Withnail & I Script

Withnail & I

Camden Town, London 1969.

The flat

A few shafts of sunlight sneak through the curtains and illuminate a living room. Victorian heirlooms, antique furniture and a pair of ice-skates. There are empty bottles everywhere. Marwood is in a chair, smoking a cigarette and sweating anxiety. He looks at his thumbs, gets up gingerly and walks into a kitchen full of bottles, washing up and dead flowers in black water. He lights the stove and puts the kettle on it. Then, he moves back into the living room, pulls at the neck of his jumper and checks a bottle for dregs. He slowly puts on his coat and goes down stairs to knock on Withnail's door.

Marwood [talking into the door]:

I'm having a cup of tea. Do you want one?

No response.

Marwood:

Do you want a cup of tea, Withnail?

Withnail [from within his room]:

No.

He cannot stand to stay in this house any more. He leaves, slamming the door behind him.

The cafe

Marwood is reading a The People at a table in the cafe. The article is entitled ``Love made up my mind, I had to become a woman.'' Behind him, the proprietor is frying eggs; they flap in a quarter inch of grease. She lifts one out, slaps it into a sandwich and places it in front of a derelict old woman. The sandwich is bitten and yolk pours onto the plate. Marwood turns his attention to another's newspaper. It is the News of the World. Headline: ``Nude Au Pair's Secret Life''. He looks around at the other customers with horror in his eyes.

Marwood [narrating]:

Thirteen million Londoners have to wake-up to this, and murder and All-Bran and rape? And I'm sitting in this bloody shack and I can't cope with Withnail. I must be out of my mind. I must go home at once and discuss his problems in depth.

The flat

Marwood stumbles up the barely lit stairs looking unwell. Withnail emerges from his room holding a bottle and glass and follows him. Looking worse than Marwood, he has nevertheless dressed for the occasion; brogues and tweed. When he speaks he gives away an aristocratic education.

Withnail:

I have some extremely distressing news.

Marwood:

I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear anything. My God, it's a nightmare out there I tell you. It's a nightmare.

Withnail [pouring the last wine from his bottle]:

We've just run out of wine. What are we going to do about it?

Marwood:

I don't know. I don't know. Ah, God. I don't feel good.

They follow each other into the living room. Marwood has forgotten about the kettle and the kitchen is filling with steam. Marwood catches himself in the mirror as he passes.

Marwood [holding his thumbs out to Withnail]:

Look! My thumbs have gone weird. I'm in the middle of a bloody overdose. My heart's beating like a fucked clock. I feel dreadful. I feel really dreadful.

Withnail lights up.

Withnail:

So do I. So does everyone. [He inspects his tongue in the mirror] Look at my tongue. It's wearing a yellow sock. Sit down for Christ's sake. What's the matter with you? Eat some sugar.

Withnail collapses on the sofa with a newspaper. Marwood is in the kitchen fighting the vapour. Withnail gets up and starts following him around, reading from the paper.

Withnail:

Listen to this. ``Curse of the Superman: I took drugs to win medal says top athlete Jeff Wode.''

Marwood [he not listening because he is looking for something]:

Where's the coffee?

Withnail:

``In a world exclusive interview, thirty-three year old shot putter Jeff Wode, who weighs three hundred and seventeen pounds, admitted taking massive doses of anabolic steroids, drugs banned in sport. [He mimics a petulant woman's voice] 'He used to get in bad tempers and act daft,' said his wife. 'He used to pick on me. But now he's stopped, he's much better in our sex life and in our general life'.''

Marwood pours water from the kettle into a bowl and goes back into the living room. Withnail follows, becoming interested in the newspaper story.

Withnail:

Jesus Christ! This huge, thatched head with its ear lobes and cannonball is now considered sane. Jeff Wode is feeling better and is now prepared to step back into society and start tossing his orb about. [Waves the paper at Marwood] Look at him. Look at Jeff Wode. His head must weigh fifty pounds on its own.

Withnail stands in front of a mirror, combing his lank hair back. Marwood sits on the sofa and spoons coffee from the bowl. Withnail is becoming fascinated by Jeff Wode.

Withnail:

Imagine the size of his balls. Imagine getting into a fight with the fucker!

Marwood:

Please. I don't feel good.

Withnail:

That's what you'd say, but that wouldn't wash with Jeff. No, he'd like a bit of pleading. Add spice to it. In fact, he'd probably tell you what he was going to do before he did it. [He starts acting out the scene in his head] ``I'm going to pull your head off''. ``Oh no, please, don't pull my head off''. ``I'm going to pull your head off because I don't like your head.''

He notices Marwood drinking from the bowl.

Withnail:

Have you got soup? Why didn't I get any soup?

Marwood:

Coffee.

Withnail:

Why don't you use a cup like any other human being?

Marwood:

Why don't you wash up occasionally like any other human being?

Withnail [rising to the challenge]:

How dare you? How dare you! How dare you call me inhumane?

Marwood:

I didn't call you inhumane. You merely imagined it. Calm down.

Withnail:

Right you fucker. I'm going to do the washing up!

He strides towards the kitchen. Marwood jumps up and tries to pacify him.

Marwood:

No, no, you can't. It's impossible, I swear to you. I've looked into it. Listen to me, listen to me. There are things in there, there's a tea bag growing. You haven't slept in sixty hours, you're in no state to tackle it. Wait `til the morning and we'll go in together.

Withnail:

This is the morning. Stand aside!

Marwood [restraining Withnail]:

You don't understand. I think there may be something living in there. I think there may be something alive.

Withnail:

What do you mean? A rat?

Marwood:

It's possible, it's possible.

Withnail [brandishing his comb]:

Then the fucker will rue the day!

He rushes to the sink and is immediately repelled by the horrific reality that confronts him. Marwood follows and is similarly overcome.

Withnail:

Oh, Christ Almighty! Sinew in nicotine base. Keep back, keep back. The entire sink's gone rotten. I don't know what's in here.

He picks up the white-hot kettle from the stove and hurls it immediately into the sink, screaming because the kettle has burnt his hand.

Marwood:

I told you. You've been bitten!

Withnail [nursing his hand]:

Burnt! Burnt! The fucking kettle's on fire!

Marwood [transfixed by the contents of the sink]:

There's something floating up.

Withnail [wielding cutlery]:

Fork it!

Marwood:

No, no. I don't want to touch it.

Withnail:

You must, you must. That poop will bore through the glaze. We'll never be able to use the dinner service again. [Rummaging through a drawer] Here, get it with the pliers.

Marwood:

No, no, no, no, no. Give me the gloves.

Withnail:

That's right, put on the gloves. Don't attempt anything without the gloves.

Marwood moves things about in the sink about. He withdraws something from the depths of the sink and shows it to Withnail.

Withnail:

What is it? What have you found?

Marwood:

Matter.

Withnail:

Matter? Where's it coming from?

Marwood:

Don't look, don't look. I'm dealing with it.

Withnail [surrendering to the situation and walking away]:

I think we've been in here too long. I feel unusual. I think we should go outside.

Regent's Park

They walk along a path bordering on the zoo. Early morning daylight. Mist and drizzle.

Withnail:

This is ridiculous. Look at me. I'm thirty in a month and I've got a sole flapping off my shoe.

Marwood:

It'll get better. It has to.

Withnail:

Easy for you to say, lovey, you've had an audition. Why can't I have an audition? It's ridiculous. I've been to drama school. I'm good looking. I tell you, I've a fuck sight more talent that half the rubbish that gets on television. Why can't I get on television?

Marwood:

I don't know. It'll happen.

Withnail:

Will it? That's what you say. The only programme I'm likely to get on is the fucking news. I tell you, I can't take much more of this. I'm going to crack.

Marwood:

I'm in the same boat.

Withnail:

Yeah, yeah. [He sucks on his cigarette and feels like he is on his last legs] I feel as sick as a pike. I'm going to have to sit down.

They sit on a bench. Withnail shivers; he looks like he's been there all night.

Marwood:

You know what we should do? I say, you know what we should do?

Withnail:

How can I possibly know what we should do? What should we do?

Marwood:

Get out of it for a while. Get into the countryside. Rejuvenate.

Withnail:

Rejuvenate? I'm in a park and I'm practically dead. What good's the countryside? What time is it?

Marwood [looking at his watch]:

It's eight.

Withnail:

Four hours to opening time. God help us. Have we got any embrocation?

Marwood:

What for?

Withnail:

To rub on us, you fool. We can cover ourselves in Deep Heat and get up against a radiator. Keep ourselves alive `til twelve.

He spits and gazes at it.

Withnail:

Jesus, look at that. Apart from a raw potato, that's the only solid to have passed my lips in the last sixty hours. I must be ill.

The flat

Marwood is writing in a notebook on the sofa while Withnail wanders around wearing his overcoat and underpants, smearing himself with Deep Heat and smoking a cigarette.

Marwood [mentally]:

Even a stopped clock gives the right time twice a day, and for once I'm inclined to believe Withnail is right. We are indeed drifting into the arena of the unwell. Making an enemy of our own future. What we need is harmony. Fresh air. Stuff like that.

Withnail [throwing the tube on to the floor]:

Wasn't much in the tube. There's nothing left for you.

Marwood:

Why don't you ask your father for some money? If we had some money we could go away.

Withnail [inspecting a bottle for dregs]:

Why don't you ask your father? How can it be so cold in here? It's like Greenland in here. [Putting on a rubber glove] We've got to get some booze. It's the only solution to this intense cold. Something's got to be done. We can't go on like this. [He strikes a theatrical pose, one arm in the air] I'm a trained actor reduced to the status of a bum! I mean look at us. Nothing that reasonable members of society demand as their rights. No fridges, no televisions, no phones. Much more of this and I'm going to apply for meals-on-wheels.

Marwood:

What happened to your cigar commercial?

Withnail:

That's what I want to know. What happened to my cigar commercial. What happened to my agent? Bastard must have died.

Marwood:

September. Bad patch.

Withnail:

Rubbish. [He flings his cigarette across the room] Haven't seen Gielgud down the Labour Exchange. Why doesn't he retire? [He grabs a newspaper from the coffee table] Look at this little bastard. ``Boy lands plum role for top Italian director.'' Of course he does. Probably on a tenner a day and I know what for: two pound ten a tit and a fiver for his arse.

