This...Basil's wife. This...Basil. This...slap on head.
In his Manuel guise, Andrew Sachs copped more than a few blows to the head, and boy did I laugh at his expense.
I have very fond memories of watching Fawlty Towers as a child. No matter how many times it the ABC would air it, I'd watch it. And I'd grin and laugh, again and again.
Fawlty Towers is comedic genius and it proves that high farce requires incredible writing and performance blended seamlessly together. Andrew Sachs was a vital part of this. Part side-man, part-straight-man; part-joker and part fool, he dolled out comedic gold through grimaces of pain, wide-eyed confusion and conspiratorial semi-smarts.
In some ways, Fawlty Towers has not aged well, in the sense that it's hard not to wince at Manuel being referred to a 'dago twit'. But even if Manuel was (and was treated by some as) racial caricature, the innocent charm and world-weary tolerance he imbued into the role surely did more to encourage empathy in the face of cultural difference than many other, more overt attempts to bridge such gulfs.
Flamenco dancing with a corpse in the wardrobe nearby. A spoon to the forehead. Being on set fire. (Which actually hurt the actor.) And an anguished stream of misinterpretation when he thinks his rat has been cooked by the chef. The present tense is apt. Manuel will forever be doing these things.
Mr Sachs, thank you for all the laughs. A co-starring role in a show that runs for only twelve episodes rarely produces televisual or comedic immortality. Unless, of course, you do it very, very well. In the case of Andrew Sachs, I sincerely doubt that anyone will do it better.
Que?
Yes. Que. And vale.