Latest news with #TerryJones
Yahoo
20-05-2025
- General
- Yahoo
Manic Monday: NJ Transit strike is over — but commuters still feeling the pain: ‘Pandemonium!'
NJ Transit riders are breathing a sigh of relief as the rail system reached a tentative agreement to bring a short-lived engineers' strike to an end, but they're coping with one more miserable day until trains are back in service. Long lines snaked throughout the third floor of the Port Authority Bus Terminal in Manhattan Monday afternoon, well ahead of the usual rush-hour crush, as commuters scrambled to catch shuttles to park-and-ride lots on the other side of the Hudson. 'I told my boss on Friday that I'll be leaving early as long as this thing went on. Look at this line! It's not even 2:30 in the afternoon yet, and there's a hundred people on this line,' Bob P., 26, who was waiting to catch a shuttle bus to the Old Bridge park-and-ride, told The Post. 'Do you have any idea what this is going to look like at 5 or 6 at night? Pandemonium!' Youth worker Terry Jones, 47, got into a shouting match with a transit worker during the evening rush hour after he thought the staffer was too aggressive corralling commuters. 'I just want you to put me on my bus,' Jones yelled at the worker before getting on an escalator. 'Stop talking to me. Leave! Like get a supervisor, Jesus Christ.' Jones' trip into the city from Carteret would usually take 45 minutes, but it was double that time Monday morning and made him late for work. 'If it's a one out of 10 —10. Pissed off. Ten, yeah, a 10. I'm pissed off,' he seethed. 'This is ridiculous … That makes me feel horrible, especially in stuff with these trying times and stuff with jobs that are laying people off.' When Ankit Kumar, 21, arrived at the Port Authority Monday evening, he quickly reversed course and went back to his office for two more hours until the throngs of commuters shrank. 'It's extremely annoying because you're supposed to get home after 6 [p.m.], I get home around 7 [p.m.], but it's going to be 9 or 10 [p.m.] and I have to get up at 6 [a.m.] again tomorrow,' the paralegal said. 'I'm obviously annoyed and irritated.' Kumar, who typically has a three-hour commute, said he was already considering moving to the Big Apple – but now the short-lived strike has made that a stronger possibility. Technician Ansel Walters, 49, stood in a long line after he initially thought his days on a shuttle bus were over when he heard a deal was reached. His typical commute is a mere 35 minutes, but now it's two-and-a-half hours. 'Actually, while I was on the buses, a few people got frustrated and got off because it was just taking too long,' Walters said. Property manager Sharon Adamo, 64, was ready to return to a more comfortable ride the rest of the week. 'People standing on the bus, I think it's outrageous, it's uncomfortable, it is dangerous,' said Adamo, whose round-trip commute to and from Rahway has been extended by about an hour. The Garden State-owned public transit provider made a deal to bump pay for engineers, who have not had a raise since 2019. The agreement was reached after two days of tense negotiations, culminating with a work stoppage that saw 450 Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers and Trainmen union members walk off the job Friday after midnight. The work stoppage — the first for the rail system since 1983 — led to a stressful commute for tens of thousands of New Jersey residents. 'I am delighted to report that NJ Transit and the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers and Trainmen (BLET) have reached a tentative agreement and as a result, New Jersey's first rail strike in decades has officially come to an end,' Gov. Phil Murphy said at a press conference Sunday night. Union leadership initially said the commuting nightmare was over and its workers 'will return to work and trains will begin running on their regular schedules Monday,' according to Politico, but NJ Transit, Murphy and a union rep later amended the scheduling, saying trains won't start running until 12:01 a.m. Tuesday. The transit agency released a schedule of the first trains expected to run predawn Tuesday with the earliest trains set to run around 4 a.m. 'Friday sucked! The first bus at 5:05 a.m. didn't even show up in the morning, and then this morning this bus was late,' Tom Krebs, 61, a Manhattan doorman who lives in Riverside said. 'I mean, on the bright side, they opened up the bus lane early this morning, like around 5:30 a.m., so we got here with no problem. But man, I am glad they settled it! I've been a doorman for 42 years, and this is not what I needed just before retirement.' Jeanne Lotte, 31, an executive assistant jumping on a bus to Secaucus, was also thrilled to see the strike reach its conclusion. 'I'm sneaking out of work early so don't tell my boss. It was a nightmare getting into that parking lot this morning. Thank God this is not going to go on for days and days,' she said. 'This morning was pretty frantic. The looks on people's faces was enough to scare the hell out of you.' Additional reporting by David Propper.