A thought strikes him and he turns on Marwood, pointing accusingly.

Withnail:

Have you been at the controls?

Marwood [looking up from his writing]:

What are you talking about?

Withnail:

The thermostats. What have you done to them?

Marwood:

I haven't touched them.

Withnail:

Then why has my head gone numb? [A crisis point is looming] I must have some booze. I demand to have some booze!

He lunges towards the mantelpiece and grabs a can of Ronsonol lighter fluid.

Marwood [standing up quickly and crossing to Withnail]:

I wouldn't drink that if I was you.

Withnail [unplugging the can's teat with his teeth]:

Why not?

Marwood:

Because I don't advise it. Even the wankers on the site wouldn't drink that. That's worse than meths.

Withnail [brandishing the can]:

Nonsense, this is a far superior drink to meths. The wankers don't drink it because they can't afford it.

He throws his head back and pours the lighter fluid down his throat. Gagging and gasping, he's on a buzz.

Withnail [eyes wild]:

Have we got any more?

Marwood shakes his head. Withnail, eyes bulging, presses forward, forcing Marwood to back off.

Withnail:

Liar. What's in your toolbox?

Marwood:

No, we have nothing. Sit down.

Withnail:

Liar. You've got anti-freeze.

Marwood:

You bloody fool! You should never mix your drinks!

An accidental joke, yet this turns Withnail to hysteria. He explodes into laughter which quickly turns to barking nausea. He falls to the floor and vomits loudly over Marwood's shoes. Marwood resigns himself to the situation and gazes towards the ceiling.

The street

They walk amongst the dereliction towards a pub. Despite his recent intake, Withnail's brain is in gear.

Withnail:

All right, this is the plan. We get in there and get wrecked. Then we'll eat a pork pie. Then we drop a couple of Surmontil 50s each; means we'll miss out Monday but come up smiling Tuesday morning. What's that appalling smell?

Marwood:

Perfume, on my boots. I had to scrub them with essence of petunia.

The Mother Black Cap

The pub is full of Irish men here to get drunk. Withnail sidewinds his way to the bar.

Withnail:

Two large gins, two pints of cider. Ice in the cider.

Marwood:

If my father was loaded I'd ask him for some money.

Withnail:

If your father was my father you wouldn't get it.

Barman:

There you are, lads.

Withnail:

Chin-chin.

Withnail chinks his gin glass against Marwood's which he hasn't picked up yet, and downs it in one. Marwood follows suit and winces. Withnail lights up.

Marwood:

What about whats-his-name?

Withnail:

What about him?

Marwood:

Why don't you give him a call?

Withnail:

What for?

Marwood:

Ask him about his house.

Withnail:

You want me to call whats-his-name and ask him about his house?

Marwood:

Why not?

Withnail:

Alright. What's his number?

Marwood:

I've no idea. I've never met him.

Withnail:

Neither have I. What the fuck are you talking about?

Marwood:

Your relative with the house in the country.

Withnail:

Monty? Uncle Monty?

Marwood:

That's him. That's the one. Get the Jag fixed up and spend the week in the country.

Withnail:

Alright. Give us a tenner and I'll give him a bell.

Marwood:

Here. [He hands over the note] Get a couple more in. I'm going for a slash.

Marwood is at the door to the Gents. Nearby is a big Irish man nursing the end of his pint.

Big Irish Man:

Ponce.

Marwood hears him but makes no response. He goes into the Gents.

Marwood [mentally]:

I could hardly piss straight with fear. Here was a man with three quarters of an inch of brain who'd taken a dislike to me. What have I done to offend him? I don't consciously offend big men like this. This one has a definite imbalance of hormone in him. Get any more masculine than him and you'd have to live up a tree. [He reads some eye-level graffiti] ``I fuck arses''. Who fucks arses? [Aloud] Maybe he fucks arses. [Mentally] Maybe he's written this in some moment of drunken sincerity. I'm in considerable danger in here. I must get out of here at once.

Marwood heads single mindedly back to the bar.

Big Irish Man [calling out across the pub]:

Perfumed ponce!

Withnail is settled at the bar, chewing on a pork pie.

Withnail:

You'll be pleased to hear Monty's invited us for drinks.

Marwood:

Balls to Monty, we're getting out.

Withnail:

Balls to Monty? I've just spent an hour flattering the bugger.

Marwood:

There's one over there that doesn't like the perfume. A big one. [Withnail starts to look around] Don't look, don't look. We're in danger, we've got to get out.

Withnail:

What are you talking about?

Marwood:

I've been called a ponce.

Withnail turns to address the whole pub.

Withnail:

What fucker said that?

The big Irish man gets up and walks over to them. Now he is upright we see he is very large indeed and looks in the mood for a fight.

Big Irish Man:

I called him a ponce. And now I'm calling you one. Ponce!

Withnail [smiling through his pork pie]:

Would you like a drink?

Big Irish Man:

What's your name? Mac Fuck?

As he shouts this he jerks the scarf from around Withnail's neck.

Withnail [dragging up all his acting abilities]:

I have a heart condition. I have a heart condition. If you hit me, it's murder.

Big Irish Man [working up a rage]:

I'll murder the pair of y'ers!

Withnail [in a pathetic whisper]:

My wife is having a baby. [He hits on a plan of action] Listen, I don't know what my f... [He starts to say ``friend'', but changes his mind] acquaintance did to upset you but it's nothing to do with me. I suggest you both go outside and discuss it sensibly, in the street.

Marwood is paralysed with fear and looks on in horror, then Withnail executes his plan. They push past the big Irish man and race for the door in a blind panic, screaming.

Withnail:

Aaaaahhhh! Out of my way!

The bathroom

Marwood is in the bath shaving. His profile is visible in a mirror perched on the bath tray.

Marwood:

Speed is like a dozen transatlantic flights without ever getting off the plane. Time change. You lose, you gain. Makes no difference so long as you keep taking the pills. But sooner or later you've got to get out because it's crashing. Then all at once those frozen hours melt through the nervous system and seep out the pores.

Withnail enters with their lunch from the fish and chip shop.

Withnail:

Bastards. Justice suck. Some miserable cheap cigar and the bastards won't see me.

Marwood [taking his chips from Withnail and eating a few]:

Why are we having lunch in here?

Withnail [sitting down on the closed toilet]:

It's dinner and Danny's here.

Marwood:

Danny!? How did he get in?

Withnail:

I let him in this morning. He lost one of his clogs. He's come in because of the perpetual cold. I hope the bugger's sales plummet.

Marwood:

I've got your saveloy. Here. I don't want it.

Withnail:

Then stick it in the soap tray and save it for later.

He scrunches up the paper that was holding his chips and puts it in the toilet. He starts to leave.

Marwood:

Don't vent spleen on me. I'm in the same boat.

Withnail [fumbling with the door]:

Stop saying that. You're not in the same boat. The only thing you're in that I've been in is this fucking bath.

Withnail leaves, slamming the door behind him. Marwood continues shaving in the mirror.

Marwood [mentally]:

Danny's here. Head hunter to his friends. Head hunter to everybody. He doesn't have any friends. The only people he converses with are his clients and occasionally the police. The purveyor of rare herbs and prescribed chemicals is back. Will we never be set free?

The flat

Marwood comes out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel.

Marwood:

Danny.

Danny:

You're looking very beautiful, man. Have you been away? St. Peter preached the Epistles to the Apostles looking like that. Have you got any food?

Marwood:

Mmm. As a matter of fact, got a saveloy.

He gives the sausage to Danny.

Danny:

How much is it?

Marwood:

You can have it for nothing.

Danny sniffs the sausage. Withnail enters from the kitchen gluing the sole back on his shoe. He is wearing a rather expensive looking suit. Marwood puts on a shirt and begins to button it up.

Danny:

I see you're wearing a suit.

Withnail:

What's it got to do with you?

Danny lounges on the sofa while Withnail sits down in a chair to continue repairing his shoe.

Danny:

No need to get uptight man. I was merely making an observation. I happened to be looking for a suit for the coal man two weeks ago. For reasons I can't really discuss with you the coal man had to go to Jamaica. Got busted coming back through Heathrow. Had a weight under his fez. We worked out that it would be handy-karma for him to get hold of a suit, but he's a very low temperature spade the coal man. Goes into court wearing a kaftan and a bell. This doesn't go down at all well. They can handle the kaftan but they can't handle the bell. So there's this judge sitting there sitting in a cape like fucking batman with this really rather far out looking hat.

Withnail:

A wig.

Danny:

No man, this was more like a long white hat. So he looks at the coalman and says 'What's all this? This is a court, man. This ain't fancy dress' and the coal man looks at him and says 'You think you look normal, your honour?'. Cunt give him two years.

Marwood laughs a little. Withnail looks on unamused.

Danny:

I'm afraid I can't offer you gentlemen anything.

Marwood:

That's alright Danny. We'd decided to lay off for a bit.

Danny:

That's what I thought. Except for personal use, I concur with you. As a matter of fact, I was thinking of retiring and going into business.

Withnail [scoffing]:

Doing what?

Danny:

The toy industry.

There is a strange looking contraption on the table involving a bottle.

Withnail:

Thought you were in the bottle industry.

Withnail finishes repairing his shoe, puts it on and walks into the kitchen to see if the glue will hold. Marwood puts his socks on.

Danny:

No man, that's a side line. You can have that. [He makes a motion to the contraption] Instructions are included. Yeah. My partner's got a really good idea for making dolls. His name's 'Presuming Ed'. His sister give him the idea. She got a doll on Christmas what pisses itself.

Withnail:

Really.

Danny:

Yeah, then you've got to change its draws for it. Horrible really, but they like that, the little girls. So we're going to make one that shits itself too.

Withnail [returning from the kitchen]:

Shits itself!?

Danny:

He's an expert. He's building the prototype now. [To Marwood] Why's he behaving so uptightly.

Withnail:

Because a gang of cheroot vendors consider a hair cut beyond the limit of my abilities.

Marwood pulls on his trousers.

