Rating summary

Movie		4.0
Video		3.0
Audio		3.5
Extras		0.5
Overall		3.5

Withnail and I Blu-ray Movie Review

England’s most quotable cult film finally comes to Blu-ray in the U.S.

Reviewed by Casey Broadwater August 18, 2010

People—especially the bourgeoisie—tend to lump all Bohemians into a single, sweaty, disheveled category. In reality, the free-living artist class is actually much more diverse, from dandyish fops and spacey, New Age-y types, to granola-munching tree huggers, trust-fund lay-abouts, and wannabe Jack Kerouacs. If there’s one quintessential Bohemian archetype, though, it has to be the out-of- work actor, down on his luck, just scraping by, and living in some sort of squalid hovel that still manages to look opulent, as if occupied by an old-money aristocrat who’s fallen on hard times. Shunned at casting calls and rejected at auditions, the unemployed thespian turns his very life into a particularly juicy role, the role he was born to inhabit. The quest to make rent is turned into a play worthy of Ibsen, the desperate scramble for booze a one-act with an unhappy ending. The commonplace is melodramatized and the jobless stage player often spouts soliloquies to an audience of no one. It’s life turned into depressing, yet depressingly comic, art. Writer/director/actor Bruce Robinson knew this life intimately—he struggled to “make it” as a thesp during the 1960s—and in 1987 he turned his experience into Withnail and I, a semi-autobiographical film that has since gone on to become a British cult classic.

"How do we make it die?"

The setting is Camden, London, autumn 1969. This isn’t the swinging sixties of Michelangelo Antonioni’s Blow Up, though; it’s the squalid end of an era, the inevitable crashing hangover after the summer of love’s hazy, drug-addled high. We know the epoch is over because department stores are selling “hippy wigs.” Anxiety prone Marwood (Paul McGann) and world- indignant Withnail (Richard E. Grant) are “resting” actors—that’s a euphemism for completely unemployed—who share a filthy flat, live off of weekly welfare checks, and subside on a diet consisting almost solely of narcotics and booze. (With the occasional hotdog eaten in the bath.) Dishes are stacked in the sink and growing mold, the washing up a task to be feared and endlessly postponed. There’s no heat, no money. Their drug dealer, Danny—played by Ralph Brown, a kind of Russell Brand prototype—stops by to show off his new invention, a girl’s baby doll “what shits itself.” Withnail has taken to imbibing lighter fluid in a desperate attempt to drink his way into oblivion. As Marwood puts it, they are “indeed drifting into the arena of the unwell.”

Convinced that a weekend holiday away from the city will clear their minds and jumpstart their career ambitions, Marwood and Withnail procure the use of a country cottage owned by Withnail’s flamboyantly gay uncle Monty (Harry Potter’s Richard Griffiths), an obese eccentric wistful for his own college days as a would-be thespian and weirdly obsessed with vegetables. (“I think you’ll agree,” he says with phallic obviousness, “there’s a certain je ne sais quoi about a firm, young carrot.”) The trip turns out to be anything but a holiday. It rains constantly, the city slickers are forced to kill and dress a chicken for food—“How do we make it die?” asks Withnail— and the locals prove particularly hostile to Londoners. Just when it seems like things can’t get any worse—Withnail and Marwood are huddled together in fear of a poacher who threatened them at a pub and may be lurking outside—uncle Monty arrives at the cottage with lustful intentions. He seems to think that Marwood is a closeted homosexual and means to have him, “even if by burglary.” Clearly, Monty is as rapacious as he is avuncular.

That’s the extent of what might loosely be called the story, but the plot is entirely beside the point. Writer/director Bruce Robinson is more intent on recreating a feeling here, reproducing the squalor, nostalgia, and bleak comedy of his own days as an actor on the dole. And he’s certainly successful on all fronts. The film’s production design will have you begging for someone to call a professional cleaning service. The flat that Withnail and Marwood share is so authentically grimy— yet oddly homey, with Charlie Chaplin posters and photos of Louise Brooks pinned to the kitchen wall—that’s it hard to believe it’s not the actual residence of two failing artists. A place in a film, though, is only as resonant and believable as the actors who inhabit it, so it’s fortunate that McGann and Grant are as convincing—and hilarious—as they are. Despite occasional rumors of a remake, I can’t imagine any other actors in the roles, and it’d be nigh impossible to top Grant’s boozy, world-weary cynicism and arch theatricality. (Although, if a remake had to be made —and hear me out—I’d like to see Matt King, a.k.a. Peep Show’s Super Hans, have a crack at Withnail. Russell Brand would be Danny, obviously, Richard Griffiths could probably reprise his role, and as for Marwood…any suggestions? Of course, I would never actually advocate a remake.)

