Set in the dying days of the 1960s, Bruce Robinson’s semi-autobiographical tale of two unemployed actors is a triumph of screenwriting and a brilliant showcase for then-unknown stars Richard E. Grant and Paul McGann.
By David Cairns | May 2025
Bruce Robinson’s gift for colorful language is the most striking mark of his talent. This has doubtless held him back in places where translation is required or such dexterity is not appreciated. He himself once noted that a sentence in Withnail and I (1987), “We’ve gone on holiday by mistake,” hilarious and obviously absurd to a native English speaker, could lose everything as a subtitle: something like “We’ve erroneously gone on holiday” isn’t funny at all.
“The history of its meat clung about this house like a climate.” This is a line from Robinson’s sole published novel, The Peculiar Memories of Thomas Penman, and again it illustrates his gift for the grisly but amusing turn of phrase. His signature tone is disgust.
Robinson began as an actor, eventually rising to the foothills of near stardom—François Truffaut cast him opposite Isabelle Adjani in The Story of Adele H. (1975). But before that disappointment—Robinson loved the director but hated his own performance—there were, as they say, the early years of bitter struggle, and these, along with the decline of the sixties dream, are what Robinson documents in Withnail and I.
Marwood, the “I” character, is nakedly Robinson, wearing a lifelike Paul McGann costume. But Withnail, immortally played by Richard E. Grant, is Robinson, too, though he was substantially inspired by another unemployed actor friend. Marwood embodies Robinson’s paranoid aspect, while the shifty Withnail supplies him with plenty to be paranoid about.
Mainly focusing on these two characters (or one bifurcated one), the film must make a lot out of a little. It’s 1969, and two out-of-work actors, Marwood and Withnail, who share a dilapidated flat in London, take a holiday in the Lake District. Then they come back. That is the plot. Fortunately, the characters’ tendency toward exaggeration means there’s constant drama—they are, after all, actors. Marwood nervously hypes every crisis to hysterical heights, while Withnail oscillates between outrage, bravado, blind terror, and self-pity. If anything actually happened, it might be unbearable.
The script begins, more or less, with this scene description: “Dostoevsky described hell as perhaps nothing more than a room with a chair in it. This room has several chairs.” A brilliant, grimly whimsical joke, but impossible to actually represent on-screen. You can’t point a camera at that joke—all you’ll see is some chairs. But it starts the reader off on a note of mordant elation that the film must find more gradually.
Before the script there was Robinson’s unpublished novel, written when the misery of unemployment had reached its awful climax and Robinson had to laugh to keep from crying. Unemployment has always been treated as something akin to a criminal offense, but it was once possible to live and do creative work on the dole, if you didn’t mind being miserable, and British culture was incredibly enriched by many of those who pulled off this tricky feat.
Everyone recognized the brilliance of Robinson’s eventual script: they just didn’t want to make it. Fortunately, David Puttnam, a former adman emerging as the savior of British cinema, commissioned Robinson to write The Killing Fields (1984)—which won three Oscars and eight BAFTAs, including Best Adapted Screenplay—and George Harrison, the Beatle turned producer, gave Robinson a chance to direct his dream project at Harrison’s company Handmade Films. The Killing Fields, Harrison once said, was exactly the kind of film he didn’t want to make—he preferred comedies. He’d fallen into cinema when Monty Python’s Life of Brian (1979) lost its budget at the eleventh hour, he mortgaged his house to back it, and it was such a hit that he kept on gambling. Eventually Harrison may have had cause to regret that decision—his producing partner’s fraudulence nearly bankrupted him—but British cinema benefited enormously from Handmade’s support of original filmmakers like Terry Gilliam and Neil Jordan.
Robinson’s success with Killing Fields meant he was now worth £250,000 per script. He sold Withnail and I to Handmade for a pound, so the company could feel it was cutting a profit already, and then spent much of his directing fee on shooting the scenes that Handmade had originally wanted cut. I saw the film at its 1987 Edinburgh International Film Festival premiere, where everyone laughed themselves sick. And then waited for it to actually get released. And waited.
As part of an essay cycle that roves the cinema of the 1990s for vestiges of intelligent life, Phillip Lopate identifies several attributes that typify the early style of writer turned directors: creatively interpolated exposition, admirably ham-fisted mise-en-scène, and skewedly erudite characters among them. The blistering dyad of movies that British author Bruce Robinson produced with HandMade Films in the late ’80s proudly manifests all of these, and adds one by way of aggressive underscoring: an acerbic worldview.
