant's
birth name. Wanda was a phenomenal global success,
both critically and commercially. It was in the
top 10 highest grossing films of the year in
the U .S. And Cleese earned an Academy Award
nomination for Best Original Screenplay and won
the BAFTA for Best Actor. The film is a masterclass
in contrasting British repression Archie Leach
with American volatility and amorality. The core
of the comedy lies in Archie Leach's emotional
breakdown. Cleese, the actor who perfected suppressed
rage, finally gets to unleash it in this series
of magnificent, humiliating tantrums. Including
stripping Nated in front of his neighbor and
eating fish while crying. It's the ultimate payoff
for years of playing characters who are just
about to burst. It's also important to remember
the quasi -sequel, Fierce Creatures, from 1997,
which tried to reunite the cast. And Cleese was
later completely frank about it, stating that
making the follow -up was a mistake. a rare public
regret he ranked alongside his ill -fated third
marriage, a highly entertaining, self -deprecating
admission about the difficulty of recapturing
creative magic. Following Wanda, Cleese transitioned
into being this high -profile, reliable British
character actor for major franchises. He was
introduced in the James Bond series as R, Q's
assistant, in The World Is Not Enough. And was
then promoted to the full quartermaster, or Q,
role in Die Another Day in 2002. He brought a
touch of dry, bureaucratic exasperation to the
role, a perfect continuation of his career trajectory.
He even reprised the role in the video game Everything
or Nothing. And for a generation that grew up
in the early 2000s, he is indelibly linked to
the role of nearly headless Nick in the first
two Harry Potter films. And he voiced King Harold
in the last three Shrek films. We should also
revisit the film Rat Race from 2001, where he
starred as Donald P. Sinclair. An eccentric hotel
owner who sets the entire chaotic plot in motion.
An explicit, self -aware reference to the real
-life Donald Sinclair who inspired Basil Fawlty.
Exactly. It showcases Cleese's acknowledgement
of his own comedic DNA and his willingness to
recycle and comment upon his greatest creation.
His ability to pivot between highbrow satire,
academic pursuits, and mainstream Hollywood roles
is truly unparalleled. And he also earned significant
critical praise for his television guest roles.
Right. He won a primetime Emmy for Cheers in
87 and got nominations for Third Rock from The
Sun and Will & Grace. It's so easy to focus on
the comedy of aggression and cynicism in Cleese's
work that his humanitarian record often gets
overlooked. It does. And he was the primary driving
force behind the Secret Policeman's Ball Benefit
shows starting in 1976. This is an absolutely
essential part of his legacy. These shows raise
significant funds and awareness for Amnesty International.
Mm -hmm. Martin Lewis, a co -founder, detailed
how the project started, with Cleese handing
over a check signed J. Cleese, and then promising
to round up a few friends, who were, of course,
the Pythons, and a host of other A -list comedians.
The impact was monumental. It provided a blueprint
for celebrity activism. Musicians like Bob Geldof
and Sting have publicly attributed their own
major benefit organizing efforts, including Live
Aid, directly to the inspiration provided by
Cleese and the Python Group. And this creates
that fundamental, crucial paradox we've been
touching on. the man whose creative output perfected
the art of suppressed, small -minded rage. Was
simultaneously dedicated to fighting large -scale,
actual human rights abuses perpetrated by genuine
oppressive authority. His commitment to dismantling
bad systems was professional. philosophical and
personal. And his engagement with the academic
world extends far beyond his brief rector role.
He served as provost as visiting professor at
Cornell University. After being the prestigious
Andrew D. White professor at large from 1999
to 2006. And that professorship is designed to
bring prominent international thinkers to Cornell
to foster interdisciplinary conversation. And
Cleese used this platform not just to talk about
comedy, but about creativity, psychology and
organizational behavior. It's evidence of his
profound intellectual curiosity and his desire
to engage with serious thought outside the comedy
industry. This interest led directly to a very
unique collaboration, co -writing two dialogue
books with English psychiatrist Robin Skiner
on relationships. Families and how to survive
them and life and how to survive it. This partnership
is fascinating. Skinner provided the psychological
framework, and Cleese brought his clarity, his
ability to structure complex information, and
his dry wit to make the dense material accessible.