Danny:

I don't advise a hair cut man. All hairdressers are in the employment of the government. Hair are your aerials. They pick up signals from the cosmos and transmit them directly into the brain. This is the reason bald-headed men are uptight.

Withnail:

What absolute twaddle.

Danny [to Marwood]:

Has he just been busted?

Marwood:

No.

Danny:

Then why's he wearing that old suit?

Withnail [turning around rapidly from the mirror]:

Old suit? This suit was cut by Hawke's of Saville row. Just because the best tailoring you've ever seen is above you fucking appendix doesn't mean anything.

Danny:

Don't get uptight with me, man. `Cause if you do, I'll have to give you a dose of medicine and if I spike you, you'll know you've been spoken to.

Withnail:

You wouldn't spike me. You're too mean. Besides, there's nothing invented I couldn't take.

Danny:

If I medicined you you'd think a brain tumour was a birthday present.

Withnail [leaning down to Danny]:

I could take double anything you could.

Danny [removing his sunglasses]:

Very, very foolish words man.

Marwood moves over to stand by Withnail.

Marwood [to Withnail]:

He's right, Withnail. Look at him. His mechanism's gone. He's had more drugs than you've had hot dinners.

Withnail:

I'm not having this shag-sack insulting me. Let him get his drugs out.

Danny gets a doll out of a bag.

Danny:

This doll is extremely dangerous. It has voodoo qualities.

Withnail snorts. Danny takes the head off the doll and extracts a handful of pills.

Danny [selecting a pill and holding it up for examination]:

Trade: Phenodihydrochloride benzelex. Street: The embalmer.

Withnail:

Balls. I'll swallow it and run a mile.

Danny [pulling his hand back]:

Cool your boots, man. This pill's valued at two quid.

Withnail:

Two quid! You're out of your mind.

Marwood [to Withnail]:

That's sense, Withnail.

Withnail [to Danny]:

You can stuff it up your arse for nothing and fuck off while you're doing it.

Danny [rising and making to leave]:

No need to insult me, man. I was leaving anyway. Have either of you got shoes?

Monty's house

A battered Jag pulls up outside Monty's house and Withnail and Marwood get out. There is an open-topped Rolls-Royce parked outside. The sound of a Schubert piano sonata comes from inside the house.

Withnail:

Monty's car.

Withnail knocks on the door. Monty, a rather fat, effeminate, middle-aged gentleman, opens the door. He is holding a very large fluffy cat and a watering can.

Monty:

Oh, hello. Come in.

They enter and go into the lounge. It is very old fashioned in appearance, paintings, books, a drink's cabinet, a sideboard, an open fire and a pair of opposing sofas separated by a coffee table. There are mementos and photographs everywhere.

Monty:

Sit down, do. Would you like a drink?

They sit together on a sofa.

Withnail:

Sherry.

Monty [to Marwood]:

Sherry?

Marwood:

Sherry.

Monty moves to the drink's cabinet and pours the drinks. Withnail lights up yet another cigarette.

Monty:

Do you like vegetables? I've always been fond of root crops but I only started to grow last summer. I happen to think the cauliflower more beautiful than the rose.

Monty hands a glass of sherry to both Marwood and Withnail.

Withnail:

Chin-chin.

He drinks the sherry.

Monty:

Do you grow?

Withnail:

Geraniums.

Monty:

Oh, you little traitors. I think the carrot infinitely more fascinating than the geranium. The carrot has mystery. Flowers are essentially tarts. Prostitutes for the bees. There is, you'll agree, a certain `je ne ses quoi' oh-so-very-special about a firm young carrot. Excuse me. Do help yourselves to another drink.

As Monty leaves, Withnail turns and reaches a bottle over from the drink's cabinet. He takes a long swig.

Marwood:

What's all this. The man's mad.

Withnail:

Eccentric.

Marwood:

Eccentric? He's insane. Not only that, he's a raving homosexual.

There is a yowl from the cat. Monty storms back into the room preceded by the cat.

Monty [to the now hidden cat]:

You beastly little parasite. How dare you? You little thug. How dare you? Ooohhhh. Beastly ungrateful little swine.

He deposits his considerable bulk on the other sofa, facing them.

Withnail:

Shall I get you a drink, Monty?

Withnail gets up and moves to the drinks cabinet.

Monty:

Yes. Yes, please, dear boy. You can prepare me a small rhesus negative Bloody Mary. And you must tell me all the news. I haven't seen you since you finished your last film.

Marwood smiles wryly to himself. Withnail downs the drink he has prepared for himself, pours another and starts making the Bloody Mary for Monty.

Withnail:

Rather busy, uncle. TV and stuff. My agent's trying to edge me towards the Royal Shakespeare again.

Monty:

Oh, splendid.

Withnail [motioning to Marwood]:

He's just had an audition for rep.

Monty [to Marwood]:

Oh, splendid. So you're a thespian, too?

Withnail delivers Monty's drink and sits beside him, both now facing Marwood.

Withnail:

Monty used to act.

Monty:

I'd hardly say that. It's true I crept the boards in my youth but I never had it in my blood and that's what so essential isn't it? Theatrical zeal in the veins. Alas, I have little more that vintage wine and memories.

He stands, moves over to the mantelpiece picks up a photograph and stares at it.

Monty:

It is the most shattering experience of a young man's life when one morning he awakes and quite reasonable says to himself: [He presses the photograph to his chest] I will never play the Dane. When that moment comes, one's ambition ceases. Don't you agree?

Withnail:

A part I intend to play, Uncle.

Monty:

And you'll be marvellous. Marvellous. [He starts quoting from Hamlet] We do it wrong, being so majestical. To offer it the show of violence...

As Monty rambles in the background, Marwood steps over to Withnail and whispers.

Marwood:

He's a madman. Any minute now he's going to rush out and get into his tights.

Withnail:

Okay, okay. Give me a minute.

Marwood:

The house or out.

Withnail stands and moves over to Monty.

Withnail [interrupting Monty]:

Could I have a word with you, Monty?

As Withnail talks to Mony, Marwood moves over to the sideboard and looks at a picture.

Monty:

Oh, forgive me, dear boy. Forgive me. I was allowing memories to have the better of me.

Withnail:

Shall I get you a top up?

He moves to the sideboard again. Monty sits down and reminisces, still clutching the photograph. Marwood moves away from the sideboard and sits on the sofa opposite to Monty.

Monty:

Indeed I remember my first agent. Raymond Duck. Dreadful little Israelite. Four floors up on the Charring Cross Road and never a job at the top of them. [To Marwood] I'm told you're a writer, too. Do you write poems?

Marwood:

No, I wish I could. It's just thoughts really.

Monty:

Are you published?

Marwood:

Oh, no.

Monty:

Where did you school?

Withnail:

He went to the other place, Monty.

Monty:

Oh, you went to Eton?

The cat reappears on Marwood's chair.

Monty [angrily]:

Get that damned little swine out of here! It's trying to get itself in with you. It's trying for even more advantage. It's obsessed with its gut. It's like a bloody rugby ball now. It will die! It will die!

He storms around ineffectually after the cat.

Withnail:

Monty, Monty.

Monty:

No. No, dear boy. You must leave. You must leave. Yet again that oaf has destroyed my day.

Withnail:

Listen, Monty, can I just have a quick word in private?

Monty:

Oh, very well.

Later they are leaving the house. Monty shows them to the door.

Monty:

Good night, my dears.

Withnail:

Good night, Monty.

Monty closes the inner door to the porch behind them.

Marwood:

What's all this going off in private business? Why did you tell him I went to Eton?

Withnail [buttoning up his coat]:

Because it wouldn't have helped if I hadn't. Just trying to establish you in some sort of context he'd understand.

Marwood:

What do you mean by that?

Withnail [showing him the key to the cottage]:

I mean, free to those that can afford it; very expensive to those that can't.

The car

They leave Camden in Marwood's battered old Jag. Withnail, still in his suit, has a bottle and is clearly drunk. They pass some schoolgirls.

Withnail [leaning out of the window and screaming]:

Scrubbers!

Scrubber [sticking up two fingers]:

Up yours, grandad!

Withnail:

Scrubbers! Scrubbers!

Marwood:

Shut up.

Withnail [taking a swig from the bottle]:

Little tarts, they love it.

Marwood:

Listen, I'm trying to drive this thing as quietly as possible. If you don't shut up we'll get stopped by the police.

They pass a notice announcing an accident blackspot.

Withnail:

Look at that, look at that. Accident black spot. These aren't accidents. They're throwing themselves into the road gladly. Throwing themselves into the road to escape all this hideousness. [Shouting out of the window to a pedestrian waiting at a bus stop] Throw yourselves into the road darling, you haven't got a chance.

Somewhat later they join the motorway.

Withnail:

At some point or another I want to stop and get hold of a child.

Marwood:

What do you want a child for?

Withnail:

To tutor it in the ways of righteousness and procure some uncontaminated urine.

He takes out the contraption and instructions provided by Danny. It is made from a washing up bottle, a thin, long tube with a valve on the end.

Withnail:

This is a device enabling the drunken driver to operate in absolute safety. You fill this with piss [He waves the bottle], take this pipe [He pushes one end of the pipe into the bottle] down the trouser and cellotape this valve [He waves the valve] to the end of the old chap. Then you get horrible drunk and they can't fucking touch you. According to these instructions, you refuse everything but a urine sample. You undo your valve, give them a dose of unadulterated child's piss and they have to give you your keys back. Danny's a genius! I'm going to have a doze.

They drive on. Later, with the light fading, they leave the motorway. It becomes clear that the car has only one functioning headlight. Still later, it is totally dark and raining heavily. Marwood stops and attempts to transfer the single wiper from Withnail's side of the car to his own, but it refuses to come off. He gets back in the car and in shutting the door wakes Withnail, who looks considerably the worse for wear.

Withnail:

Are we there?

Marwood:

No, we're not. We're here and we're in the middle of a fucking gale. Now you'll have to keep a look out your side. If you see anything, tell me. Get hold of that map.

He thrusts the map into Withnail's lap.

Withnail:

Where's the whisky?

Marwood:

What for?

Withnail:

I've got a bastard behind the eyes. I can't take aspirins without a drink. Where's the aspirins?

Marwood:

Probably in the bathroom.

