must be out of my mind.” In London in 1969, the unnamed lead character, credited as I (Paul McGann), feels overcome by the goings-on of the era, which all seem to be perverse and grotesque and sensationalistic. His untamable mania is exacerbated by flatmate Withnail (Richard E. Grant), who appears to be perpetually affected by drugs (always puffing away at a cigarette and scouring the immediate area for something to drink), and by their poverty and unsuccessful acting careers. The main role (technically Marwood, as listed in the screenplay) is equally nutty, depressed, confused, and lost, drinking coffee from a bowl as if it were soup and commiserating over their shared inability to find work.

He narrates this small, slice-of-life tale with somber, somewhat poetic details, observing desperate behaviors and odd characters, while also pondering his own existence, fraught with indecision and paranoia. It doesn’t help that Withnail is an undeniably bad influence (or vice versa), so intent on imbibing that he barely pauses at the act of downing lighter fluid (and celebrates a device used to bamboozle the police to allow drunk driving), and that they concoct a scheme to stay at kooky Uncle Montague’s (Richard Griffiths, in a deliciously eccentric turn, with some of the zaniest lines [“As a youth, I used to weep in butcher shops”]) cottage in the country for the weekend, with the misguided intention of resting up a bit as if on a proper holiday. “I feel unusual.”

Written and directed by Bruce Robinson, following a semi-autobiographical story, the plot is loose and unfocused, instead dwelling chiefly on conversations that are continuous, verbose, and philosophical – but all tinged with the ravings of minds heavily influenced by intoxicants (Ralph Brown gets some of the best gags as a whimsical drug dealer). In many ways, it resembles the minimalistic misadventures of Hunter S. Thompson and Charles Bukowski, as the two stars here navigate the visually unimpressive, down-to-earth realism of exasperating existence – with strict irresponsibility, limited resources, and even fewer worldly skills. “We can’t go on like this!”

As a British cult classic, “Withnail and I” is something of a time capsule, preserving a precise era and lifestyle and sentiment. The perspectives and commentary on display, however, are so specific that they’re unlikely to appeal to general audiences; the entertainment value is reserved almost exclusively for viewers familiar with, and amused by, England in the late ’60s, as well as those who could see it contemporarily, where its unorthodox structuring was most original. Fortunately, some of the humor has a wider intrigue (along with brief notes of a thriller as the two vacationers fear for the worst in uncertain confrontations), aiding the wandering narrative, unpredictably moving toward some unknown, surely irresolute finale. As it embraces a spontaneous, improvised irreverence (come and gone, as at least one character graduates from total recklessness), it’s routinely witty and wild, even if the end result is far from an indelible episode. “Happiness is relative.”

– Mike Massie