Random Surprisingly Astute Lessons We Can Learn From 'Monty Python and Holy Grail' (11 items)

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  (#5) Despite 85% Of The Population Being Peasants, Arthurian Legend Makes Them Seem Like A Minority

  According to the British Library, 85% of all people in medieval Europe were peasants, but - as pointed out by Monty Python - Arthurian legend leads many to think the vast majority of people in the Middle Ages (or at least those who were important) were knights and nobles. Peasants in Monty Python and the Holy Grail are rarely mentioned; those who do appear are minor to the plot, incredibly stupid, and disgusting. Some wallow in the muck, others propose to make a bridge out of someone to prove they are made of wood and thus a witch, and one is even shown in the background of a scene smashing a cat against a wall.

  In Arthurian legend, peasants are a passive collective, and Monty Python takes that to its logical extreme. There is only one named peasant - Dennis. But he, unlike every other peasant, stands up against the repression of the system. And though most of his spiel is an anachronistic Marxist criticism on the medieval political system, it also points out that the same repressed class is repressed in countless stories and legends told about the time period.
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  (#10) Anyone Who Could 'Summon Up Fire Without Flint Or Tinder' Would Gratuitously Use Their Powers

  When we're first introduced to Tim the Enchanter, he's standing on top of a hill, setting fire to every rock, shrub, and furry little critter around. When he teleports from the distant hilltop to the hill Arthur and his knights are occupying, he continues to conflagrate anything in sight, creating two little explosions right next to him without even turning around to talk to his visitors. He is Tim the Enchanter, he can summon up fire without flint or tinder, and he will do so simply because he can.

  Tim is magical, and though he may be a satirical take on Merlin from Arthurian legend, the Monty Python crew were right to point out that anyone with those abilities would no doubt use them ad nauseam. Sure, maybe you wouldn't combust a bear, but wouldn't you launch fire or fireworks out of a staff, or blow up a tree if you could? Of course you would.
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  (#1) Power Shouldn't Derive From A Woman In A Lake Who Hands Out Sabers

  In Arthurian legend, Arthur receives his almighty, magical blade Excalibur from Vivienne, the Lady of the Lake. Excalibur plays multiple roles in the tales - first as the literal weapon Arthur uses to lead a valiant battle against the Saxons, and then as a symbol of his virtue and power as he leads the people of Briton in a just and valiant manner.

  Some people, including Arthur himself, claim his power as king derives from the blade bestowed upon him. He was chosen for the role, as kings from the late medieval and early modern eras were legitimized by divine right. But where should power really derive from?

  According to Dennis, the 37-year-old peasant whom Arthur mistakes for an old woman, "Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government," but instead, "[s]upreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses..." Now, it's questionable whether the anarcho-syndicalist commune he suggests is any better than the monarchist tyranny he's so adamantly against, but Dennis makes a good point: "You can't expect to wield supreme executive power just 'cause some watery tart threw a sword at you."

  Anyone else claiming the same would probably be written off as crazy.
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  (#9) Being Accompanied By Singing Minstrels Would Be Infuriating

  Sir Robin's minstrels are some of the most irritating people to accompany the Knights of the Round Table. They incessantly sing about Sir Robin's accomplishments (but more often failures) while following the knight's every gallop, not even ceasing in the face of imminent danger. Though they're played for laughs, their inclusion serves as a commentary on bards from medieval legends and stories -  specifically Taliesin, the great bard of Arthurian legend.

  Taliesin was said to have sung in the courts of three kings, prophesied the passing of the evil king Maelgwn Gwynedd, and encouraged the Celtic Britons to fight against Saxon invaders. No matter how incredible a bard may be in his chosen line of work, it would no doubt be irritating to have someone creating songs about every single thing you do.

  In the case of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, those minstrels do get annoying for the entire party, and are eaten when the knights struggle for food - "There was much rejoicing."
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  (#7) Passions Of A Crowd Can Often Overshadow Any Logic, Especially During A Witch Hunt

  When a whole village of peasants is screaming, "A witch! Burn her!" - convinced they need to rid their village of her - it can be hard for anyone to resist getting caught up in the excitement. Monty Python deftly points out that - even in the face of ridiculous logic and a lack of any definitive evidence - the power of the crowd can be hard to resist.

  During one of Monty Python and the Holy Grail's early scenes, a village dresses up a woman in a funnel hat and a carrot nose in order to convince Sir Bedivere that she's a witch, and must therefore be burned. Bedivere, brilliant as he is, is not easily convinced by their demands and accusations. For starters, it's obvious that one of the peasants wasn't, in fact, turned into a newt, despite his claim to the contrary. So, Bedivere devises a logical formula: Wood burns. Witches burn because they are made of wood. Wood floats. Ducks also float. Therefore: "If she weighs the same as a duck, she's made of wood... A witch!"

  If you follow the logical reasoning, as some academics have, the rationale itself is obviously unsound, but that doesn't seem to bother anyone. Nor does the fact that the two sides of Bedivere's scales are obviously not evenly weighed. With no idea as to why the woman was accused, and lacking any hard evidence, everyone is swept up by the hysteria and condemns her.
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  (#4) A Trojan Horse-Like Trap Is A Ridiculous Military Tactic

  The French, King Arthur's greatest adversary, are not to be trifled with. They taunt the English knights, deny them a place to stay, and fire livestock at them. Though Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table make a temporary retreat after the French "fetchez la vache," Sir Bedivere comes up with a cunning plan: Copy the Greeks. 

  After some extremely audible construction with power tools, the squires wheel up a giant wooden rabbit to the French castle. After a bit of conversation and obvious confusion among the French guards, they bring the "Trojan" rabbit into the keep - setting the stage for Launcelot, Gallahad, and Bedivere to leap out of the rabbit at nightfall and take the French totally by surprise. The plan may have worked - if only the three knights were actually in the wooden rabbit. 

  Ultimately, the plan wasn't so cunning after all, not only because the knights weren't in the rabbit, but also because it was strategically terrible. It may have worked for the Greeks in the semi-mythological story of The Iliad, but realistically, if a besieging army leaves a giant wooden figure at the enemy's doorstep, it's foolish for any army to completely trust it without any scrutiny. Though the French guards may be "strange" people, they aren't fools. And like the cow before it, they immediately catapult the rabbit back at the English knights.

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