Withnail:

You mean we've come out here in the middle of fucking nowhere without aspirins?

Marwood:

Where are we?

Withnail:

How should I know where we are? I feel like a pig shat in my head.

Marwood:

Now get hold of that map and look for a place called Crow Crag.

The cottage

They draw up in a yard and get out of the car. Withnail staggers around aimlessly as Marwood gets the baggage from the boot.

Withnail:

There must and shall be aspirin.

Marwood:

Give me the key and get out of the way.

Withnail:

If I don't get aspirin I shall die here on this fucking mountain side.

They enter the house. Marwood lights a match and as the light comes up the inside of the cottage becomes visible. It is rather spartan.

Withnail:

Christ Almighty!

The match goes out. Marwood fines an oil lamp and lights that. He looks round a little more thoroughly and notices a picture of Monty on the wall.

Marwood [softly]:

Monty!

He shines the light around and moves into the kitchen, trying a water pump handle. There are a few rumblings, but no water comes out. He moves back into the other room and crosses to Withnail who is sat dejectedly in a chair.

Marwood [shining the light over him]:

What are you doing?

Withnail:

Sitting down to enjoy my holiday.

Marwood:

Right, now we're going to have to approach this scientifically. First thing we've got to do is get this fire alight, then we split into two fact finding groups. I'll deal with the water and the plumbings, you check the fuel and wood situation.

A little later Withnail re-enters the cottage from a rather wet and windy night. He is holding a small stick.

Marwood:

What's that?

Withnail:

The fuel and wood situation. There's nothing out there except a hurricane. This place is uninhabitable.

They sit close to the fire, which is rather small.

Marwood:

Give it a chance. It's got to warm up.

Withnail:

Warm up!? We may as well sit round a cigarette. This is ridiculous. We'll be found dead in here next spring.

He attempts half-heartedly to light a cigarette.

Withnail:

I've got a blinding fucking headache. Got to have heat!

He stands and smashes a chair against the floor. A little later the fire is burning considerably higher.

Withnail:

Problem is, we've got to keep this bastard burning.

Marwood:

Well we've got enough furniture for tonight. Tomorrow we get down that farm and get some logs.

Withnail [cigarette now lit]:

This is a mistake, I tell you. This is a dreadful mistake.

The farm

Marwood wakes the next morning and gets out of bed. He checks on Withnail who is still asleep. He steps outside and walks across the yard to examine the view. It is quite magnificent. Later, he is dressed and walks down to the farm. The building is surrounded by an assortment of farmyard junk. He knocks at the door.

Old woman [from inside]:

Who's there?

Marwood

Me!

The door opens cautiously and an old woman peers out inquiringly.

Old woman:

What do you want?

Marwood:

I'm a friend of Montague Withnail. He's lent us his cottage. I wondered if you could sell us some food. Eggs and things.

She looks blankly at him.

Marwood:

What about wood and coal?

Again, this elicits no response. Seeing she is wearing a hearing aid, he bends down and talks directly into it.

Marwood:

I'm not from London, you know!

Old woman:

I don't care where you come from.

She slams the door. Marwood walks away.

Marwood [mentally]:

Not the attitude I'd been given to expect from the H. E. Bates novel I'd read. I thought they'd all be out the back drinking cider and discussing butter. Clearly a myth. Evidently country people are no more receptive to strangers than city dwellers.

He walks back to the house and knocks on the door again. Getting no response, he addresses the door.

Marwood:

Do you think you could tell me where I could buy some coal and wood?

Old woman:

You'll have to see me son. He runs this farm.

Marwood:

Where is you son?

Old woman:

Up in `top field. You can't miss him, his leg's bound in polythene.

The cottage

Marwood walks back into the yard outside the cottage, slips, and falls in the mud. He picks himself up and storms inside.

Marwood:

Withnail, you bastard. Wake up.

He bangs on the ceiling with a saucepan and moves to the sink to wash.

Marwood:

Oi! Wake up you bastard! You've got to get wood.

Withnail enters, dressed already and wrapped in a blanket.

Withnail:

Jesus, you're covered in shit.

Marwood:

I tried to get fuel and wood. There's a miserable little pensioner down there. She wouldn't give it me.

Withnail:

Where are we going to get it, then?

Marwood:

There's a man up on the mountain. Why he's up there, fuck knows, but he's up there with a leg bound in polythene. You can't miss him. He's your man. And have another look in that shed. Find anything. If you can't find anything, bring in the shed.

Later, they are sat down to a simple lunch.

Marwood:

How come Monty owns such a horrible little shack?

Withnail:

No idea.

Marwood:

You never discuss your family, do you?

Withnail lights up.

Withnail:

I fail to see my family's of any interest to you. I have absolutely no interest in yours. I dislike relatives in general and in particular mine.

Marwood:

Why?

He stands up and takes a foil from its bracket on the wall and strides up and down in an theatrical fashion.

Withnail:

I've told you why. We're incompatible. They don't like me being on stage.

Marwood:

Then they must be delighted with your career.

Withnail:

What do you mean?

Marwood:

You rarely are.

Withnail points the sword menacingly at Marwood, although there is a cork on the end.

Withnail:

You just wait. Just you wait. When I strike, they won't know what hit them.

He hears a noise from outside.

Withnail:

Tractor approaching.

He goes to the window and knocks his head on the lantern hanging from the ceiling.

Marwood:

Then get after it. That's the man.

They rush out of the cottage and pursue the tractor.

Withnail:

Hey, stop!

Marwood:

Stop.

Withnail:

Stop.

Marwood:

Stop, please!

The tractor driver notices them and stops.

Withnail:

Stop, please! Please stop!

They run up to the side of the tractor and address the driver, Mr. Parkin.

Withnail:

Are you the farmer? [To Marwood] Shut up, I'll deal with this. [To Parkin] We've gone on holiday by mistake. We're in this cottage here. Are you the farmer?

Marwood:

Stop saying that, Withnail! Of course he's the fucking farmer. [To Parkin] We're friends of Montague Withnail. We desperately need fuel and wood.

The farmer shakes his head, bewildered.

Marwood:

Montague Withnail, you must know him. Fat man, owns the cottage.

Parkin:

Aye, seen a fat man. London type. Queer sort. Think his name's, er, French or something.

Withnail:

French!?

Parkin:

Aye, Adrian de la Touche. He hasn't been up here for couple of years. Last time I saw him, he were, he were with his son.

Marwood [smiling]:

Yeah, that's him.

Withnail:

Listen, we're bona fide. We're not from London. Could we have some fuel and wood?

Parkin:

Aye, I could bring you some logs up later, but I've got the cows and that to feed first.

Withnail:

When?

Marwood [to Withnail]:

Shut up! [To Parkin] That would be very kind of you. Erm, what about food? Do you think you could sell us something to eat?

Parkin:

I could bring you up a chicken, but you'll have to go to the village, really.

Marwood:

That would be very kind of you, Mr?

Parkin:

Parkin.

Marwood:

Mr. Parkin. What happened to your leg?

The tractor starts to pull away.

Parkin:

Got a randy bull up there. Give me one in knee!

They walk back inside. Marwood claps Withnail on the back. Back inside, Withnail removes his boots and places them in the oven attached to the fire.

Marwood:

You want to get out the back, don't you? Get some spuds up.

Withnail [smugly]:

Sorry I can't. My boots are in the oven.

Marwood:

You'd go if you had boots?

Withnail:

Gladly.

Withnail emerges from the back door with polythene bags tied around his feet. He walks into the garden and after a little while unearths a potato.

Withnail [to Marwood at the door of the cottage]:

I've got one!

Later, the potatoes are peeled and ready to be cooked. Marwood sits reading 'Journey's End' while Withnail dozes in front of the fire. Marwood hears the tractor once again and goes out to meet Parkin. He is there with some logs.

Marwood:

Great. How much do we own you?

Parkin:

Er, pay us when you come down.

Marwood:

What about this chicken?

Parkin:

's on back.

Back inside Marwood has left the chicken on the table. It is alive and looks round questioningly. He nudges Withnail to wake him.

Marwood:

Oi! Oi! Parkin's been. There's the supper!

Withnail:

What are we supposed to do with that?

Marwood:

Eat it.

Withnail:

Eat it? Fucker's alive.

Marwood:

Yeah, I know that. You've got to kill it.

Withnail:

Me? I'm the firelighter and fuel collector.

Marwood:

Yeah, I know that, but I got the logs in. It takes away your appetite just looking at it.

Withnail:

No it doesn't, I'm starving. How can we make it die?

Marwood:

You've got to throttle `em. Withnail, I think you ought to strangle it instantly in case it starts trying to make friends with us.

Withnail:

Alright, you get hold of it. I'll strangle it.

Marwood:

I can't. Those dreadful, beady eyes. They stare you out.

Withnail:

It's a bloody chicken. Just think of it with bacon across its back. [He grabs the chicken] Alright, I'll deal with this. You'll have to get its guts out.

Later, Marwood is washing his hands in the sink having finished getting the chicken's guts out. Withnail enters with a shotgun and points it at Marwood's head.

Marwood:

Never point guns at people! Extremely dangerous. Now, what about this roasting dish? What are we going to cook it in?

Withnail:

You're the food and plumbings man. I've no idea. I wish I'd found this an hour ago. I'd have taken great pleasure in gunning this pullet down.

He pokes the chicken with the gun. It still has a few feathers.

Withnail:

Shouldn't it be more bald than that?

Marwood:

No, it shouldn't. Right, we're going to have to reverse the roles. We can bake the potatoes in the oven and we can boil this bastard over the fire.

He tries to push the chicken into a kettle but it is too large to fit.

Withnail:

Let's get its feet off.

Marwood:

No, it's going to need it's feet.

He removes the chicken from the kettle and takes it to the fire. Opening the oven with a metal bar, he removes Withnail's steaming boots and points the chicken at the brick in the oven.

Marwood:

It can stand with its legs either side of that.

He sits the chicken on the brick and closes the oven door.

A phone box

Marwood is smoking stood outside the phone box waiting for Withnail.

Withnail [into the receiver]:

I've already put two shilling pieces in. No, I haven't got another. Well, it's not my fault if the system doesn't work.

He emerges from the phone box.