Scottish Sun
08-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Scottish Sun
Beloved pub linked to iconic TV show announces sudden closure after two years as owners share ‘incredibly difficult' news
Pubs are closing at an alarming rate across the UK FINAL DRINK Beloved pub linked to iconic TV show announces sudden closure after two years as owners share 'incredibly difficult' news Click to share on X/Twitter (Opens in new window) Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window) A CHERISHED pub linked to an iconic TV show has announced it will close. The owners confessed it had made an 'incredibly difficult' decision. Sign up for Scottish Sun newsletter Sign up 3 The Python's Arms, Penrhos Court Credit: Google Maps 3 Terry Jones was a celebrated member of the legendary Monty Python troupe Credit: Alamy The Python's Arms pub has announced it will pull its final pint at the end of May. The pub has been part of Penhros Court, Herefordshire, since it opened two years ago. The boozer acquired its name because the late actor Terry Jones, who starred in the legendary Monty Python, had run a Brewery in Penrhos Court. In honour of the late star's famous work, the pub was dubbed the Python's Arms. A number of neighbouring holiday cottages and cafe will also close, according to the pub. These have been a staple of Penhros Court for almost a decade. In a heartbreaking statement on Facebook, the pub's owners told regulars: "This is so incredibly difficult to write. "It's been over nine years since our adventure at Penrhos began and during that time as with all businesses, we've experienced our share of highs and lows with the pandemic being an obvious example. "However we've continued to grow and expand into the three elements we now operate. "The Cattle Shed Cafe, The Threshing Barn holiday cottages and more recently The Python's Arms pub. Punters at 400-year-old pub at risk of permanent closure in bid to save it "The reception and support we've received from our guests has been truly humbling and it's been a regular concern that car parking for around 40 vehicles just wasn't enough! "All three aspects of the business are now award winning and with the holiday cottages being described as "Word Class" in reviews, we really couldn't be more proud. "With all that said it's no secret that the British hospitality industry is struggling with the catastrophic decisions taken by both the past and present governments pushing more and more venues to the wall. "Sadly, Penrhos isn't immune to skyrocketing overheads, and try as we might, the figures just don't stack up anymore." The Python's Arms and the Cattle Shed will remain open until the evening of June 1. Meanwhile the holiday cottages will shut the following morning, after their final guests depart. The owners were plentiful in their praise of customers and staff, saying: "We would like to offer our heartfelt thanks to all our guests and customers, many of whom have become great friends over the years. "And above all to our wonderful, fabulous, brilliant staff, many of whom have now become family." The Python's Arms is closing amidst an incredibly tough time for pubs across the nation. Last year, 412 pubs closed in England and Wales, at a rate of more than 34 per month. According to analysis by real estate adviser Altus Group, this was a 6.7% increase on pub closures compared with 2023. The total number of pubs in the UK has dropped below 39,000 for the first time. This number is set to decrease further following increases to national insurance for employers in Rachel Reeves' autumn budget.
The Sun
08-05-2025
- Entertainment
- The Sun
Beloved pub linked to iconic TV show announces sudden closure after two years as owners share ‘incredibly difficult' news
A CHERISHED pub linked to an iconic TV show has announced it will close. The owners confessed it had made an 'incredibly difficult' decision. 3 3 The Python's Arms pub has announced it will pull its final pint at the end of May. The pub has been part of Penhros Court, in Hertfordshire, since it opened two years ago. The boozer acquired its name because the late actor Terry Jones, who starred in the legendary Monty Python, had run a Brewery in Penrhos Court. In honour of the late star's famous work, the pub was dubbed the Python's Arms. A number of neighbouring holiday cottages and cafe will also close, according to the pub. These have been a staple of Penhros Court for almost a decade. In a heartbreaking statement on Facebook, the pub's owners told regulars: "This is so incredibly difficult to write. "It's been over nine years since our adventure at Penrhos began and during that time as with all businesses, we've experienced our share of highs and lows with the pandemic being an obvious example. "However we've continued to grow and expand into the three elements we now operate. "The Cattle Shed Cafe, The Threshing Barn holiday cottages and more recently The Python's Arms pub. Punters at 400-year-old pub at risk of permanent closure in bid to save it "The reception and support we've received from our guests has been truly humbling and it's been a regular concern that car parking for around 40 vehicles just wasn't enough! "All three aspects of the business are now award winning and with the holiday cottages being described as "Word Class" in reviews, we really couldn't be more proud. "With all that said it's no secret that the British hospitality industry is struggling with the catastrophic decisions taken by both the past and present governments pushing more and more venues to the wall. "Sadly, Penrhos isn't immune to skyrocketing overheads, and try as we might, the figures just don't stack up anymore." The Python's Arms and the Cattle Shed will remain open until the evening of June 1. Meanwhile the holiday cottages will shut the following morning, after their final guests depart. The owners were plentiful in their praise of customers and staff, saying: "We would like to offer our heartfelt thanks to all our guests and customers, many of whom have become great friends over the years. "And above all to our wonderful, fabulous, brilliant staff, many of whom have now become family." The Python's Arms is closing amidst an incredibly tough time for pubs across the nation. Last year, 412 pubs closed in England and Wales, at a rate of more than 34 per month. According to analysis by real estate adviser Altus Group, this was a 6.7% increase on pub closures compared with 2023. The total number of pubs in the UK has dropped below 39,000 for the first time. This number is set to decrease further following increases to national insurance for employers in Rachel Reeves' autumn budget.
