A Monty Python fanboy inexplicably
hooks up with the Python troupe, heads to Tunisia to "help" with making the movie "Life of Brian" with no skills or experience, then captures his tedious observations in a personal diary along with a few photos. The author drones on and on about the most mundane details on and off the set, sounding like a guy at a party who bores everyone to death about the backstage experience with The Rolling Stones that he won as the Grand Prize in a Dr. Pepper sweepstakes. No wonder he sat on the damn diary for decades.
The author points out a dozen times, from the Pythons' and his own experience, that movie making is often dull, monotonous, and the actors more often than not find themselves bored out of their skulls sitting around while equipment is set up, sound levels are tested, etc. Ironically, that is exactly
how the reader feels going through the book. Sitting there bored, waiting for anything interesting to happen. Eric Idle gets up in the middle of the night to watch a rebroadcast of an Ali fight, Graham Chapman treats dozens of crew members' injuries, John Cleese tells of autograph signings, Terry Jones scurries around while trying to balance duties of a Director with being One Of The Gang. On and on. I ultimately gave up half-way through because I couldn't take it anymore.
So, in a sentence this book is uninformative, poorly written, rambling, and savagely boring. Johnson managed to do something I have always thought to be impossible. Make Monty Python boring. Highly unrecommended.