FAWLTY TOWERS, the classic sitcom created by John Cleese and his then-wife Connie Booth (they split up between the first and second series), lasted only 12 episodes (a series in 1975 and another in 1979) but numbers itself among the most beloved series in British comedy history. The writing, the performances, the sheer manic energy of the series make every episode a classic. It doesn't get much better than this.
Materials on this page are taken from many other Fawlty sites on the web, with many thanks. A list of links is at the bottom of the page.
From an interview by Kim Howard Johson: "It was based on a hotel I'd stayed at back when I was filming Python - the manager was just wonderfully rude," Cleese recalls. "He was like Basil, but much smaller, a skinny little guy about five-foot four-inches, with a large wife who dominated him. We reversed the sizes."
Sinclair was so rude and graceless that most of the Pythons checked in and then rapidly checked out. Cleese stayed, fascinated. Sinclair told Terry Gilliam off for spearing his meat left-handed, "like an American" (he is an American).  "We don't eat like that in this country," he was informed. When Eric Idle returned to the hotel, he found that his bag had been removed and hidden behind a distant wall in the garden: 'We thought it might be a bomb,' the hotelier explained grumpily, when quizzed. "Why would anyone want to bomb your hotel?' asked Eric. "We've had a lot of staff problems lately," was the reply. Mr. Sinclair also threw a bus timetable at another guest after the guest dared to ask the time of the next bus to town. Graham Chapman, described him as "completely round the twist, off his chump, out of his tree." John fell in love with this appalling hotelier (and his formidable wife, Mrs Sinclair), for whom guests were a thorn in the flesh. Thrilled with the comic possibilities of such a combination, he wrote the part and tried out his prototype character in an episode of Doctor In The House in 1971, entitled "No Ill Feeling." Timothy Bateson played the bad-tempered hotelier.
"I had written some Doctor in the House TV shows, and had set one of the episodes at a hotel that had been based on this one. An old friend of mine said to me, 'There's a series in that hotel.' I thought 'Bloody television producer, can't see a program without thinking about a series.' The extraordinary thing was, he was absolutely right. When Connie and I sat down three years later, it was the second or third idea that came into our minds." Michael Palin, who has kept a journal for many years, confirmed Cleese's account of that legendary hotel in Torquay with his notes: 
Tuesday, 12th of May. Our hotel, the Gleneagles, was a little out of Torquay, overlooking a beautiful little cove, plenty of trees around. Eric and John were already there, sitting by the pool. Decor was clean, rooms nice. However, Mr. Sinclair, the proprietor, seemed to view us from the start as a colossal inconvenience. When we arrived back at 12:30 A.M., having watched the night's filming, he just stood and looked at us with the same look of self-righteous resentment and tacit accusation that I've not seen since my father waited up for me fifteen years ago. Graham tentatively asked for a brandy; the idea was dismissed out of hand. And on that night, our first in Torquay, we decided to move out of the Gleneagles.
Back at Gleneagles, avoided breakfast. Graham, Terry and I have been fixed for one night at the Osborne, from then on at the Imperial. Asked Mr. Sinclair for the bill. He didn't seem unduly ruffled, but Mrs. Sinclair made our stay even more memorable by threatening us with a bill for two weeks, even though we hadn't stayed. But off we went, with lighter hearts ..." 
There are several advantages to setting a series in a hotel, according to Cleese. "We could have almost anyone we wanted walk in, without trying to find an explanation. Plus, we had our basic regulars. It's a situation which almost everyone understands. Everyone knows what it's like to walk up to a front desk, what it's like if someone's casual, rude, or inattentive. We didn't have to explain or set anything up. It's all very straightforward and conventional, so we could start right away with the jokes."
John Howard Davies, director of the first series of Fawlty Towers (and a few early Python episodes), and later head of comedy at the BBC, remembers the show: "When I first read the scripts of 'Fawlty Towers' it was one of those rare occasions when I laughed continuously and with mounting delight. Its anarchic and totally individual flavor was and is unique. Certainly they were a joy to direct and produce and gave everybody concerned with the production enormous satisfaction but, probably more to the point, we never stopped laughing from the beginning until the final fade down." From an interview on the video box set: "We saw Basil as someone who was to become a little bit grand, who adopted attitudes of superiority to people that were really quite unjustified, and someone who was fundamentally terrified of his wife. If you look at the episodes, they're almost all fuelled by the fact that he is trying to hide something from Sybil."  Amusingly in hindsight, certain executives at the BBC didn't like Cleese's concept for the show, and didn't have high hopes for it. Even now, there is a framed memo in the Light Entertainment department: `This is a very boring situation. The script has nothing but very cliched characters and I cannot see anything but disaster if we go ahead with this." The first series in 1975 received respectable but not incredible ratings, but during the repeats, word of mouth (it soon got around that Cleese was up to something brilliantly original) built up audiences to 7 million, and so it was repeated again, this time on BBC 1, and the audience jumped to 12 million viewers. Fawlty Towers was becoming a national obsession. John and Connie were persuaded to write another six episodes for transmission in 1979. When those were subsequently repeated, 15 million folk tuned in gleefully and the show was firmly established as a classic of TV comedy. Deep down in Basil's repressed, irascible, hen-pecked personality, the British people saw something with which they could easily identity and they laughed and laughed at him until the tears rolled down their cheeks.