Washington Post
02-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Washington Post
‘Monty Python and the Holy Grail' turns 50 but still hasn't grown up
This essay killed me. Terry Jones, from somewhere in the back: 'You don't look dead to me.' I got better. But, honestly, what is left for a writer to say about 'Monty Python and the Holy Grail,' the seminal comedy that seemingly dropped from the heavens like one of the movie's cartoon God hands? Aside, of course, from 'Ni!' Far smarter, funnier and more insightful people than I have spent the past five decades poring over its every frame, so perhaps it's best to focus on how it made an entire generation of comedy nerds — emphasis on 'nerd' — pretty much undatable. 'You had to memorize 'Holy Grail,'' Jimmy Fallon once said. 'If you play 'Dark Side of the Moon' while you watch 'Holy Grail,' I guarantee you're not getting laid.' 'Monty Python and the Holy Grail,' written, directed, acted in and produced by the comedy troupe of Graham Chapman, John Cleese, Terry Gilliam, Eric Idle, Michael Palin and Jones, hopped into theaters like the Rabbit of Caerbannog 50 years ago and forever altered the trajectory of modern comedy. On Sunday and Wednesday it returns to screens nationwide, courtesy of Shout Studios and Fathom Entertainment. A legion of lovable losers (hi) were turned on to the movie (alongside 1978's 'Animal House' and 1974's 'Blazing Saddles') by their equally nerdy parents the way we'll probably show our kids the quotable comedies of our prime years in the 2000s, such as 'Anchorman' or 'Wet Hot American Summer.' We quoted 'Holy Grail' ad nauseam. ''Tis but a flesh wound' become our rallying cry. When we prepared meals, we would joke we were having 'lambs, and sloths, and carp, and anchovies, and orangutans, and breakfast cereals, and fruit bats, and large chulapas.' How many first dates ended when one of us accurately — thus, earsplittingly — quoted one of the Knights Who Say 'Ni!'? (If the answer is even one, which it undoubtedly is, the Pythons should be flogged.) And I cannot be the only one who, when preparing to get married, was told by my future spouse in no uncertain terms that our wedding invite could not include the question, 'What is the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?' Also, God bless if your name happened to be Tim. Some of us (hi) performed improv that we're glad was never filmed. Sadly, more of us (sigh, HI) thought improv would lead somewhere. For many, it sparked an obsession that did lead somewhere. For one, the film's secret language spoke to Judd Apatow, arguably the last defining voice in cinematic comedy. 'When I was a kid, I was obsessed with comedy but had no one — literally, no one — to talk to,' Apatow told the Guardian in 2009. 'So all my friends would be playing sports after school, and I'd go home alone and watch Monty Python.' He memorialized his experience in his cult classic high school TV show 'Freaks and Geeks,' set in 1980. In the pilot, the geeks skip the homecoming dance (to their parents' chagrin) for a screening of the 1975 movie. Later, after being traumatized by the jocks, they find solace in the movie. For a generation of geeks, it wasn't only a revelation, it was a warm blanket. One of the first movies I remember watching is 'Monty Python and the Holy Grail,' and I sincerely believe it informed my sense of humor if not my entire worldview. The guiding light of Monty Python was, of course, silliness. They believed that back in 1975, the world needed a touch more of it. In 2025, we need a chalice full. As in their time, modern politics lack a sense of play while emulating it. The Call of Duty/Elon Musk/Donald Trump-style 'own the other side' type of the right, which elates in the demonization, demoralization and submission of others. The cringeworthy performative play of the left, seeking to connect with voters. But as the Pythons probably would have guessed, that sense of play grew within the jesters of modern culture — sometimes mainstream, sometimes underground. 