Withnail:

Bitch hung up on me.

Marwood fishes around in his pocket and finds a shilling for Withnail who goes back into the phone box and dials.

Withnail:

Hello. How are you? Very well. What! Why wouldn't they see me? This is ridiculous. I haven't been up in a job for three months. Understudy Constantine!? I'm not going to understudy Constantine, why can't I play the part? This is ridiculous. No, I'm not in London, Penrith. Penrith! Well, what about TV? Listen, I pay you ten percent to do that. Well lick ten percent of the arses for me, then. Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello? How dare you! Fuck you!

He takes out his frustration on the phone, hitting it for a while and then finally leaves the phone box. They begin walking back to the cottage.

Withnail:

Bastard asked me to understudy Constantine in The Seagull. I'm not going to understudy anyone, especially that little pimp. Anyway, I loath those Russian plays. Always full of women starring out of windows whining about ducks going to Moscow.

Returning from Penrith they walk across a field. Marwood is carrying some shopping.

Withnail:

What do you think to Desmond Wolf?

Marwood:

With respect to what?

Withnail:

I'm thinking of changing my name.

Marwood:

Too like Donald Woolfe.

He hands the bag to Withnail and opens a gate. It is clearly marked 'Shut this gate'.

Change over point.

Withnail slams the gate behind them but it does not fasten. They see Parkin in his tractor.

Withnail:

Do you think he's happier than us?

Marwood:

No.

Withnail:

I suppose happiness is relative. I never thought it would be a polythene bag without the hole in it.

Parkin turns the tractor towards them, stops, gets out and runs towards them.

Parkin [shouting]:

Hey!

Marwood:

What's up with him?

Parkin [shouting]:

Shut that gate! Shut that gate!

Marwood:

You didn't shut the gate!

Parkin:

Stop that bull! Stop that bull!

A bull appears and pushes the gate open. Withnail thrusts the bag into Marwood's hands and vaults over the wall. Marwood is left facing the bull in a narrow corridor between two walls.

Withnail:

Grab its ring. Keep your bag up. Out vive him.

Parkin:

Hey, show no fear! Just run at it.

Marwood:

Well, that can't be sensible, can it? The bastard's about to run at me.

Parkin:

Well, he's randy!

Marwood:

Yeah, yeah. I know he is.

Withnail has his cigarettes out and is lighting up.

Withnail:

Wants to get down there and have sex with those cows.

Marwood:

Shut up, Withnail!

Parkin:

Just run at it, shouting!

Withnail:

Do as he says, start shouting. It won't gore you.

Marwood:

A coward you are, Withnail. An expert on bulls you are not!

He shouts and throws the shopping in the air. The bull roars, Marwood shouts again and runs at it. It turns and retreats to its field.

Parkin:

Shut that gate and keep it shut!

Withnail [smiling to himself and picking up his cigarettes and lighter]:

I think an evening at the Crow!

The fields

It is dark. The silhouettes of Withnail and Marwood appear on the skyline.

Marwood [narrating]:

If the Crow and Crown had ever had life it was dead now. It was like walking into a lung. A sulfur-stained, nicotine-yellow and fly-blown lung. Its landlord was a retired alcoholic with military pretensions and a complexion like the inside of a teapot. By the time the doors opened he was arse-holed on rum and got progressively more arse-holed until he could take no more and fell over about twelve o'clock.

The Crow and Crown

Withnail and Marwood are stood at the bar.

Withnail:

We'll have another pair of large scotches.

Raymond, the publican, gets the drinks and takes the money for them. In opening the till he just avoids falling over. Withnail and Marwood suppress laughter.

Raymond:

Thought I was going for a minute, but no man's put me down yet. Have you had any training in the martial arts?

Withnail:

Yes, as a matter of I have. Before I became a journalist, I was in the territorials.

Raymond:

Do you know, when you first came in here, I knew you were a service's man. You can never, never disguise it.

Raymond offers Withnail a cigarette.

Withnail:

What were you in?

Raymond [standing erect proudly]:

Tanks. Africa Corps. A little before your time. Don't suppose you've engaged?

Withnail:

Ireland.

Withnail lights his cigarette.

Raymond:

Ooooh, a crack at the Mick.

Withnail:

We'll have another pair of large scotches.

Raymond:

These shall be my pleasure.

Raymond goes over to the optics and dispenses two large measures of scotch.

Raymond:

What are you doing up here, then?

Withnail:

We're doing a feature for Country Life. Survey of rural types. You know... farmers, travelling tinkers, milkmen; that sort of thing.

Raymond comes back over and hands them their free drinks.

Raymond:

Have you... Have you met Jake? Poacher. Works the lake but keep it under your hat, hmm?

They take their drinks to a table.

Marwood:

What's all this army bollocks?

Withnail:

We got a drink, didn't we?

Rather later, the pair are the only remaining customers. Raymond, wiping down the bar, is clearly very drunk.

Raymond:

Time, gentlemen.

Marwood:

I think he means it.

The door clatters open and a man in a thick coat walks in, leans over the bar and pours himself a beer. Marwood nudges Withnail. The man takes an eel from his trousers which wriggles around violently. He strikes its head on the bar and returns it to his trousers.

Marwood:

Ask him if we can have one.

Withnail:

What for?

Marwood:

So that we can eat it! We're fed up with stew.

They approach the bar.

Withnail:

Excuse me, could we have an eel? You've got eels down your leg.

Jake:

You leave them alone. Nothing down there of interest to you.

Jake:

Help us out, Raymond. He's been fed from arse-hole to t' beak.

He removes a pheasant from under his coat.

Marwood [whispering to Withnail]:

Ask him if we can have one of those. Go on, ask him.

Withnail:

Excuse me, we were wondering if we could purchase a pheasant off of you?

Jake:

No. I've got nothing to sell.

Withnail:

Come on, old boy. What's in your hump?

Jake:

Now look, you. Those pheasants are for his pot. These eels are for my pot. Now what makes you think I should give you something for your pot?

Withnail:

What pot?

Marwood [to Withnail]:

Our cooking pot.

Jake [pointing to Marwood]:

Ah, he knows. Eh, give us a wheeze on that fag.

He removes the cigarette from Withnail's mouth and takes a draw. Marwood gives him the remains of a packet.

Jake:

I might come up and see you lads in the week. I might bring you up a rabbit.

Withnail:

We don't want a rabbit, we want a pheasant.

Jake:

Listen, you young prat. Ain't got no pheasants. Ain't got no birds. No more than you have.

Withnail:

`Course you have, you're the poacher.

Jake brandishes an eel in front of Withnail.

Jake:

If I hear more words out of you, I'll put one of these `ere black pods on you.

Withnail:

Don't threaten me with a dead fish!

Jake:

Half dead he may be, but I'll come up after you and wake you up with a live one.

Withnail:

Sod your pheasants. You'll have to find us first.

They make to leave.

Jake:

I know where you are. You're at Crow Crag. [To Withnail] I've been watching you. Especially you. Prancing like a tit. You want working on, boy.

Cut to outside. They are walking outside across the fields. The vista behind them is of a lake in a valley. Moonlight lights the scene.

Withnail:

If I see that silage heap prowling around here, I'll take the bastard axe to him. Bastards! You'll all suffer. I'll show the lot of you [He stands on a rock and addresses the sky] I'm going to be a star!

The cottage

It is the next day and Withnail and Marwood are sat at the table eating lunch. Marwood is spooning vegetables on to Withnail's plate.

Withnail:

Vegetables again. I'll be sprouting bloody feelers soon. There must be twenty-thousand sheep up there on those volcanos and we've got a plateful of carrots.

Marwood:

There's black pudding in it.

Withnail:

Black puddings are no good to us. [He stands up] I want something's flesh!

The river

Withnail and Marwood are at a small river that runs down a hillside. It is very rocky, the water forming into small pools, and looks cold. Withnail is stood in the water with his trousers rolled up, clutching the shotgun. Marwood is on the bank, holding Withnail's boots and directing him. Withnail moves down the river until he comes across a pool full of fish. He fires into the water. A huge plume of water and smoke rises into the air, but to no success.

Marwood [from further downstream]:

Look. Come here. Look. Down here. Look. Under the rocks.

Marwood points to a rock pool near him and Withail clambers over the rocks to join him.

Marwood:

I can see `em. I can see `em. Look. Look here. [He beckons Withnail still closer] There's two of `em. Here, look. Come on. Come on. Come on.

Withnail fires the into the pool where Marwood is pointing. Water showers over Marwood, but no fish are caught. Withnail clambers out looking despondent.

Outside the cottage

Withnail and Marwood are approaching the cottage across the fields after going out for a walk.

Withnail:

I think I'll call myself Donald Twain. Get down, get down. [He spots Jake moving away from the cottage] It's him, what does he want?

Marwood:

Better get down there and ask him.

Withnail:

Don't be a fool. He's got a gun. Bastard's psychotic. You've only got to look at him.

The cottage

They are back in the cottage and it is dark outside. Withnail is nailing shut the front door of the cottage.

Withnail:

This place has become impossible. Perpetual rain, freezing cold and now a madman on the prowl outside with eels.

He finishes banging the nails in, picks up the shotgun and reloads it.

Marwood:

Alright, you've made your point. We pack up and we get out tomorrow.

Withnail sits down by the fire, clutching the shotgun. Marwood starts to pull his boots on.

Withnail:

What are you doing?

Marwood:

I'm going for a slash.

Withnail:

No you're not. You can't. I can't get my boots on when they're hot.

Marwood:

Then I'll go alone.

Marwood heads for the door. Withnail jumps up to follow him.

Withnail:

No you won't. You're not leaving me in here alone. These are the sort of windows faces look in at.

Marwood:

Alright then, I won't have a slash.

He passes by the front door and starts going upstairs to bed. Withnail follows him with the shotgun.

Withnail:

And in both our interests, I think we should sleep together tonight.

Marwood:

Don't be ridiculous. He's not going to come up here in the dark.

Withnail:

Yes he is and if he catches one of us off guard, he's got a much better chance of dealing with the other.

Marwood:

No.

Marwood goes into his room and slams the door. Withnail is left at the top of the stair in the dark, looking scared.