John and Connie got the scripts right through a combination of inspiration and a lot of hard work. Each episode took six weeks to write, an absurdly long time by TV sitcom standards, when ten days was the norm. 
For every minute on screen they spent one hour editing - an average of twenty-five hours per show. They tweaked, honed, cut and improved the material. The show's values were essentially theatrical and each episode was a mini-farce. John claimed that some of the best nights in his life had been spent watching French farces at the National Theatre. A great farce, as any theatre director will tell you, is like a precision instrument.
The Cleeses took an enormous amount of trouble to prevent the audience from guessing the plot, and so they plotted and plotted, wrote and rewrote, and then rewrote the rewrites. Connie was responsible for Sybil; John did Basil. Then they helped each other out with their respective characters, modifying as they went along. It was a true partnership - a successful one even after their marriage ended.
John took ideas from wherever he found them. For instance, he had a friend - a former employee at the Savoy Hotel - who mentioned that the worst problem the hotel faced was the dead bodies. Guests would frequently die in their beds. In the morning the staff would have to get the body out of the building using the service lift, and without laughing. This inspired Cleese to write the episode, 'The Kipper and the Corpse'. The character of the Major was also inspired by real life - rosy memories of Cleese's old Latin teacher, whose reading of "Three Men in a Boat" had the class falling about. Real life furnished Cleese and Booth with all the material they needed. In memory of Ballard Berkeley, who died on Jan. 16, 1988, age 84, and Brian Hall, who died in 1997 of cancer, age 59. And to Donald Sinclair, who died in 1981. |
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BASIL
FAWLTY
(JOHN CLEESE)
The hotel manager from hell, Basil seems convinced that Fawlty Towers would be a top-rate establishment, if only he didn't have to bother with the guests. They always seem to get in the way and make unreasonable demands. The only guests not greeted with a barrage of insults, are those with a title - Lord, Lady ... An inveterate snob, prepared to brown-nose anyone with a bit of breeding, Basil is unfortunately an appalling judge of character. Besides the guests, the other thorn in Basil's side is his wife Sybil, whom he affectionately refers to as his "little nest of vipers". Her nagging is more than a match for his hysterical rages and sarcastic diatribes. Only Sybil could make you actually feel sorry for Basil. |
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SYBIL
FAWLTY
(PRUNELLA SCALES)
With her truly distinctive laugh (strangely similar to 'someone machine-gunning a seal') and her endless phone calls to her friend Audrey, Sybil is a worthy opponent for Basil. He can be in full, ranting flow, but one sharp "Basil!" from her is all it takes to bring him to heel. A stranger to menial tasks, Sybil sees her role as socializing with the guests, ordering Basil around and humiliating him in public. |
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MANUEL
(ANDREW SACHS)
Manuel, the waiter from Barcelona, is a walking disaster. Hired by Basil because he is cheap, his command of English is so slight that he finds it hard to tell the difference between the words 'Sybil' and 'the bill'. Most of Basil's exasperated commands are met with the plaintive cry: "Que?" Despite being used from time to time as a human battering ram and punch bag, Manuel remains devoted to Basil. Except when his Filigree Siberian hamster is under threat. |
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POLLY
(CONNIE
BOOTH)
Polly, the waitress, is really an art student, working to supplement her grant. She is the only sane member of the team. With an impressive ability to think on her feet, she is always on hand to help Basil out of his worse scrapes. Whether it's impersonating a poorly Sybil, or explaining away dead bodies hidden in laundry baskets, Basil definitely couldn't cope without her. |
Fawlty Towers Episode Guide
Inept and manic English hotel owner and manager, Basil Fawlty, isn't
cut out for his job. He's intolerant, rude and paranoid. All hell
frequently breaks loose as Basil tries to run the hotel, constantly
under verbal (and sometimes physical) attack from his wife
Sybil, assisted and hindered by Polly and Manuel (the bumbling
Spanish waiter with a poor grasp on both English and his job).