'The Simpsons' creator Matt Groening was inspired by the 'high-velocity sense of the absurd and not stopping to explain yourself.' The creators of 'South Park' were inspired by the crude animations found throughout the Python catalogue. That kind of boundless play — the kind you find when you're a kid bumming around the neighborhood with your friends, creating grand adventures out of nothing but imagination and maybe a few props either purchased (like dolls) or discovered (like weirdly shaped rocks), the kind inherent in riffing with buddies in an accidentally and organically secret language — has now migrated to social media, seen in the style of non-sequitur short clips that sprang up from Vine and migrated to TikTok. Here's an alpaca playing soccer. Here's a dog with a cicada buzzing around in his mouth. Here's a kid who really likes turtles. (Yes, my algorithm tends to feed me animal videos.) This is where it lives now: that sense of whimsy, of discovery, of wonder. The Pythons taught us that all the rules are simply human-made. Anything can happen. That's what I remember most about seeing 'Monty Python and the Holy Grail' for the first time. I spent most of it thinking, 'You can do that?!' The movie begins before it begins, explaining to the viewer that anything is on the table by subtitling the credits with fake (and obviously incorrect) Swedish subtitles that slowly transform into English ones about a moose biting someone's sister. Sometime after a credit 'signed' by Richard M. Nixon, these very British words flash across the screen: 'We apologise for the fault in the subtitles. Those responsible have been sacked.' And then another, announcing the people who did the sacking have been sacked. The gag doesn't stop there. The jokes shift from moose to llamas, and the whole ridiculous sequence lights the beacon for what's to come: Not a second of screen time will be wasted without some attempt to be funny. That promise is fulfilled seconds later, when the film begins with an extended argument between King Arthur and castle guard about whether a migratory European swallow could carry a coconut on its journey. Then we're immediately in a town, where a medieval garbageman is rolling around a cart topped with dead (or, in one instance, almost dead) bodies and yelling, 'Bring out your dead.' The economy of the movie is striking. Sans the closing credits, the entire genre-defining comedy runs under 90 minutes — nearly all of them memorable and easily referenced by shorthand some 50 years later. One of the movie's tricks is how simple it all seems while it also pushes the boundaries of form and imagination rather than social norms. It doesn't try to shock as much as surprise, scandalize as much as delight. The harshest things said in the whole movie are probably the French taunter's infamous insults to Arthur and his crew: 'I fart in your general direction! Your mother was a hamster, and your father smelt of elderberries! … Now go away or I shall taunt you a second time!' Yes, many of the jokes seem almost designed for pre- or newly pubescent boys (and, in fairness, probably were): squirting blood, goofy made-up words, a castle of horny young maidens. But as I've gotten older, aspects of the movie revealed themselves like said maiden to Arthur and his knights. Sure, I still love watching the Black Knight get his limbs lopped off while confidently insisting on continuing the sword fight. But what sends me reeling now is when King Arthur stumbles upon an anarcho-syndicalist commune whose members reject his kingship because they never elected him. As stirring music swells, Arthur explains to the unimpressed workers how the Lady of the Lake gave him Excalibur, thus cementing his status as king of the Britons. 'Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government,' one responds. 'Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony. You can't expect to wield supreme power just 'cause some watery tart threw a sword at you.' In 2025, the exchange almost feels like one you would find on X or Bluesky. When our American body politic is as absurd as the limbless Black Knight, the sequence is strangely comforting (or terrifying, depending on the day). Are farcical aquatic ceremonies really that bad? Arthur, of course, doesn't take kindly to this, grabbing the peasant, who shouts: 'See the violence inherent in the system! Help, I'm being repressed!' The absurdity and, ultimately, banality of power structures — the political and religious — are baked throughout the film. The ruling class — in this case Arthur, his knights and their coconuts — are nothing more than fools, ultimately in control of essentially nothing. Of course, Monty Python would never put forth something so boring, so droll. They sneak in political commentary the same way the Trojan Rabbit in the movie tries, and miserably fails, to sneak Arthur and his band into the French castle. A four-sentence exchange between peasants, as Arthur 'gallops' past, gets the point across. 'Who's that, then?' 'I don't know. Must be a king.' 'Why?' 'He hasn't got s--- all over him.' Ultimately, for any writer foolish enough to attempt it, a search to find deeper meaning in the movie is as absurd as Arthur's search for the grail itself and would rightfully be mocked by the Pythons just as heartily. Better to go watch 'Monty Python and the Holy Grail' for the 100th time. And, after that, go find a nice shrubbery. Maybe laurel.