Marwood's bedroom

Marwood is in bed, asleep, although he appears to be having some sort of dream.

Marwood [in his sleep]:

Ha ha ha ha ha.

Withnail comes into Marwood's bedroom with the shotgun and a lit candle. He looks at Marwood laughing in his sleep.

Withnail:

What's the matter with you? What are you laughing at?

Marwood wakes up and looks up at Withnail.

Marwood:

I was dreaming. What do you want?

Withnail:

You frightened the piss out of me. Move over.

Withnail pushes his way into Marwood's single bed. Marwood reluctantly makes space, but it is obvious that he is not happy with the situation.

Marwood:

Ah, this is ridiculous. Ah, I'll have to sleep in your bed.

Withnail:

Then I'll have to come with you.

Marwood:

Ah, will you get out?

Withnail:

No.

Marwood:

Alright, then I will.

Marwood gets out of bed, but sees that Withnail has also got out of bed, clearly with the intention of following him. Reluctantly, he gets back into bed and Withnail and the shotgun join him.

Marwood:

Alright. You can stay, but the gun doesn't.

Withnail:

No, I have to keep the gun. I intend to remain awake `til morning.

They begin fighting over the shotgun in bed.

Marwood:

No. This is my bed and I demand precedence.

Withnail:

No.

In the ensuing struggle, the gun fires twice into the ceiling. Bits of plaster and wood fall onto them.

Marwood:

Mad fucking bastard.

Marwood succeeds in wresting the shotgun from Withnail, gets out of bed and throws it out of the window, breaking it in the process. He leaves to go and sleep in Withnail's bed. Withnail is left again looking very scared.

Withnail's bedroom

Marwood is asleep in Withnail's double bed. Withnail creeps in with the candle and puts his hand over Marwood's mouth. Marwood comes violently awake and begins trying to talk through Withnail's fingers. Withnail tries to shoosh him quiet and finally removes his hand.

Marwood [clearly annoyed]:

Nnngh. Fuck off!

Withnail:

Shoosh. Listen. Listen.

Marwood [exasperated]:

There is nothing. Get to bed.

Withnail:

I heard a noise. I must get in.

Withnail moves around the bed and starts to get in.

Marwood:

Oh, for fuck's sake.

There is a noise from outside.

Marwood:

What was that?

Withnail moves over to look out of the window. It is obvious that he is close to hysteria.

Withnail:

That's it. That's it.

Marwood:

What's it?

Withnail:

The maniac.

Marwood:

It's probably just foxes looking for grub.

Withnail:

Listen. Listen.

Marwood:

Or maybe it's the farmer.

Withnail:

At two o'clock in the morning? It's the killer. He's come to kill us. What are we going to do?

There is another noise.

Withnail:

He wants to come in. He's trying to get in.

Marwood:

He can't. He'll go away.

There is a sound of retreating footsteps.

Marwood:

He's going away.

Withnail appears to be slightly appeased by this turn of events. He leaves the window and walks carefully back to the bed and proceeds to get in it.

Withnail:

This is all your fault. You've even given him the fucking gun!

There is a sound of breaking glass from downstairs.

Withnail:

He's coming in through the window. He's getting in.

Marwood [putting his hand out to Withnail]:

Give me the matches.

Withnail:

Downstairs.

There is a noise that sounds like a knife being pulled along a whetstone.

Withnail [clutching the covers up to his mouth]:

He's in. He's sharpening the fucking knife.

Marwood:

We'll have to tackle with him. You stay in bed and pretend to be asleep. He'll go for you. When he does, I'll jump on his back.

Withnail:

No, no. It'll be too late by then. I'll be knifed. We'll have to try and make friends with him.

There is a noise of someone going into Marwood's room.

Withnail:

He's going to your room. It's you he wants. Offer him yourself.

The intruder comes into the bedroom with a flashlight. Withnail makes a pathetic moaning noise and tries to hide himself with the covers.

Withnail [from under the covers]:

We mean no harm.

As the `intruder' starts to speak, it becomes obvious that it is Monty.

Monty:

Oh, my boys, my boys! Forgive me.

Marwood [with obvious relief]:

Monty! Monty, Monty!

At the sound of Monty's voice, Withnail pulls the covers down.

Withnail:

Monty, you terrible cunt!

Monty:

Forgive me. It was inconsiderate of me not to have telegrammed.

Withnail:

What are you doing prowling round in the middle of the fucking night!?

Withnail is furious, but Marwood is laughing with relief. Monty looks apologetic and contrite.

Monty:

Well, I had a punctured tyre. I had to wait an aeon for assistance. I'm sorry if I frightened you. I should have knocked, but... I'll sleep in the other room if I may.

Marwood:

Anywhere you like, Monty.

Monty looks over his glasses at Marwood.

Monty:

Ah, yes, well... Ah, good night.

He leaves.

Withnail's bedroom

It is morning. Marwood comes downstairs, dressed and sees that Monty has brought provisions with him and has tied up the room. There is no sign of Withnail. Monty enters carrying fresh logs for the fire.

Monty:

Ah, good morning. Did you sleep well?

Marwood:

Mmm.

Monty:

I do apologise for last night, it was perfectly inconsiderate of me.

Marwood:

That's perfectly alright, Monty. [Looking around] You've been busy in here.

Monty:

As a bee.

Marwood:

How did you repair the window?

Monty:

Oh, I didn't break it. Merely forced it a little. Sorry if I frightened you.

He takes a plate with some rashes of bacon and puts them in frying pan that is cooking over the fire.

Monty:

There was an empty wine bottle on the ledge. Erm, tomatoes. [He looks around for the tomatoes] Why don't you go and wake him. Breakfast in fifteen minutes.

Sometime later, the three of them are sat around the table having finished breakfast. The table is littered with plates, bottles, cutlery and condiments. Withnail is smoking and they are all drinking wine.

Monty:

The older order changeth yielding place to new and God fulfils himself in many ways and soon, I suppose, I shall be swept away by some vulgar little tumour.

Monty takes a hand of each and looks at them in turn.

Oh, my boys, my boys. We are at the end of an age. We live in a land of weather forecasts and breakfasts that 'set in'. Shat on by Tories, shovelled up by Labour. And here we are. We three. Perhaps the last island of beauty in the world. [He pauses to look at them] Now, which of you is going to be a splendid fellow and go down to the Rolls for the rest of the wine?

Both Marwood and Withnail get up immediately, removing their hands from Monty's.

Marwood and Withnail [together]:

I'll go.

Marwood [looking pointedly at Withnail]:

No, I'd better go. I want to see about digging the car out, anyway.

Monty:

But we have my car, dear boy.

Marwood:

Yes, but if it rains we're buggered. I mean...

He realises what he has just said and trails off, staring at helplessly Monty.

Monty:

Stranded!

Withnail [coming to a decision]:

We'll leave the car `til later. Leave this to me.

Marwood looks around desperately.

Marwood:

Well, I'll come with you, then. I fancy a walk.

Monty [putting his hand back on Marwood's]:

No. No. I shall need you to work on the joint. I hear you're a little wizard in the kitchen.

Withnail:

Yeah, you're the cook.

Withnail starts putting his polythene bags on.

Monty:

Erm, what on earth are those?

Withnail [looking a little sheepish]:

Oh, we forgot to bring our wellingtons.

Monty:

Oh, but how dreadful! You mean you've been up here in all this beastly mud and oomska without wellingtons? Well, this afternoon I'll take you both into Penrith and get you fitted with some good quality rubber boots.

The kitchen

Marwood and Monty are in the kitchen. Monty thrusts some wrapped meat into Marwood's hands.

Monty:

Garlic, rosemary and salt.

Monty has an apron on and is fetches another from a bag.

Monty:

I brought two of these in case either of you were any good in the kitchen.

Marwood:

I'm not.

Monty:

Oh, of course you are. Cooking's one of the natural instincts.

Marwood puts the meat down on the side.

Marwood:

Listen, Monty, this is all very kind of you, but I think I ought to be out there getting some work done on the car.

Monty:

Nonsense. You haven't time, we're taking late luncheon at three.

Marwood:

I'm afraid we have to leave by three, Monty.

Monty:

Leave?

Marwood:

Oh, didn't he tell you? We've got to get back to sign on.

Monty:

``Sign on''? At a labour exchange?

Marwood [grinning sheepishly]:

Yes, it's sort of fashionable actually. All the actors do it. Even Redgrave.

Monty:

But surely you could forgo for just this one occasion? I've come a very long way to see you both.

Marwood:

Sorry can't. I mean, I'd love to stay but he's more adamant to get back than I am.

Monty slips the apron over Marwood's head and ties it behind him.

Monty:

Then we must choose our moment and have a word with him. I'm sure together we could persuade him. There. [He picks up the meat and puts it back in Marwood's hands] Now, garlic, rosemary and salt. I can never touch meat until it's cooked. As a youth I used to weep in butcher's shops.

Marwood moves through to the lounge and looks in the bags of food on the table.

Marwood [calling to Monty]:

I can't find the rosemary.

Monty [coming in from the kitchen]:

Ah! Can't find the rosemary? I'm sure we could find it together.

He leans across Marwood in a rather compromising fashion.

Marwood:

Perhaps it's in the other bag.

Monty:

Perhaps it is. Shall we look?

He reaches across with his other arm cutting off any opportunity of escape. Withnail enters with the wine, puts the bags on the table and looks with wry amusement at Marwood's predicament.

Withnail:

Sorry. Sherry's in there.

Monty exits to the kitchen armed with the sherry.

Marwood:

What do you mean `sorry'!? What's going on? What's he doing here? Listen, we can't stay--he won't leave me alone.

Withnail:

Alright, we'll get the lunch down, then we'll leave.

In the kitchen, Monty pulls the cork from the sherry and emerges with three different glasses.

Monty:

I'm afraid we must drink from these.

He pours the sherry and hands a glass to each.

Monty:

I hope their shapes will not offend your palates.

Withnail:

Chin-chin.

Monty and Withnail click their glasses together.

Monty:

To a delightful weekend in the country.

Penrith

Monty's car drives into Penrith and pulls up in the town centre. Withnail and Marwood get out of the car. Compared to Monty and the car they look rather scruffy.