The cult status of Withnail and I could be attributed to any number of elements—the unsentimental evocation of a distinct place and time, the city-boys-in-the-country insanity, the drinking game potential—but more than anything the film is memorable because it’s exceptionally funny and quotable. The script is witty, extremely particular in its use of language, and there are more—and better—one-liners here than in the combined films of Arnold Schwarzenegger and Bruce Willis. I’m tempted to end this short review by making a list of them here, but they’re not nearly as funny out of context. Watch it yourself, but skip the drinking game—you’d be passed out by the time they make it to the cottage.

Withnail and I Blu-ray Movie, Video Quality 

Previously released by Starz/Anchor Bay U.K. on a 50 GB Blu-ray disc, Image Entertainment brings Withnail and I stateside on a single-layer platter. The differences between the two, however, appear to be negligible. (Check out our review of the U.K release, here.) Given a 1080p/AVC-encoded transfer and framed in a screen-filling 1.78:1 aspect ratio—slightly cropped from the original 1.85:1— the film looks decent considering its low-budget origins, but I can't help but feel that it could be better. Clarity is rather inconsistent throughout the film, with some scenes showing a good deal of fine detail and others looking noticeably soft and indistinct. It could very well be that this can be traced to the source print, but it also seems that some mild DNR—and I do mean mild, it's never egregious—has been used on certain sequences, which also contributes to the softening of texture. The slightly greenish shift of the U.K. release has been corrected here for more natural color reproduction, and while you won't find much vividness on display here, the muted palette is well in line with the film's tone. Black levels are a bit more problematic, often looking hazy, grayish, and overridden with noise. There are some slight compression issues, mostly apparent in the darker scenes, but nothing too distracting. Overall, Withnail and I could probably look better, but fans in the U.S. have no cause to feel slighted by this release. It's certainly miles better than the dreadful 2001 Criterion DVD release of the film.

Withnail and I Blu-ray Movie, Audio Quality 

The sole audio option on the disc is an uncompressed Linear PCM 2.0 mix that seems to faithfully reproduce the film's soundtrack. (The U.K. release also included a 5.1 expansion of the original sound elements.) Besides a mild hiss that pops up now and again—one that was almost certainly present in the source materials and not introduced later—the track is clean and unmuddled. Obviously, dialogue is the focus here—and what crackling dialogue it is—but occasionally the track blooms with period pop tunes from the likes of King Curtis, Jimi Hendrix, and, in a rare cinematic appearance, The Beatles. (George Harrison, who co-founded HandMade Films, served as a producer.) The music sounds excellent—it's got drive and heft—and my sole, and minor, complaint is that the saxophone solo during "A Whiter Shade of Pale" is a bit harsh in the high end and caused me to tamp down the volume a few notches. Otherwise, no overt audio errors here.

Withnail and I Blu-ray Movie, Special Features and Extras 

Here's where previous releases of the film have the definitive edge over Image Entertainment's disc. The Criterion DVD and the 2009 U.K. Blu-ray from Starz both contain numerous documentaries, featurettes, and commentaries, whereas the only thing you'll find here is a single standard definition theatrical trailer that runs just shy of a minute and a half. Obtaining the rights to bonus features can be tricky and expensive, so I'm not really surprised, but it is a shame this release is so bare-boned.

Withnail and I Blu-ray Movie, Overall Score and Recommendation 

Withnail and I is a darkly comic slice of Bohemian life that captures the spirit of a very specific time—when the happy hippy heyday of the 1960s descended into squalor toward the end of the decade. It's deeply, smartly funny, immensely quotable, and stands up well to repeat viewings. British fans have made a drinking game out the film—you've got to take a drink of everything Withnail imbibes, substituting vinegar for lighter fluid—but I wouldn't recommend it unless you've got a gut of steel. The film itself, though, comes highly recommended.