Written by John Cleese and Connie Booth
First series...
Trivia: In this first episode Polly was originally a philosophy student
but her character was changed to an art student at the last minute, resulting in several
scenes having to be refilmed.
Read a full transcript of this episode!
Basil: Well, if there's anything else, I'm sure Manuel will be able to tell you - as you seem to get on so well together.
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! [she opens the case]
Miss Gatsby: And don't do anything we wouldn't do.
Basil: Just a little breathing, surely?
Manuel: Manuel Towers, how are you? Is nice today. Good. Goodbye.
Polly: [she shakes Basil] Oh, just pull yourself together. [she shakes him again] Come on! Come on! [she takes a step back and gives him a slap in the face]
Basil: Again!
O'Reilly: The problem with you, Mr. Fawlty, is that you worry too much. You keep it up like this, you'll have a stroke before fifty. Stone dead you'll be.
Basil Fawlty: Suits me.
O'Reilly: Oh! That's a dreadful thing to say.
Basil Fawlty: Not at all. Get a bit of peace.
O'Reilly: Don't be so morbid. The Good Lord made the world so that we could all enjoy ourselves.
Basil Fawlty: Look, my wife enjoys herself. I worry.
O'Reilly: Well, let me tell you, if the Lord had meant us to worry, he would have given us things to worry about.
Basil Fawlty: HE HAS! MY WIFE!! She will be back here in four hours and she can kill a man at ten paces with one blow of her tongue! How am I supposed not to worry?
O'Reilly: Just remember, Mr. Fawlty, there's always somebody worse off than yourself.
Basil Fawlty: Is there? Well I'd like to meet him. I could do with a laugh.
O'Reilly: You'll have to worry for the both of us. I tell you, if the Good Lord---
Basil Fawlty: ---is mentioned ONCE more, I shall move you closer to him!
Trivia: The cast found this episode very difficult to film because the audience
didn't seem to find it funny. It was only later that Cleese found out the BBC
had filled the entire two front rows with 70 visiting Icelandic tourists who
sat through the entire recording stony faced and bemused.
[Basil is in the bedroom and thinks it is Mrs Peignoir who is knocking on the door...]
Basil: Try to control yourself. Where do you think you are? Paris?
Sybil: Let me in!
Basil: Shut up, will you, you silly great tart! Go away! My wife will hear us.
Sybil: This is your wife.
Basil: [opens the door] Oh, what a terrible dream!
Sybil: Don't shout at me. I've had a difficult morning.
Basil: Oh dear, what happened? Did you get entangled in the eiderdown
again? Not enough cream in your eclair? Hmm? Or did you have to talk to all
your friends for so long that you didn't have time to perm your ears?
Basil: The wine's really good?
Walt: Yes.
Basil: And the Pâté was all right?
Walt: Yes, I said so.
Basil: And the casserole?
Walt: I haven't tasted it yet.
Basil: [smells at it] Mmmmmmh!
Mr. Hutchinson: How do you do?
Polly Sherman: How do you do?
Mr. Hutchinson: Wait a minute, we've met before I think.
Polly Sherman: Yes, I served you at breakfast.
Mr. Hutchinson: Oh yes, and you spilled the grapefruit juice didn't you, you naughty girl?
Polly Sherman: And you moved the glass, didn't you?
Mr. Hutchinson: There is a documentary on BBC2 this evening about "Squawking Bird," the leader of the Blackfoot Indians in the 1860s. Now this starts at 8:45 and goes on for approximately three-quarters of an hour.
Basil Fawlty: I'm sorry are you talking to me?
Mr. Hutchinson: Indeed I am. Yes, now, is it possible for me to reserve the BBC2 channel for the duration of this televisual feast?
Basil Fawlty: Why don't you talk properly?
[Mr Hutchinson comes downstairs]
Manuel: Please, please! Mr Fawlty wants to say adios.
[Basil comes out of the kitchen with two big layer cakes. One for Hutchinson's face, one for his groin ...]
Basil: [he points to Sybil] This Basil's wife.
[he points to himself] This ... Basil. This ... smack on head.
Basil: [in the car] Come on, start, will you? Start, you vicious bastard! Come on! Oh my God! I'm warning you: If you don't start ... I'll count to three: One ... two ... three! Right, that's it! [he jumps out of the car] You've tried it on just once too often. Right. Well, don't say I haven't warned you! I've laid it on the line to you time and time again! Right! Well - this is it! I'm going to give you a damn good thrashing!
[Basil has just found out that Kurt has a crush on Manuel]
Basil Fawlty: I knew it. I knew this would happen if we hired a Frenchman.