Monty:

I do think you could at least have shaved. What will people think of me turning up with you two? You look like a pair of farm-hands. This is most embarrassing. Get away from the car!

He takes out his wallet and hands Withnail two five pound notes.

Monty:

Buy the wellingtons. I'm going to go and buy some razors and some shaving soap. I'll see you overe there in half an hour.

Monty drives off.

Withnail:

Couple of blues.

Marwood:

One each.

He removes a note from Withnail's hand.

Withnail:

I think a drink, don't you?

Marwood:

What about the wellingtons?

Withnail:

Oh, bollocks to the wellingtons. We'll tell him there was a farmer's conference and they had a run on them.

The King Henry

Marwood is on the telephone while Withnail is at the bar.

Marwood:

Okay then. Yeah. Promise. Bye.

He puts the phone down and walks over to Withnail.

Marwood:

Nah. Hasn't heard a thing. Apparently, they're still seeing people.

Withnail:

You don't want to go to Manchester anyway. Play a bloody soldier.

Marwood:

Don't I? I don't know if I do. It's a bloody good little theatre.

Withnail:

It's not much of a part is it.

Marwood:

It's better than nothing.

Withnail:

They'd make you cut your hair off.

Marwood:

So what, you'd loose a leg!

Barman:

Time please, gents.

Withnail:

Alright. We're going to have to work quickly. [To the Barman] A pair of quadruple whiskies and another pair of pints, please.

Later, Withnail and Marwood emerge unsteadily from the pub.

Withnail:

Where is he? Utterly arse-holed.

Marwood:

We're early.

Marwood looks across to some tearooms.

Marwood:

We want to get in there, don't we? Eat some cake. Soak up the booze.

They enter the Penrith tea-rooms. Marwood sits down at a table and starts buttering the bread rolls on the table. Withnail, still standing, points to the table and addresses an elderly waitress, Miss Blennerhassit.

Withnail:

Alright here?

Miss Blennerhassit:

What do you want?

Withnail:

Cake. [He points to the table again] Alright here?

Miss Blennerhassit:

No, we're closing in a minute.

Withnail:

We're leaving in a minute.

Withnail sits down at the table and makes a rather perfunctory examination of the menu. Miss Blennerhassit moves to the back of the shop.

Withnail [to no-one in particular]:

We want cake and tea.

An elderly man comes across to their table. He is the proprietor.

Proprietor:

Didn't you hear her? She said she'd closed. What do you want in here?

Withnail [looking up at him]:

Cake. What's it got to do with you?

Proprietor:

I happen to be the proprietor. Now, would you leave?

Withnail:

Ah, good. I'm glad you're the proprietor. I was going to have to have a word with you anyway. We're working on a film up here. Location, see. We might want to do a film in here.

Proprietor:

You're drunk.

Marwood:

Just bring out the cakes.

Withnail:

Cake and fine wine.

Miss Blennerhassit:

If you don't leave, we'll call the police.

Withnail:

Balls! We want the finest wines available to humanity. We want them here and we want them now!

Proprietor:

Miss Blennerhassit, telephone the police.

Marwood breaks off from stuffing bread rolls in his mouth but has not quite swallowed all of it yet. He alternates between pointing at her with his knife and buttering a scone.

Marwood:

Alright, Miss Blennerhassit. I'm warning you, if you do, you're fired. We are multi-millionaires. We shall buy this place and fire you immediately.

She lifts the receiver and starts to dial.

Withnail:

Yeah, that's right, we'll buy this place and install a fucking jukebox and liven all you stiffs up a bit.

Proprietor:

The police, Miss Blennerhassit. Just tell them there are a couple of drunks in the Penrith tea rooms and we want them removed.

Marwood:

We are not drunks, we are multi-millionaires.

The proprietor moves over to Miss Blennerhassit by the phone.

Proprietor:

Hurry up, Mabs. We'll keep them here until they arrive.

Withnail:

You won't keep us anywhere.

Miss Blennerhassit [into the receiver]:

Police, please.

Withnail:

We'll buy this place and have it knocked down.

Marwood:

It's alright. 's alright. Our car has arrived.

He stands up and pulls back a curtain to reveal that indeed their car has arrived, in the form of Monty in the Rolls. They get up and Marwood staggers out of the door.

Withnail:

We'll be back. We're coming back in here.

He tries to lean on a convenient post but misses and staggers a bit. He points meaningfully at the various customers as he leaves, shutting his coat in the door.

The cottage

Withnail and Marwood are sat inside. There is no sign of Monty. Marwood has just finished shaving and is drying his hair with a towel.

Marwood:

Where is he?

Withnail:

Sulking up the hill. He says he won't come down for lunch without an apology.

Marwood:

Suits me. He can eat his fucking radish.

Unseen, Monty enters and addresses Marwood.

Monty:

It's all you fault. You lead him astray.

Marwood:

I beg your pardon, Monty.

Monty:

Oh, don't tell me you're not aware of it. I know what you're up to and so do you.

Withnail stands up and offers Monty a glass.

Withnail:

Sherry?

Monty moves over to stand beside Withnail. They both look at Marwood.

Monty:

Sherry!? Oh dear, no, no, no, no. I'd be sucked into his trap. One of us has got to stay on guard. He's so mauve we don't know what he's planning.

Marwood walks out in disgust as Monty recieves the glass and takes a sip of sherry.

The kitchen

Marwood is at the sink peeling potatoes. Monty enters.

Monty:

I'm preparing myself to forgive you. I think you've been punished enough. I think we better release you from the legume and transfer you talents to the meat.

He takes him into the lounge. Withnail is slouching in a chair by the fire.

Monty [to Withnail]:

You shouldn't treat each other so badly. [He rubs Marwood's hands between his own] This boy's been out there, frozen to the marrow, and you just sit in here drinking. Now, come along. He's going to revitalize himself in here while you finish the vegetables.

Withnail [pathetically]:

I don't know how to do them.

Monty:

Well of course you don't. You're incapable of indulging in anything but pleasure. Am I not right?

The last question is adressed to Marwood. He merely smiles.

Monty [to Withnail]:

You don't deserve such loyalty. Now come along, I'm going to teach you how to peel a potato.

He rolls up Withnail's sleeves and takes him unwillingly into the kitchen. Withnail swipes a glass of sherry off the table on the way there.

The dinner table

All three are sat around the table eating a roast dinner. There is plenty of extra meat and a good supply of wine.

Monty:

It's very stimulating getting back to a basic sort of life for a while.

Withnail:

Yes.

Monty:

Surrounded by trees and nature, one feels a glorious stirring of the senses. A rejection of poisonous inhibition and a fecund emotion of the soul.

Marwood:

Except, of course, the problems do tend to take the edge off the pleasure.

Monty looks at him questioningly.

Marwood:

I mean, there are no proper facilities.

Monty:

All the glorious trials of youth, dear boy. When I was a lad I'd rocket off on my tandem with Wrigglesworth and we'd just ride and ride. And at night, we'd find some old barn and fall asleep with the perfumes of nature sighing on our skin.

Withnail:

Would it be in bad form to plagiarise a toast?

Monty:

It depends entirely on the quality of the wine. In this instance, [he taps his glass with his knife] it most certainly would not.

Withnail:

In that case, to a delightful weekend in the country.

Marwood looks up quickly from eating and stares at Withnail. Monty and Withnail chink glasses together and Monty looks over at Marwood.

Monty:

Oooh, splendid. We were expecting a volley of argument concerning Mr. Redgrave.

Marwood:

You're forgetting about Jake.

Monty:

Not another word. Not another word. Jake can wait too.

Marwood:

Jake isn't a friend, Monty. I'd hoped to avoid telling you this, but there's a psychotic on the prowl outside this house. Ask him if I exaggerate. He's threatened us and he's dangerous.

Monty [to Withnail]:

Is this true?

Withnail [with a mouthful of food]:

Well, there's this local type hanging about. Poacher. We got into a bit of a tiff and he threatened me with a dead fish. [Monty giggles] Yes, it was rather amusing, actually. When you came in, we thought it was him and we thought that you cleaning your boots was him sharpening the knife.

Throughout this, Marwood stares at Withnail.

Monty [laughing]:

Oh, how delicious! [To Marwood] More meat?

Marwood [standing]:

I'm going for a walk.

Monty:

Oh, wait for us dear boy, we'll all go.

Marwood leaves before either of them finish. Withnail laughs quietly to himself.

Outside the cottage

Marwood is leaning on the wall. Withnail emerges and walks briskly over to him.

Withnail:

Listen. I know what your thinking, but I had no alternative. The old bugger's come a long way and I didn't want to put the wind up him.

Marwood:

You sensitivity overwhelms me. If you think you're going to have a weekend's indulgence up here at his expense, which means him having a weekend's indulgence up here at my expense, you've got another thing coming.

Withnail:

I give you my word, we'll leave first thing tomorrow morning.

Marwood:

Tomorrow? Tomorrow? What about tonight!

Withnail:

He's not going to try anything.

Marwood:

Of course he is! Why do you think he's up here? He means business!

Withnail:

Anyway, he sent me out to tell you that the coffee's ready.

Marwood:

I couldn't drink it. I've got a cramp in the mouth from grinning.

Withnail:

Well, stop smiling at him.

Marwood:

I can't help it. I'm so uptight with him. I can't stop myself.

The hillside

They are walking through thick bracken listening to Monty expound on Oxford.

Monty:

Lessez-moi, respere. Longtemps, longtemps le deux de teau cheveux. Oh, Bodelair. Brings back such memories of Oxford... Oh, Oxford!

Marwood [narrating]:

... followed by yet another anecdote about his sensitive crimes in a punt with a chap called Norman who had red hair and a book of poetry stained with the butter drips from crumpets.

Monty:

I often wonder where Norman is now. Probably wintering with his mother in Guilford, a cat and rain. Vim under the sink and both bars on. But old now. Old. There can be no true beauty without decay.

Withnail:

Legium pro Britania.

Monty:

How right you are, how right you are. We live in a kingdom of reigns where royalty comes in gangs. Come on lads, let's get home. The sky's beginning to bruise--night must fall and we shall be forced to camp.

As Monty heads off, Marwood pulls Withnail to one side.

