John Cleese has been the disgruntled owner of a dead parrot, a lawyer, overconfident (and ultimately limbless) knight, clueless and belligerent hotelier, TV news reader, civil servant at the Ministry Of Silly Walks, zookeeper, cheese aficionado, Roman Centurion, and fruit-obsessed self-defence instructor.
So it’s easy to forget that, as the actual creator of these characters, the self-described “writer, actor, and tall person” is first and foremost a storyteller.
“I don’t want to go home,” admits a clearly elated Bono as U2’s Cape Town show draws to an end. The feeling — echoed by the capacity crowd — is completely understandable: it’s been a shared evening of rock ‘n roll showmanship, political soapboxing, and surprising intimacy.
For all the size of the show — six days to set up; 204 shipping crates of equipment; 32 000 fasteners for the video screen alone — it’s ultimately about the four men at the middle of the 360-degree stage. This spectacle has soul.
Seether are an LA-based band whose last two singles spent close on six months at the top of the US rock charts. Less than 10 years ago they were wannabes from Centurion who couldn’t even win a battle of the bands competition.
Frontman Shaun Morgan Welgemoed is keen to remind local audiences he hasn’t forgotten. From the South African flag (on stage and tattooed on his arm) to name-checking Barney Simon to playing alongside the childhood friend who taught him guitar, their Cape Town show is a wild celebration of their origins.
With towering white pillars and long palm-lined driveway, the Mount Nelson isn’t all that easy to miss. It’s pink for goodness sake. And the soaring column of steel and glass that is the Arabella Sheraton is about as inconspicuous as Table Mountain.
So in comparison The Cape Grace is virtually invisible, a discreet four-storey building that whispers seductively rather than screams for attention as you head for the perennially popular V&A Waterfront.
Elton John has a bit of a reputation for being, well, difficult. Once, when staying in a hotel in America, he phoned his management company in London and shouted: “It’s too f***ing windy here – can you do something about it?”
But onstage in Cape Town he’s an absolute gentleman, a consummate professional. Maybe too professional. He’s impeccably dressed, his stylish black coat complementing his red-tinted glasses. And impeccably punctual.
“I don’t want to be Iggy Pop,” barks Michael Stipe on ‘I took your name’, the song that opens the first South African concert of R.E.M.’s world tour.
But – even decked out in a dark suit, white shirt and red tie – he’s not fooling anybody.
Behind him, the band grinds relentlessly on, all wailing guitars and pummelled drums, giving a potent song the powerhouse treatment it deserves.
Nils van der Linden