Polly Sherman: He's Greek, Mr. Fawlty.
Basil Fawlty: Greek?
Polly Sherman: Of course.
Basil Fawlty: Well that's worse. They invented it.
Basil: Don't mention the war. I mentioned it once, but I think I got away with it. So it's all forgotten now and let's hear no more about it. So that's two egg mayonnaise, a prawn Goebbels, a Herman Goering and four Colditz salads....no, wait a minute...I got confused because everyone keeps mentioning the war.
German: Will you stop mentioning the war?
Basil: You started it.
German: We did not start it.
Basil: Yes you did, you invaded Poland...
[Two guests are speaking to Basil in German.]
Basil: Oh, German. I'm sorry, I thought there was something wrong with you.
Nurse: I'll... I'll get the doctor.
Basil Fawlty: It's a plastic surgeon you need, not a doctor.
[Manuel is leaning down behind the desk, as the Major enters the reception lobby. The latter sees only the head of the moose.]
Manuel: How are you, sir. I can speak English. Hello, Major. How are you today?
Major: Er ... er ... er ... I'm fine, thank you.
Manuel: Is a beautiful day today.
Major: Er ... is it? Yes, yes, I suppose it is.
Manuel: I speak English. I learn it from a book.
[Basil is trying to put the moose up a second time, when the telephone rings again.]
Basil: Oh, will you answer that please? I'm trying to put this up.
Polly: Fawlty Towers ... Oh hello, Mrs Fawlty.
Basil: I'm doing it! I'm doing it now! Tell her! I'm doing it now!
Polly: He says he's doing it now. How's the nail?
Basil: There, tell the Tyrant Queen that her cardies are safe forever.
Mr Moose is up. It's done, done, done.
Polly: It's up. [the moose falls down on Basil's head] It's down again.
Second series...
Mrs. Richards: When I pay for a view I expect to see something more interesting than that.
Basil: That is Torquay, Madam.
Mrs Richards: Well, it's not good enough.
Basil: Well, may I ask what you were hoping to see out of a Torquay hotel bedroom-window? Sidney Opera House perhaps? The Hanging Gardens of Babylon? Herds of wildebeest? sweeping majestically?
Mrs Richards: Don't be silly. I expect to be able to see the sea.
Basil: You can see the sea. It's over there between the land and the sky.
Mrs Richards: You call that a view?
Basil Fawlty: Well perhaps you should consider moving to a hotel closer to the sea, preferably in it.
Mrs Richards: Now, I've reserved a very quiet room, with a bath and a sea view. I specifically asked for a sea view in my written confirmation, so please be sure I have it.
Manuel: Que?
Mrs. Richards: K?
Manuel: Si.
Mrs. Richards: C?
Manuel: No. Que, "what."
Mrs. Richards: K. Watt?
Manuel: Si: que, "what."
Mrs. Richards: C. K. Watt? Is he the manager?
Manuel: Ah! Manajer! Mr. Fawlty.
Mrs. Richards: This man is telling me the manager is a C. K. Watt, aged forty.
Manuel: No, Fawlty.
Mrs. Richards: Faulty? Why? What's wrong with him?
Mrs Richards: I shall expect a reduction.
Basil: Why? Because Krakatoa's not erupting at the moment?
Mrs Richards: Because the room is cold, the bath is too small, the view is invisible and the radio doesn't work.
Basil: No, the radio works. You don't.
Mrs Richards: What?
Basil: I'll see if I can fix it, you scabby old bat.
[He turns the radio on to the limit.]
Sybil: What was the name of the horse?
Polly: Er ... the name ... I've gone blank.
[she stares at Basil, making bizarre attempts at charades] Bird Brain.
Sybil: Bird Brain?
Polly: No, no, that came in third. ... Fishwife.
Sybil: What?
Polly: Small...fly. Flying ... Flying Tart ... no, no... It got off to a flying start, and its name was ... Dragonfly.
Sybil: Thank you, Polly.
Basil: Look, the lights weren't working in the bathroom, right, OK? So I went in, checked the fitting, which was loose...
Sybil: I've read about it, Basil. The male menopause it's called. Oh, and one word of advice: If you're going to grope a girl, have the gallantry to stay in the room with her while you're doing it, hm?
Sybil Fawlty: Do you really believe in your wildest dreams that a girl like this could possibly be interested in an aging, Brilliantine, stick-insect like yourself?
Sybil: You never get it right, do you. You're either crawling all over them licking their boots, or spitting poison at them like some benzedrine puff-adder.
Basil: Just trying to enjoy myself.