So these books directly address the roots of
the neurosis and repressed communication that
fuel his best comedy. They do. They provide a
deep dive into the psychological background of
characters like Basil Fawlty and Archie Leach.
Cleese was attempting to analyze and perhaps
exercise his own demons through collaborative
nonfiction. And just to prove he hadn't lost
his touch for absurdity, he also co -wrote the
DC Comics graphic novel Superman, True Brit in
2004, an Elseworlds story imagining the ultimate
American hero landing in Britain instead. And
navigating the inherent awkwardness of British
culture. It's a perfect side project for him.
Now, Cleese has always been upfront about the
source of his dark black humor. He points to
his mother and his own deep seated frustration.
And he cites the dead parrot, the faulty towers
funeral episode and Chapman's eulogy as examples
where humor acts as a necessary defense mechanism
against the bleakness of reality. His famous
claim. I can take almost nothing seriously. And
that specific worldview is now the engine of
his current and most controversial public stance.
His passionate critique of what he calls wokeism
and political correctness. Cleese argues that
political correctness acts as a severe, damaging
constraint on creativity and freedom of expression.
He contends that PC has become an indulgence
of the most oversensitive people and fundamentally
misunderstands how humor operates. His core argument
is that PC people simply don't understand this
business about context. Right. If you have to
constantly check your language for offense, he
argues, you operate out of fear, and fear stifles
the necessary spontaneity required for creative
risk -taking. This came to a head in 2020, following
the temporary removal of the Fawlty Towers episode,
The Germans, from the UK TV service. And Kreese
responded with explosive criticism, calling the
BBC bureaucracy cowardly and gutless. His argument
was clear. The episode was not endorsing prejudice.
It was ridiculing it by placing the prejudice
behavior in the hands of the show's central buffoon,
Basil. He used the comparison of the satirical
function of Alf Garnett's reactionary views in
Till Death Us. Do part viewers laughed at Garnett
to discredit his views? Not with him. And Cleese
felt that the bureaucracy was too cowardly to
trust the audience's intelligence in discerning
satire. The controversy escalated further in
2021 when he preemptively blacklisted himself
from an appearance at the Cambridge Union Society.
This was a deliberate act of performance art
as protest. After learning that an art historian
had been blacklisted by the Union for performing
an impression of Adolf Hitler, part of a lecture
demonstrating satire's uses, Cleese cancels his
own planned appearance. Stating he was blacklisting
myself before someone else does. It was a classic
Cleese move, using absurdity to satirize a bureaucratic
or cultural overreach he found deeply objectionable.
Clase's political journey has been complex, its
move from the center left to the Euroskeptic
right always driven by a distrust of entrenched
systems. He was an early and staunch supporter
of the Liberal Democrats and the original SDP,
the Social Democratic Party, after its formation
in 1981. His support for the SDP -Liberal alliance
in the late 80s was primarily rooted in his strong
belief in proportional representation. Yes, he
recorded a party political broadcast advocating
for it in 1987. This shows consistency. He wanted
the voting system itself to be more inherently
fair and less arbitrary, which aligns perfectly
with his lifelong philosophical opposition to
unearned power. Despite this sustained political
engagement, he's famously uninjured in the establishment
honors that often accompany success. In 1996,
he declined a CBE title. Commander of the Most
Excellent Order of the British Empire. He just
thought such honors were silly and unnecessary.