One can’t blame Lopate for overlooking this quality, as there’s nothing in the debuts of David Mamet or Paul Schrader on par with Robinson’s reckless piss and vinegar. House of Games and Blue Collar possess a crafty bleakness, to be sure, but a modern fable wherein the body of an advertising exec is commandeered by a sentient, puss-dribbling shoulder boil suggests unprecedented vocational spite. As with both Mamet and Schrader, however, Robinson playfully uses film as a sensual extension of language (evens fans tend to praise his work as though it were illustrated dialogue); the lysergic scenarios and scene-nibbling actors make his wit appear so limitless that its targets are rendered defenseless.
Both Withnail and I and How to Get Ahead in Advertising are exemplars of the “hateful paean” tradition, salvos of social disgust filled uneasily with self-deprecating doubt. If the former seems the weaker of the two, it’s only because de-glamorizing the boho-isms of the late ’60s has fallen in and out of style multiple times (our culture’s paradoxical reliance on—and lack of trust in—marketing, on the other hand, only continues to evolve and fester). Originally conceived as a novel, Withnail and I is Robinson’s “Fear and Loathing Through the English Country,” a burnt-out ode to both town and city faux-artistry squalor and a stoner bromance par excellence.
In the film, two out-of-work thespians and flatmates (Richard E. Grant and Paul McGann) in 1969, tired of London’s soot-stained, fish ‘n’ chip paper urbanity, con a rich relative into offering the key to his cottage in Cumbria. What follows is a frenzied fog of booze-fueled betrayals and comic misunderstandings that eventually reveal to the duo the toxic nature of their dynamic.
There are, curiously, few narcotics involved aside from alcohol, which is so desperately sought that lighter fluid is gleefully imbibed in one scene, and an epic spliff rolled by a cockney cohort, Danny (Ralph Brown). But, taking cues from idol Hunter S. Thompson, whose occasional illustrator/collaborator Ralph Steadman provided Withnail and I’s promotional art, Robinson likens the demise of the Summer of Love to a bad drug trip, maintaining an achily inebriated cadence with paranoid voiceovers and a giddily episodic structure.
The film’s environment doesn’t demystify the hippie myth so much as bathe it in fatigued rancor until it becomes sympathetically believable; the Hendrix tracks on the soundtrack were easy-FM picks far before 1986, and the afro-sporting Black he-man that appears in the bathtub during act three seems to have wandered in from an off-Broadway production of Hair. But rather than epitomizing the countercultural lifestyle of the era in extremis as, say, Raoul Duke and Dr. Gonzo did, the two titular characters here patrol its antsy, mournful, disillusioned limits.
Grant’s celebrated performance as Withnail (pronounced “whith-null”) grows increasingly campy in the rearview; he savors pithily vulgar bon mots like “I’ve got a bastard behind the eyes” with enough oily dramaturgy to give you indigestion in the midst of all your side-splitting contortions. And yet, it’s the frothy whirlpool of Withnail’s pouty, egocentric over-reactions that draws us in as mercilessly as it does I, McGann’s uptight, unnamed protagonist and Robinson surrogate. This masochistic stranglehold provides the film’s most cogent metaphor for the self-destructiveness that may have ushered us into, as well as out of, the “revolution” of the 1960s.
In Cumbria, the unhappy couple bicker about whose turn it is to fetch firewood, upset the locals in a mostly fruitless search for non-fermented sustenance, and find themselves on the wrong end of a stunned eel who’s been docilely occupying a gruff poacher’s trousers. And through it all, they nervously roil from the realization that the country is just as putrid and unwholesome as the city they abandoned, an intermittently clever analogy for the unrecognized futility of the Age of Aquarius’s free love and corporeal experimentation.
The story almost fatally swerves into dated socio-political cartoonishness when the brilliantly flaming and ruddily corpulent Uncle Monty (Richard Griffiths) arrives with plans to seduce the curly haired, boy-faced I. Inspired by the reportedly untoward advances he suffered from director Franco Zeffirelli as a young, struggling actor, Robinson unfairly fashions Monty as an appalling symbol of effete, closeted decadence and despondency.
The uncomfortable climax succeeds despite Monty’s unnecessary humiliation because of the homoerotic tension that punctures the surface of Withnail and I’s relationship, a partnership that we accept at misshapen face value throughout. Withnail’s charisma is such that we don’t even recognize him as a tragic hero until he hackishly spews a Hamlet soliloquy into the rain after I dumps him for the less risky compromises of adulthood and self-sufficient success. The film’s satire at times collapses under the weight of its unkempt irascibility, but the conviction of Robinson’s ire toward a generation led astray is nigh unparalleled in boomer culture.
Image/Sound
Criterion’s UHD perfectly preserves the film’s sickly beauty. You can make out every shade of the restless main characters’ raccoon eyes. The squalor of 1960s urban Britain and filth of the countryside are equally vivid in their crusty unpleasantness, and the generally dark lighting of the cinematography never evinces any crushing artifacts. The mono soundtrack keeps dialogue and ambient sounds clear while threading in David Dundas and Rick Wentworth’s mockingly romantic score and the occasional needle drop of ’60s psychedelic music.
