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I don’t know, I just don’t get it.
Withnail & I is a film with a large cult following, but something about it just rubbed me the wrong way. Maybe I just find it hard to laugh off such grossly self-destructive behavior? I will concede that the film does have several merits and things working for it, but I walked away from this feeling more at arm’s length then rushing to embrace it.
I think there’s also something of a generational divide between myself and the original audience for this movie. At the time taking the piss out of boho culture was something new, but in the twenty-plus years since it hasn’t exactly retained the same potency. And I found the characterization of Uncle Monty to be a bit of relic from a past age, a lecherous older gay man making advances on a nubile younger man is played for laughs at the humiliation, degradation of Monty. Of course, there was always the lurking feeling that these characters were more pitiful and depressing than charming, funny or humorous. They needed a long spell in rehab to deal with their drinking problem.
But we’re getting away from the positives while I try to wrap my brain around why I didn’t love it. I mostly liked Withnail & I for two simple reasons: Paul McGann, who plays the “I,” and Richard E. Grant as Withnail. Grant’s work in particular is iconic, and in this film, he has granted himself immortality. What’s astonishing is that Grant never once plays his character for cheap laughs or for any kind of laugh at all. His character is an aggressive, deeply unhappy man who appears to be trying to flirt with suicide. He drinks lighter fluid when no booze can be found, so we’re clearly not dealing with someone entirely in their correct frame of mind.
McGann gets the less showy role, but that doesn’t mean he’s regulated to sidekick status. He’s just seeking out some kind of adventure in permanent drunken stupor I suppose. Between the two of them, he’s retained more; I suppose we could call it this, common sense and remains more in touch with reality. While Withnail is dancing towards oblivion and madness, “I” seems to tag along in a spirit of friendship. McGann finds the soul within the role.
Much of the bite and satire of the film buckles under the gloominess that pervades the entire thing. It’s not entirely plausible to assume that others can see a wit and transcendence in its misery, but I was most relieved when “I” ran off from Withnail into adulthood and sobriety. For the strength of the two central performances, I can’t find any fault. But that’s about all of my enjoyment to be found in it.