Telegraph
03-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Telegraph
This Scottish castle was the setting for a Monty Python classic
'If you're an intellectual midget who likes giggling then you could do worse than see Monty Python and the Holy Grail.' Numerous cinema-goers who watched this trailer in their local flea pit 50 years ago seemed to see something of themselves in this description. They subsequently flocked to watch the first full-length feature movie made by Terry Gilliam, Terry Jones, Eric Idle and co when it was released in the spring of 1975. The filming, however, was at times a far from comedic affair, with foul weather dampening spirits, a shoe-string budget creating hurdles and a hotel that didn't have enough hot water. Yet these didn't stop the troupe producing a film that quickly acquired cult status – a status that exists to this day, with a slew of visitors continuing to make a pilgrimage to Doune Castle, the suitably bleak Scottish fortress that was the setting for much of the film. 'Do you want to clap some coconut shells?', the man in the gift shop asked me on a freezing Saturday morning as I clambered up the cobbled passageway that leads to the main courtyard of the partially ruined castle on the outskirts of Stirling. Coconuts, along with the screenplay of the film, can be purchased from the gift shop at Doune; the former being a joke that only those who have seen the film would understand. Turning a budgeting shortfall into one of The Holy Grail 's most enduring jokes, the movie begins with Graham Chapman, as Arthur, King of the Britons, and his band of knights making their way across a boggy landscape pretending to ride horses, and clapping coconuts to imitate the sound of hooves. I accepted the offer and started banging the coconut shells together for all I was worth. The castle is the work of the Duke of Albany, the de facto Scottish king between 1386 and 1420, ruling in place of his ailing brother Robert III. This big spender added an immense, cathedral-like great hall and a 17ft-wide stone hearth, big enough to roast an entire cow, along with the imposing east wall, from which the French knights hurl insults, chickens and cows at King Arthur in the film. The Python connections are front and centre of any visit. The audio guide to the castle is narrated by the late Terry Jones, co-director of The Holy Grail with Terry Gilliam. In between anecdotes from the film, he offers a lesson on Doune's long history, featuring overnight stays by both Mary Queen of Scots and Bonnie Prince Charlie, the latter occupying the castle with his Highlanders during the Jacobite Uprisings of the 1740s. The castle has barely changed in appearance since 1974, when King Arthur (Graham Chapman) and Prince Galahad (John Cleese) ran around a lot with swords, and the girls of Castle Anthrax (a scene also filmed inside Doune) attempted to seduce Michael Palin. What has changed is the ownership. Now it is in the hands of Historic Environment Scotland, while back then Doune belonged to the Earl of Moray. His munificence was a blessing for the Pythons as, just two weeks before filming was due to commence, the Scottish Department for the Environment banned the team from using any castles under their control, stating that The Holy Grail would be 'inconsistent with the dignity of the fabric of the buildings'. The Earl had no such qualms about Doune, so the Pythons rolled into the eponymous neighbouring village, holing up in the Woodside Hotel, just 10 minutes' walk from the castle. Today, the hotel is a real charmer, with a restaurant serving up fabulous seafood and butternut squash linguini. The only nod to The Holy Grail is a giant cartoon finger, rendered in Terry Gilliam's unique Python style, pointing to the 11 upstairs rooms. Mine, Ash, was very comfortable, featuring wallpaper patterned with pheasants, soft tartan cushions and a lovely hot shower. Which is certainly an improvement on 50 years ago when, as Michael Palin wrote in his published diaries, the hotel didn't have enough hot water for cast and crew at the end of the day, leading to a scramble to see who could get back to their rooms first. This was not a situation that pleased John Cleese in particular, who spent most evenings dining alone, away from the rest of the cast. He later admitted that the one favour the Woodside bestowed was serving him a white burgundy, initiating the future Basil Fawlty's love of wine. Enjoying the warmth of the hotel bar after a bone-chilling morning at the castle, I chatted to Ken Gray, a 77-year-old retired pharmacist who sneaked himself onto the set of The Holy Grail half a century ago. 'It was the bank holiday weekend at the end of May in 1974, and I was working as a pharmacist with my father inside the University of Stirling,' Ken recalled. 'Students were offered £2 a day, transport to the set, coffee and lunch. They were issued with double-knitted pullovers, which were sprayed with silver to look like chain mail. They were taken to the top of a slope called Dumyat Hill and told to charge down for what became the final scene. They then had to do it again and again and again until they got the right charge – it was a lot more exercise than they were expecting.' He added: 'The film was brilliant – and still is. It doesn't demean the history of Doune. In fact, it's done so much to encourage people to come here. If you bang a coconut shell anywhere in Doune, people know what you mean.'