This lack of interest in official validation
is a recurring theme. He also declined an offer
for a life peerage from the liberal Democrats
in 1999, which would have made him a member of
the House of Lords. And his reasoning was classic
Cleese humor, prioritizing his own comfort. He
joked that he realized this involved being in
England in the winter, and I thought that was
too much of a price to pay. It's an easy joke,
but it speaks volumes about his detachment from
the institutional vanity that often defines UK
politics. And Cleese has never shied away from
global political commentary. In 2008, he supported
Barack Obama's presidential candidacy, even offering
his services as a speechwriter. He also took
that gentle Python -esque swipe at Sarah Palin,
quipping that Michael Palin was no longer the
funniest Palin. And in 2016, his assessment of
Donald Trump was just scathing. He characterized
him as a narcissist with no attention span. This
criticism aligns with his contempt for unprincipled
or unserious authority figures. Closer to home,
he praised the UK coalition government in 2011
for what he perceived as a more courteous tone
in politics, while criticizing the previous Labour
government. particularly Gordon Brown, who he
claimed lacked emotional intelligence. A critique
drawn directly from his work with Skiner. The
biggest public shift, however, came with his
views on Europe. In 2014, he expressed interest
in the UK Independence Party, UKIP. He was attracted
to UKIP primarily because of their challenge
to the established political order and the radical
nature of their EU policies. Calise framed his
interest around the desire for systemic change
and the removal of bureaucracy. He supported
immigration in principle, but raised concerns
about cultural integration. This crystallized
into his public support for Brexit in 2016. He
tweeted that he would vote to leave because he
felt that EU bureaucrats had taken away any trace
of democratic accountability. And this stance,
whether you agree with it or not, is entirely
consistent with the 17 year old who lost respect
for authority at Clifton College. His view of
the EU was that it was a colossal, undemocratic
bureaucracy and he wanted out. His frustration
with the political debate itself, which he called
full of dreadful lies, ultimately led to his
physical departure from the country. In 2018,
he relocated to the Caribbean island of Nevis.
Citing frustration over the standards of the
Brexit debate and issues with the press and the
voting system, he literally left the bureaucracy
behind. And in 2019, he ignited a significant
public firestorm when he stated that London was
no longer an English city, suggesting the character
of the city had changed too dramatically. London
Mayor Sadiq Khan famously responded by suggesting
Cleese's comments made him sound like he was
in character as Basil Fawlty. And Cleese responded
by doubling down, arguing he was nostalgic for
the England of his youth, which he described
as calmer, more polite, more humorous, less tabloid,
and less money -oriented. This entire clash is
the ultimate modern paradox of Cleese, the progressive
activist who resists the modern reality of multiculturalism.
In recent years, Calise has maintained his role
as a political provocateur. In 2022, he spoke
at the conference of the Revival Social Democratic
Party. Demonstrating that his interest in center
ground, systemic reform remains strong, even
if the parties themselves have fractured. And
we saw a highly controversial event in 2025 with
the cancellation of his planned performances
in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. He canceled the shows
due to threats from the Boycott, Divestment and
Sanctions, or BDS organization, citing safety
concerns. What makes this particularly complex
is that, according to our sources, at the same
time he was canceling the shows, he was reposting
anti -Israel content on his ex account. It illustrates
the tightrope he walks, protecting his professional
interests from political threat while simultaneously
maintaining a highly critical and provocative
stance on a sensitive international issue. His
public life is just defined by this persistent,
sometimes contradictory, critical engagement.
Cleese's onscreen characters often deal with
marital frustration, and his personal life certainly
reflects this neurosis. He's been married four
times. Connie Booth from 1968 to 78, Barbara
Trentham from 81 to 90, Alice Eichelberger from
92 to 2008, and Jennifer Wade since 2012. He
has two daughters, Cynthia with Booth and Camilla
with Trentham. But the divorce that generated
the most media detention and perhaps the most
basil -like bitterness was the end of his marriage
to Alice Eichelberger in 2008. The financial
cost was astronomical. The settlement resulted
in 12 million pounds in finance and assets, including
600 ,000 pounds a year for seven years. His quote
about the settlement perfectly captures the black
humor that defines his personal pain. It does.
He famously quipped that he got off lightly,
considering what he would have had to pay if
she had contributed, such as children or a conversation.
