First glance, the drab art-house color scheme steals from the focus like so many overrated American flicks from the ‘70s, but the off-kilter, highly curious demeanor of Withnail (Robert E. Grant) and slippery clips of rapid fire one-liners are cheerful as to find you mildly intrigued. When the sluggish pacing seeps into the peripheral after the first quarter, underlying paranoia grasps the lens like an almost literal comedic spin on Sam Peckinpah’s Dustin Hoffman epic Straw Dogs – jesus, you realize this is a keeper.

Inside a grimy, rat-infested loft - the proper setting for introducing characters lost amidst a weeklong speed binge and short on booze and thermostat - Withnail and Robinson’s semi-autographical “I” down everything in sight including lighter fluid and a case of stale wine. Gasping for a break, nearing panic-attacks from all of their and our mundane madness, Grant’s now infamous character schemes a cottage from his way homo-dignitary of an uncle named Monty, who later pops in and swells Withnail’s spiral of misfortune with a personable means of “collecting the rent.”

Withnail is the rare occasion where amateur casting (in 1987) unknowingly clicks with a skim budget and fledgling storyline, allowing the bricks to fall into place with stylish aplomb. This movie’s painfully unknown status stateside is a paradox unto itself, as the gem has shined its obvious influence on talent ranging from Trainspotting author Irvine Welsh to the captious, dry humor of early Wes Anderson.

Theatrical dialogue mounts through the scenes, toppling over in a what-the-fuck of odd Shakespearian witticism. Lines of densely phrased nonsense coming from the mouths of boozing pill-poppers are amusing, as to leave the piece with a timeless aura. Quotes become drilled into your mind until you soon find yourself fumbling them in amazement before the film even ends.

Although this arguably marked Bruce Robinson’s lone directorial claim to fame, he’s the confirmed director for Hunter S. Thompson’s The Rum Diary. On the topic of Gonzo, HST’s partner Ralph Steadman geared it up to do Criterion’s artwork for the DVD (he did the original as well) and an added spread by the madman is a bonus feature.

Next time your already wistful vacation has run amuck, remember the line, “We’ve gone on holiday by mistake” and piss on your deusche friends. And piss on Flower Children as well - Withnail and I hammers out the decadence of that era with class and not one allusion to Woodstock.

-Zach Stephenson