Extras
Criterion’s disc comes with two audio commentaries, one a Covid-era livestream Q&A featuring director Bruce Robinson, and the other from 2001 featuring actors Ralph Brown and Paul McGann. Both are abundant in anecdotes and information about the film’s making and its enduring popularity. Also included is a 1999 making-of documentary, new and archival interviews with Robinson and Richard E. Grant, and a gallery of reference photos by poster artist Ralph Steadman. In his booklet essay, critic David Cairns lauds Robinson for make something as idiosyncratic as Withnail & I, particularly singling out his use of long takes to develop the film’s knife-edge balance of black comedy and pathos.
Overall
Criterion’s disc of Bruce Robinson’s cult comedy offers the film in all its squalid, stained beauty.
A remarkable talent from the twin town of Ballybofey in County Donegal, teenager Muireann Bradley blends traditional blues stylings with her own distinctive interpretations of classic tunes spanning decades.
We asked Muireann for her choice cultural picks…
FILM
I recently discovered the 1980s cult classic black comedy Withnail and I.
I absolutely love this film and can’t stop watching it. It is hilarious and tragic at the same time. Richard E. Grant gives an incredible performance as an upper-class, alcoholic, out-of-work actor who goes on holiday “by accident” to the countryside with his flatmate and fellow unemployed actor, “I,” played brilliantly by Paul McGann.
The script is so memorable and quotable. I keep catching myself shouting, “I want the finest wines available to humanity. I want them here, and I want them now!”
I also love how the film uses music, especially the Jimi Hendrix tracks. The scene of them flying down the motorway in a clapped-out Jaguar, “making time” to Voodoo Child (Slight Return), is unforgettable.
MUSIC
I am known for playing country/folk blues, but I listen to all kinds of music.
I’m a big fan of Sierra Ferrell. I’ve loved her music for a long time and used to watch her performances on YouTube before she even had a record deal. Her voice is beautiful, and her songwriting is exceptional.
It’s great to see someone so talented, who writes all their own material, achieving so much success in a genre that might not be considered mainstream. I was thrilled to see her win four Grammys, including Best Americana Album, and I can’t wait to catch her live. My favorite song of hers is In Dreams.
BOOK
I just finished reading George Orwell’s Animal Farm. My mother recommended it as an introduction to Orwell’s writing. I’ve heard so many people using the term “Orwellian” recently, and I wanted to fully understand its meaning.
The novel is short but incredibly engaging. Even though Orwell wrote it in the 1940s, inspired by the rise of Stalinism, it still resonates today. For me, it’s about human nature, and that never changes. I also enjoyed the surreal humor—pigs in charge! Next up: 1984.
THEATRE
The last play I read was Sive by John B. Keane, which I studied at school. The story is incredibly sad and upsetting, particularly how Sive is forced to leave school and marry an old man.
Reading it made me grateful for how much rural Ireland has changed since the 1950s. Young girls now have far more freedom and opportunities. I would love to see Sive performed in the theatre someday.
TV
I’ve been watching Breaking Bad—I’m on Season 4, and I’m hooked. It’s fascinating to see how much the characters have changed since the first episode. Why do I still root for Walter White, even though he’s done so many awful things?
I also really enjoyed Peaky Blinders—Cillian Murphy is phenomenal. And I was so obsessed with Game of Thrones that I watched the entire series twice.
On a lighter note, I loved Ricky Gervais’ The Office.
GIG
Folk/blues legend Eric Bibb played a sold-out gig at St. Patrick’s Cathedral in January as part of TradFest, and I had the honor of opening for him. He is one of my biggest heroes. I grew up listening to his music and have learned so much from him.
His performance was incredible, blending old and new songs. The cathedral’s atmospheric lighting added to the experience.
Later this month, I’ll be playing on Joe Bonamassa’s Keeping the Blues Alive sea cruise from Miami to Mexico. I’m excited to see not only Joe but also Christone “Kingfish” Ingram, Eric Gales, Larkin Poe, and one of my favorite country blues artists, Nat Myers. I can’t wait to jam with him!
ART
While playing at the Black Box in Belfast during the summer as part of the Cathedral Quarter Arts Festival, I took the chance to visit the Ulster Museum. There, I saw two Caravaggio paintings on loan: The Taking of Christ and The Supper at Emmaus.
The emotional impact of these paintings, especially The Taking of Christ, was overwhelming. The size, scale, and realism are astonishing, particularly how Caravaggio captures light. I couldn’t look away from the way the light strikes the soldier’s armor as he grabs Christ—it’s a moment of chaos frozen on canvas, something even film struggles to achieve. If you ever get the chance to see it, you won’t forget it.