That level of aggressive, passive -aggressive
sarcasm directed at his own life choices is where
the professional and personal lines absolutely
blur. That sustained conflict led him to introspect
deeply on the origins of his relationship problems,
and he consistently blamed his mother, Muriel,
who lived to 101, for instilling the emotional
habits that doomed his marriages. He stated that
his ingrained habit of walking on eggshells when
dealing with my mother dominated my romantic
liaisons. This is key context for understanding
the internal pension of his characters. He's
noted he's received treatment for depression
and spent a large part of my life in some form
of therapy. So the comedy of neurosis is not
an act. No, it's the public manifestation of
a lifelong struggle with suppressed anxiety and
communication failure. Exactly the themes he
explored with Robin Skiner. Okay, shifting gears
to one of the most delightful and surprising
facts about him. Cleese has an intense, profound
passion for lemurs. He really does. He once stated,
I adore lemurs. They're extremely gentle, well
-mannered, pretty, and yet great fun. I should
have married one. And this is more than a quirky
hobby. It's a commitment. In 1998, he hosted
the BBC documentary In the Wild, Operation Lemur
with John Cleese. which tracked the reintroduction
of black and white rough lemurs in Madagascar.
And he backed that commitment financially, personally
funding part of the project, by donating the
proceeds from the London premiere of Fierce Creatures.
This dedication resulted in the ultimate unique
honor. In 2005, the Bemaraha woolly lemur of
Ahi Klesai was named in his honor by the scientists
who discovered it, specifically recognizing his
fondness and conservation efforts. From a family
named Cheese to having a rare Madagascan species
named Kleesai, it's a truly bizarre yet fitting
trajectory. When analyzing his impact, we have
to look at the unique spectrum of tributes he
has received, spanning the celestial and the
terrestrial. He has an asteroid named after him,
9618 John Klees. Placing him among the stars.
But reflecting his talent for generating frustration
and resentment, he also has a 45 -meter municipal
rubbish heap outside Palmerston North, New Zealand,
named Mint Cleese. This followed a stay in 2005
where, after expressing displeasure with the
city, he dubbed it the suicide capital of New
Zealand. He is one of the few people who can
insult a nation and receive a landmark named
after him in return. In terms of recent career
moves, he began presenting a new show on GB News
in October 2023 called The Dinosaur Hour, a title
that perhaps hints at his perspective on his
own place in the modern cultural landscape. Finally,
we have to ask the question of what might have
been. Cleese revealed a striking list of iconic
roles he turned down. The role played by Robin
Williams in The Birdcage. Anthony Hopkins' dramatic
role in The Remains of the Day. And Peter Cook's
role in The Princess Bride. Considering the massive,
enduring success of those films, one an Oscar
winner, one a cultural staple, was this tendency
to say no evidence of creative genius maintaining
high standards? Or was it the professional manifestation
of the neurosis and overanalysis that cost him
some of the most iconic roles of the last few
decades? It's likely both. It's that constant
tension between the fastidious planner and the
spontaneous creative, between the man who demanded
perfection and the man whose own life was defined
by chaos. So to synthesize Cleese's mastery,
we have to recognize him as a towering, brilliant
performer whose true genius lies in his meticulousness
as a writer. The 12 -episode limit for faulty
towers, the structural perfection of the dead
parrot sketch, the books on psychology. All of
it is evidence of an intense commitment to quality.
control and efficiency and serve as a profound
insight. His legacy is defined by the core paradox
we've explored. He created the aggressive, rage
-filled authority figure characters like Basil
Fawlty. Yet he was simultaneously a dedicated
humanitarian who founded the secret policeman's
ball and engaged seriously with academia at Cornell.
The anger was the tool of his comedy and the
activism was the commitment to the principles
he fought for. The thread that binds his entire
career is his lifelong battle against arbitrary
authority, whether that system is the British
class structure, a hapless hotel, EU bureaucracy,
or most recently, cultural standards he perceives
as stifling creativity. So what does this all
mean for you, the well -informed listener? John
Cleese, a man who built his fame on the premise
that he could take almost nothing seriously,
now believes that political correctness and wokeism
pose the most serious threat to the free expression
and creative risk -taking that gave birth to
his own unique neurotic genius. Is his alarm
justified, or is he simply playing the latest
iteration of Basil Fawlty, yelling at the modern
world from his Caribbean retreat? That is a profound
question worth exploring as you witness the ongoing
clash between satire and sensitivity in modern
culture.