Cult Movies #5

In 1967, when director Franco Zeffirelli, was busy filming Romeo and Juliet in Italy, he spent his down time trying to seduce the young actor cast as Benvolio who, in turn, was having none of it. At least that's according to the actor who played Benvolio. A couple decades later, in 1987, that actor--Bruce Robinson--exacted his revenge by writing and directing the hilariously melancholy Withnail and I, part of which satirizes a gentleman of a certain age as he pursues a reluctant young straight man. Withnail and I is not an easy movie for some viewers to embrace; perhaps it's too squalid, what with all the drunkenness, profanity and drug use. Also, the lead characters are consistently awful and hardly endearing. That's part of what makes the film so funny: these two young actors, penniless, unemployed and living in a filthy flat, are continuously overwrought, acting out their frustrations offstage instead of on. I think it's a masterpiece but since the vast majority of the people I know have never heard of it, much less seen it, I could be in the minority (at least among American viewers). If that's the case, I'm in good company. Noted film critic, Roger Ebert, among others, have sung the praises of Withnail and I, which is "generally regarded as being among the finest British films ever made" (Wikipedia). Over the years, it's also heavily influenced a number of young directors, as well as trends in fashion. 

Set in 1969, the movie begins with a wrecking ball demolishing structures on either side of a derelict apartment building which is, appropriately enough, inhabited by a wreck of a man named Withnail and his roommate, Marwood, the high-strung "I" of the title. Flamboyant Withnail--distanced from his wealthy parents--considers himself to be a fine Shakespearean actor, and--possibly--might have been had he been given the break he believes he deserves. Marwood, on the other hand, simply wants to find a paying gig, be it onstage or in a television commercial. One morning, to Marwood's horror, he spies something lurking beneath the piles of food-encrusted dirty dishes and unidentified matter in the kitchen sink. Facing eviction and seriously depressed, neither man has the wherewithal to tackle the herculean task of cleaning up this stye, nor can they turn away their perpetually out-of-it drug dealer/friend who occasionally shows up to crash on their couch. To cope with all this, they swill down copious amounts of alcohol and smoke enormous joints provided by their visitor. However, the two quickly run through their coping devices (weed and booze). Withnail is reduced to taking slugs of lighter fluid while Marwood flaps his hands ineffectually at the hopelessness of their situation. In desperation, the pair determines that the best course of action is to get out of London for awhile. Time to pay a call on Withnail's eccentric Uncle Monty, a sporadic actor who dwells in decaying splendor in an inherited manse in Chelsea. Mistakenly believing Withnail and Marwood to be gay lovers, Uncle Monty is--initially--courtly and ever-so-charming. Especially when he sets eyes on Marwood, who is instantly put off by Monty's excessive attention. After a fine dinner and a run-in with his reclusive cat--who he intends to kill if only he can catch it--Monty agrees to lend the boys his "country house" in England's Lake District. 

Upon arrival (in a furious downpour), they discover that Uncle Monty's "country house" is, in actuality, a dilapidated ruin with no heat or electricity. Breaking up furniture to use for kindling, they spend a chilly night in front of the fireplace before morning finally comes and they attempt to buy food from the "friendly locals". Of course, the locals aren't quite as welcoming as Withnail led Marwood to believe, although it's their thoughtless actions that cause much of the antagonism. After several drunken misadventures, the two find themselves cowering in a bedroom, convinced that a dangerous psychopath is breaking through a window downstairs to kill them. The "dangerous psychopath" turns out to be Uncle Monty whose designs on Marwood have driven him to motor up from London during the dead of night. 

As Withnail and Marwood (and a luckless chicken) haven't had much success with the antiquated stove, Uncle Monty decides to prepare a full gourmet meal. And, to his credit, he delivers. After drinks, everyone is off to their own rooms to bed down for the night. Later, Marwood is awakened to an overheated and persistent Monty declaring "I mean to have you even if it must be burglary!" Further perils and foolishness await our hysterical friends until they finally wind up back at their disgusting London flat. Things wrap up pretty quickly and the film ends on a surprisingly moving note as Withnail recites Hamlet's monologue beginning with Oh what a piece of work is man....

Richard E. Grant delivers a dazzling performance as the petulant, histrionic Withnail. A riotous and genuinely talented man, Withnail, nevertheless, consistently sabotages his own efforts to rise above his current station in life. He's a hopeless alcoholic who might have performed Shakespeare with the best of them. As played by Grant, he's both ridiculous and sublime, sad and silly, a little mad, perhaps, and equipped with a razor-sharp tongue. I've enjoyed Grant in other screen roles, most recently in Emerald Fennell's Saltburn, but for me, the character of Withnail is, by far, his greatest achievement. It's a shame that the movie wasn't more aggressively promoted when it first opened because Grant deserved an Oscar nod. 

As Marwood, Paul McGann is also very good. He's--marginally--the more steady of the pair. Since, by design, Grant has the showier role, McGann sometimes finds himself playing second banana to a force of nature. Still, he's quite funny and believably anxious as he is dragged from one calamity to the next. His narrow escape from the clutches of Uncle Monty is hilarious and disturbing. Marwood, of course, is a stand-in for the film's director, while Uncle Monty is a send-up of Franco Zeffirelli. Ultimately, McGann has more of a character arc in the film than his illustrious co-star, and his eagerness to shake off his recent past is palpable and, by necessity, a little cold. 

The late Richard Griffiths is erudite and superbly witty as the lust-filled Uncle Monty, who just can't seem to take no for an answer. An upper-middle-class homosexual, Monty is a courtly predator, and Griffith absolutely nails this character as if it were tailored expressly for him. He makes the queasiest scenes uproarious. If, indeed, Grant's performance is Oscar-worthy, so is Griffith's (in the supporting actor category).  

Even supporting characters like the drug dealer (Ralph Brown) are well-sketched and amusingly droll. 

The immensely quotable dialogue in the film is smart and expertly written. In fact, second only to the performances, the dialogue is everything; you must be able to keep up with the chatter because the unforgettable lines come fast and furious. ("We want the finest wines available to humanity and we want them here and we want them now!") The amazingly talented Bruce Robinson, who wrote and directed Withnail and I, has been around awhile although he's not particularly well-known to American audiences. That's a pity because he also wrote and directed the brilliant 1989 satire, How to Get Ahead in Advertising (also with Grant) and the so-so Johnny Depp-helmed The Rum Diary, which failed to ignite at the box office. Robinson's relationship with Hollywood doesn't seem to have proved too fruitful, although he has at least a dozen acting credits in (mostly) European films. In addition to all this, Robinson is a published author, whose most recent work, They All Love Jack: Busting the Ripper was well-received by book critics in 2015. Withnail and I is actually based on Robinson's experiences as an aspiring actor in 60's London, the character of Withnail, himself, inspired by Robinson's roommate at the time, a charismatic young actor named Vivian MacKerrill, whose career was cut short by heavy drinking. 

I've often noticed that, for some reason, American audiences don't necessarily tend to warm up to British humor. Maybe it's too broad, maybe it's too smart, maybe it's a combination of the two. Maybe our two countries just have different approaches to comedy that don't always translate well. I wouldn't recommend Withnail and I to just anybody (you know who you are) but it's one of the 10 movies I would take to a desert island if I were going to be stranded there forever. Of course, it goes without saying that the desert island would need to have electricity. And preferably indoor plumbing. Okay, throw in a Shake Shack, and I'm good.