RADIO/PODCAST
There are so many great radio shows. I love listening to Dave Fanning, John Creedon, John Kelly’s Mystery Train, Ray Cuddihy, and Fiachna Ó Braonáin. I also try to catch Cerys Matthews’ blues show on BBC Radio 2 whenever I can. Iggy Pop’s show on BBC 6 Music is fantastic too.
I recently discovered Theme Time Radio Hour, a radio show/podcast Bob Dylan hosted between 2006 and 2009. Each episode has a different theme—some of my favorites include “The Devil,” “Eyes,” and “Coffee.” The “Devil” episode opens with Robert Johnson’s Me and the Devil Blues. As expected, there are a lot of blues tracks, and Dylan himself is just effortlessly cool. He’s Bob Dylan!
TECH
The app I use most is Amazing Slow Downer (ASD). It allows you to change the pitch and speed of any piece of music. I use it to figure out complicated guitar parts that are hard to hear at full speed. One of its best features is the ability to re-pitch music to match my guitar in seconds—so much easier than retuning!
I also love PictureThis, a plant identification app. I’ve always been fascinated by trees, plants, and flowers, especially how they were used in the past. If I see a weed on my walk that I don’t recognize, the app tells me exactly what it is and its history.
THE NEXT BIG THING…
There are some amazingly talented young electric blues/rock guitarists emerging right now. One of the biggest names to watch is Grace Bowers, a young Californian guitarist who is the same age as me. She has a strong stage presence and a really cool image. Her performance with Chris Martin during the Grammys’ In Memoriam tribute was incredible.
However, I think the future of blues/rock guitar is Toby Lee, a super-talented 20-year-old from England. His latest album, House on Fire, is fantastic. He’s been touring with Jools Holland as well as leading his own band. I saw him on a small stage at Black Deer Festival in the UK last summer, and he blew everyone away. He’s an incredible performer and just keeps getting better.
Colin Farrell, himself part of some absolute bangers, names the one film that he views as flawless. Read more about the movie and its significance.
By Jacob Simmons
It hasn’t always been smooth sailing for Colin Farrell, but he’s managed to navigate a string of potential career-enders and come out the other side as a respected and sought-after actor. Long before donning a fat suit and putting on a questionable mob accent, the Irishman was delivering standout performances in critically acclaimed films. In Bruges, The Killing of a Sacred Deer, The North Water, The Banshees of Inisherin—all beloved by legions of devoted fans. But has Farrell ever made a ‘perfect’ movie?
Colin Farrell
According to the actor himself, he hasn’t. That’s because, in his eyes, there’s only one ‘perfect’ movie, and he’s not in it. When speaking with Rotten Tomatoes about some of his favourite films, Farrell gave some great answers. Back to the Future, Some Like It Hot, and Lawrence of Arabia all came up, but he reserved his highest praise for Bruce Robinson’s definitive black comedy, Withnail and I.
“Oh man, is there a funnier and more poignant film that captures the anarchic irreverence of that period?” he posited. “It’s just perfect, from start to finish, in my book. Ridiculously quotable with mad, perfect performances across the board. Richard E Grant is pure genius, but everyone in the film gives amazing and hilarious and heartbreaking performances. Again, I think loneliness and isolation, and a desire to belong play big parts in this one. The story is as much a love story between the two leads as anything, with a very sad break-up of sorts taking place at the very end, with Withnail left out in the rain.”
Released in 1987, the film tells the story of Withnail (Grant), a spiteful, hard-drinking, out-of-work actor who blames all his problems on anyone but himself. He and his friend Marwood (Paul McGann), who is credited by some as the eponymous ‘I’, end up at the country estate of his eccentric uncle (Richard Griffiths), where the limits of their friendship are tested.
Much has been written about the movie, which has its fair share of famous fans, particularly about the relationship between the two central characters. Much has been over whether or not Withnail and Marwood are secretly in love with each other or if the former’s affection is unrequited by the latter. The ending scene that Farrell mentioned, in which Marwood leaves his old roommate after finding work, is often cited as confirmation of this. However, it has to be said that Grant prefers the theory that Withnail is too self-obsessed to be in love with anyone but himself.
Even after decades in the limelight and countless other excellent roles, Withnail continues to be Grant’s most enduring and celebrated character. The film is one of the most popular cult movies around (if that’s not too much of an oxymoron), with fans going out of their way to find new ways to celebrate. There’s even an accompanying drinking game; drink every time Withnail does. For the love of God, do not attempt this yourself. You will not survive.
Somewhat surprisingly, Farrell has never co-starred with Grant in anything. The two actors would be a perfect fit for each other, and Farrell would most certainly be up for collaborating with a hero of his. If any casting directors are reading this, you know what needs to be done.
