Withnail & I

Withnail & I

Withnail & I

"Endlessly quotable, touching, and funny, Withnail & I is a British cult classic about friendship, acting, and alcohol. Lots of alcohol. Prepare to enter the arena of the unwell.

"Withnail (Richard E. Grant) and 'I' (Paul McGann) are two resting actors, scraping a living at the fag-end of the 60s, holed up in a rat-infested London flat that looks like it last saw a duster sometime in 1749. In desperate need of a change of scene, they persuade Withnail's gay uncle, Monty (Richard Griffiths), to lend them his remote farmhouse. But the city boys are hardly equipped for country living.

"The semi-autobiographical film (Withnail & I has an air of authenticity only reality could give) raises smirks to belly laughs every other minute, but the chuckles give way to surprising pathos in the Shakespeare-quoting closing scene. Grant – a teetotaller – delivers the performance of his life as the doomed thesp, whether it be demanding the 'finest wines available to humanity', downing lighter fluid, or feeling like a pig shat in his head." (BBC)

1987Rating: MA15+107 minsUK
ComedyDrama

Streaming (1 Providers)

Reviews & comments

Variety

Variety

press

Set in 1969 England, it portrays the last throes of a friendship mirroring the seedy demise of the hippie period, delivering some comic gems along the way.

Roger Ebert

Roger Ebert

press

In my drinking days, some of us would gather around noon on Saturdays at Oxford's Pub for what we called Drunch. We would commence with shots of creme de menthe and pint glasses of real Coke, in the hope that a combination of alcohol, sugar and caffeine would restore us. Then we would laugh until the tears ran down our faces about the hilarity of the dreadful things that had happened the night before.

Variety

Variety

press

Set in 1969 England, it portrays the last throes of a friendship mirroring the seedy demise of the hippie period, delivering some comic gems along the way.

Roger Ebert

Roger Ebert

press

In my drinking days, some of us would gather around noon on Saturdays at Oxford's Pub for what we called Drunch. We would commence with shots of creme de menthe and pint glasses of real Coke, in the hope that a combination of alcohol, sugar and caffeine would restore us. Then we would laugh until the tears ran down our faces about the hilarity of the dreadful things that had happened the night before.

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