Mr Hamilton: You know something, fella. If this was back in the States I wouln't board my dog here.
Basil: Fussy, is he? Poodle?
Mr Hamilton: Poodle! I'm not getting through to you, am I. You know, I stay in hotels all over the world and this is the first time I've had to bribe a chef to cook me a meal and then found out he doesn't have the basic goddam ingredients. Holy cow, can't you see what a crummy dump this is?
[Mr Hamilton enters the kitchen and sees Basil in a double role:]
Basil (as Terry): Well, I was making another Waldorf salad.
Basil (as himself): Making another Waldorf salad? What are you making another Waldorf salad for?
Basil (as Terry): Careful, Mr Fawlty. I'm only a little fellow!
Basil (as himself): What do you think Mr and Mrs Hamilton must think ... [He realizes Mr Hamilton standing behind him.] Mr Hamilton, may I introduce Terry, who ... Where did he go? Where's he gone? Did you see him?
Mr Hamilton : Maybe he went to get something to eat.
Mr Hamilton: What I'm suggesting is that this place is the crummiest, shoddiest, worst-run hotel in the whole of Western Europe!
Major Gowen: No! No! I won't have that! There's a place in Eastbourne!
Mr Leeman: Do you think I might have breakfast in bed in the morning?
Basil: In bed?
Mr Leeman: Yes.
Sybil: Of course, Mr Leeman.
Basil: Yes, we can manage that, can we, dear?
Sybil: Yes, we can. [to the phone:] I'll call you back.
Basil: Is it your leg?
Mr Leeman: I'm sorry?
Basil: Well, most of our guests manage to struggle down in the morning.
Basil: [brings the dead Mr Leeman his breakfast] Breakfast! Here we are. Another car stike. Marvellous, isn't it. Taxpayer pay 'em millions each year, they get the money, go on strike. It's called Socialism. I mean if they don't like making cars why don't they get themselves another bloody job designing cathedrals or composing viola concertos? . . .
Basil: She's ill, Sybil. How are you? What would you like to drink?
Roger: Sib-ill?
Basil: Yes.
Alice: Oh, dear. What's the matter?
Roger: Did you hear that? I said "Sib-ill".
Basil: Yes.
Roger: Got it?
Basil: No, no, I'm fine.
Roger: No, no, no. I call her "Syb", right? So, Sib-ill. Bas-well. Haha!
Manuel: Man-well! Haha!
Trivia: This episode was delayed several months because of a BBC technicians'
strike.
[Basil finds someone going through the food in the kitchen.]
Basil Fawlty: Sybil, may I introduce the gentleman who's just opened the self-service department here. Mr...?
Mr. Carnegie: Carnegie.
Basil Fawlty: Mr. Carnegie, the scavenger gourmet from...?
Mr. Carnegie: The Public Health department.
[Manuel wants to keep his pet rat.]
Manuel: Mrs. Fawlty, please understand. If he go, I go!
Basil Fawlty: Well, goodbye!
[Sybil suggests a way to get rid of Manuel's rat.]
Sybil Fawlty: Perhaps it would be simplest to have him put to s-l-e-e-p.
Basil Fawlty: Who? Him or the rat? I could get a discount if we get them both done.
Mr Carnegie: Lack of proper cleaning routines, dirty and greasy filters, greasy and encrusted deep fat fryer, dirty, cracked and stained food preparation surfaces, dirty, cracked and missing wall and floor tiles, dirty, marked and stained utensils, dirty and greasy interior surfaces of the ventilator hood, ...
Basil: About the fat fryer...
Mr Carnegie: ...inadequate temperature control and storage of dangerous foodstuffs, storage of cooked and raw meat in same trays, storage of raw meat above confectionery with consequent dripping of meat juices onto cream products, refrigerator seals loose and cracked, ice box undefrosted, and refrigerator overstocked...
Basil: Say no more.
Mr Carnegie: ...food handling routines suspect, evidence of smoking in food preparation area, dirty and grubby food handling overalls, lack of wash hand basin which you gave us a verbal assurance you'll have installed at our last visit six months ago and two dead pigeons in the water tank.
Basil: Otherwise O.K.?
Manuel: Please leave me alone - I get over it.
Basil: Yes, yes, you'll get over it. No point in letting it get you down. Plenty more fish in the sea, eh? [he claps Manuel on the back]
Manuel: Don't!
Basil: What?
Manuel: Don't hit me. Always you hit me.
Basil: I'm not hitting you. I'm trying to cheer you up.
Basil: Biscuits? [he opens the tin. The rat is inside.]
Would you care for a rat? Or ... ?
Just ... just the biscuits then please, Polly.
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