It was set in the Sixties, made in the Eighties and claimed by the Nineties, but 30 years on Bruce Robinson’s Withnail & I is a film for our times.
By Ben Myers
When it opened to little fanfare 30 years ago next month, Bruce Robinson’s directorial debut, Withnail and I, drew as much attention as it did commercial revenue: very little. It was a difficult time for home-grown cinema. The decade might have begun with Colin Welland, who wrote the screenplay for Chariots of Fire, claiming, “The British are coming!” when he picked up his Oscar but, up against television and the VHS market, box-office sales nearly halved between 1980 and 1984, and production companies were downsizing. Margaret Thatcher’s government was unsympathetic to the industry.
The odds of a film with an unknown cast and director, minimal plot and a budget of little more than £1m succeeding were thin. Yet in the years following its release Withnail and I gained a dedicated following through word of mouth, video rentals and late-night screenings, becoming the definition of a cult classic.
Partly set in Camden Town in September 1969 as the dream of a decade dies with the onset of autumn, it follows the Beckettian dilemmas of two unemployed actors (Richard E Grant’s Withnail and Paul McGann’s “I”, named in the screenplay as Marwood). As the pair approach 30, they try to get it together in the country while evading the sexual advances of Withnail’s predatory uncle Monty (Richard Griffiths) – and attempting to stay drunk the entire time.