Marwood [fiercely]:

He's having my room, alright? That's the condition. I want the room with the lock. Agree to that or I'm off.

Withnail:

Alright, alright.

They stride off back to the cottage. Before they get there, they see Jake at the door. Monty looks at him through the binoculars.

Marwood [gloatingly to Withnail]:

Good old Jake, eh? I told you. He's back. And that's precisely the reason I'm off to London. Let's all have a good laugh, eh Withnail? Good old Jake, eh? He's back.

Monty:

He's going away. He's leaving.

Marwood:

Come on. Let's pack up and get out of here before it gets dark.

They walk down to the cottage. There is a hare tied to the door with a note attached. Withnail unfolds the note and hands it to Monty. Monty clearly has some difficulty in reading the note.

Monty:

Here hare here.

The meaning dawns on him.

Monty:

Here hare here!

Withnail:

Good old Jake.

The cottage.

They are playing poker with bottle tops and a few coins. An old gramophone is playing in the background. The game is stud with two down cards--Monty has the ace of spades and two small spades showing, Marwood has just queen high.

Monty [rather drunkenly]:

Ace bets... Ace bets two and it's over to you.

Withnail [throwing in some bottle tops and coins]:

Your two and up two.

Marwood:

So that's four?

Monty:

That's four.

Marwood puts in four. Monty deals the last set of cards. As he sees them, he begins giggling with Withnail.

Monty:

Dealer will pay for the raise and see the two. Now. Last card up?

Withnail:

Denai surenum defit.

He deals another queen to Marwood.

Monty [giggling]:

Oh, and there she is.

He deals himself another spade.

Monty:

A possible flush. Well, it's the two queens to bet!

Later, but still round the table, Monty winds up the gramophone.

Monty:

Another hand?

Withnail looks up from where he is slumped in his chair. He is very drunk.

Monty:

I think we'd better get him to bed.

Marwood [quickly]:

No. No. He's down here. You're in my room, I'm in his room and he's down here.

Monty:

No. I wouldn't dream of depriving the poor fellow of his bed. Especially in that condition.

Marwood:

It's agreed. It's what he wants!

Withnail [very drunkenly]:

No, I don't. I want to get to bed!

He tries to stand and go upstairs. Marwood starts to help him.

Marwood:

Alright then, lovey. Let's get you to bed. To bed by midnight will do us both good.

He grabs Withnail under the arms and manoeuvres him out of the room.

Marwood:

Night-night then, Monty.

Withnail [very drunkenly]:

I want to be alone.

Marwood staggers up the stairs with Withnail who mumbles about wanting to be on his own. He drops him on the bed and dashes back to his own room to get his bedding. Before he can get back, Monty has come up the stairs and has just finished locking the door.

Monty [turning to Marwood]:

I think he'd better sleep alone tonight. He doesn't want to sleep with you.

Marwood:

Right. Well, you're in there and I'll take these and I'll have the couch. I'll say good-night then, Monty.

Monty:

You already have. Twice!

Downstairs, Marwood frantically arranges the blankets on the sofa. Monty enters but Marwood's back is to him.

Marwood:

What is it, Monty? I'm terribly tired. I need to go to sleep.

Monty:

But not that tired, eh? Are you a sponge or a stone?

Marwood is still bent over his makeshift bed, but he turns around to look at Monty. Monty comes and stands over him.

Marwood:

What do you mean?

Monty:

Do you like to experience all facets of life or do you shut yourself off from new experience?

Marwood:

I voted Conservative.

Monty:

Are you faithful?

Marwood:

To whom?

Monty:

Faithfulness isn't selective.

Marwood:

No, I quite agree. It's more a matter of selecting to whom one will be faithful.

Monty:

Have you selected?

Marwood:

I'm terribly tired.

Monty:

I've been watching you all evening. You've been avoiding my eyes, haven't you?

Marwood:

Your eyes!?

Monty:

Mmm. At luncheon, you couldn't tear your gaze from mine. This evening you barely looked at me. What did he say to you?

Marwood [panic rising]:

Nothing.

Monty:

You can tell me.

Marwood:

I assure you nothing, Monty. I'm terribly tired. I need to get to bed.

Monty:

Yes, you must, mustn't you? Off you go, then. I'll sleep here. It won't be the first time I've been left with the couch!

Marwood is in bed. He has barricaded the door by propping a chair against the knob. There is a determined push at the door from the other side which dislodges the chair and Monty enters.

Monty:

Boy! Boy! I know you're not asleep, boy. But he is. I've been into his room. He won't hear a thing.

Marwood pretends to be asleep.

Monty:

I know you're not asleep, boy.

As Monty sits on the edge of his bed, Marwood quickly sits up and lights a candle.

Marwood:

No, I'm not asleep! What is it, Monty? What do you want?

By the dim light, we can see that Monty is wearing a silk dressing gown and make-up on his face. Marwood stares incredulously.

Monty:

I had to come. I tried not to come. Oh, how I tried not to.

Marwood:

Listen, Monty, there's something I have to explain to you.

Monty:

You needn't explain. He's told me everything. He told me that first day you came to Chelsea.

Marwood [panicking]:

What! What's he told you?

Monty:

He told me about your arrest in the Tottenham Court road. He told me about your problems. How you feel; your desires.

Marwood:

Problems! what problems?

Monty:

You are a toilet trader!

Marwood:

He told you that!

Monty:

You musn't blame him. You musn't blame yourself. I know how you feel and how difficult it is. And that's why you musn't hold back and let it ruin your youth as I nearly did over Eric. It's like a tide. Give into it, boy. Go with it. It's society crime, not ours.

Marwood:

I'm not homosexual, Monty.

Monty:

Yes you are! Of course you are. You're simply blackmailing your emotions to avoid the realities of your relationship with him. [He moves his eyes in the direction of Withnail's bedroom]

Marwood:

What are you talking about?

Monty:

You love him! And it isn't his fault that he cannot love you, any more that it's mine that I adore you!

At this, Marwood jumps out of bed and goes over to the door, wrapped in his bed sheets. Monty beats him to it.

Monty:

Couldn't we allow ourselves just this one moment of indiscretion?

Marwood:

No!

Monty:

He need never know.

Marwood:

I don't care what he knows! Monty, you've got to go. You've got to leave.

Monty:

If you want to humiliate me, humiliate me. I adore you! Tell him if you must, I no longer care. I mean to have you even if it must be burglary.

He rips off Marwood's bed sheets. Marwood races across the bed to the other side of the room. Monty advances. As he approaches and corners Marwood, Monty unties his dressing gown. Marwood looks up and down in horror. Monty presses himself against Marwood.

Marwood [desperately]:

Listen! It's not me, it's him. He lied to you. We're in an affair, we have been for years. But he doesn't want you to know. He doesn't want anyone to know. We're both in to; we're obsessed with each other. But he's estranged. He won't come out and accept what he is. That's why he's rejecting me while you're here. On my life Monty, this is the first night we haven't slept together for six years. I can't't cheat on him, it would kill him!

Monty:

But he told me that you were in purgatory because he couldn't love you.

Marwood:

He's lying. Lying.

Monty:

Oh my dear boy! If I'd known that, I'd never have attempted to come between you.

Marwood:

I know that, Monty. I respected you for your sensitivity. I thank you for it. But you must leave.

Monty:

Yes. Yes. You better go to him.

Marwood [with resolve]:

Oh, I intend to. This instant.

Withnail's room

Withnail is asleep in bed with the shotgun. Marwood enters.

Marwood:

Withnail, you bastard! Wake up! Wake up, you bastard, or I burn this bastard bed down!

Withnail [sleepily]:

I deny all accusations. What do you want?

Marwood [into Withnail's face]:

I've just narrowly avoided having a buggering. And I've come in here with the express intention of wishing one on you. Having said that, Inow intend to leave for London.

Withnail raises his head and opens his bleary eyes to peer at Marwood.

Withnail:

Hold on. Don't let you imagination run away with you.

He lights up an old cigarette and coughs up some phlegm.

Marwood:

Imagination!? I've just finished fighting a naked man! How dare you tell him I'm a toilet trader!

Withnail:

It was a tactical necessity. If I hadn't told him you were active, we'd never have got the cottage.

Marwood:

I'd never have wanted it, not with him in it.

Withnail:

I never thought he'd come all this way.

Marwood:

Monty!? He'd go to New York.

Withnail:

Calculated risk.

Marwood:

What is all this tactical necessity and calculated risk? It's me, naked, in a corner. And how dare you tell him I love you? And how dare you tell him you rejected me? How dare you tell him that!?

Withnail:

Sorry about that, got a bit carried away. Sort of said it without thinking.

Withnail looks sheepishly amused. Marwood takes the gun.

Marwood:

Well let me tell you something, Withnail. If he comes in my room again, its murder and you will be held responsible in law.

The cottage

Withnail is eating lunch at the table. Marwood is stood behind him holding a note by the window.

Marwood [reading from the note]:

'Perhaps it is appropriate justice for the eavesdropper that he should leave as his trade dictates, in secrecy and in the dead of night. I do sincerely hope that you will find the happiness which, alas, has always been denied me. I am ever yours, everfaithfully, Montague H. Withnail.' Poor old bastard.

Marwood crushes the note and throws it on the fire.

Withnail:

I must say. Now that represents a degree of hypocrisy that I've hitherto suspected in you, but not noticed due to highly evasive skills.

Marwood:

Christ, Withnail! You'll suffer for this. What you have done will have to be paid for.

Withnail:

I'll say one thing for, Monty, he keeps a sensational cellar.

There is a knock at the door. Marwood approaches, but does not open the door.

Marwood:

Who's there?

Voice:

Telegram.

Marwood gets the telegram, opens it and then reads it. He shows it to Withnail.

Withnail:

Well done.

Marwood:

Well, it doesn't mean to say I've got it. They probably just want to see me again. Well, that settles it, then. We leave immediately.

Withnail [looking startled]:

What!?

Marwood:

Get your kit together. We're leaving in half an hour.

Withnail:

Don't be ridiculous. I need at least an hour for lunch!

The car

Withnail is eating the lunch from a plate on his knee. It is raining heavily and Marwood's side of the windscreen is impossible to see through.

Withnail [mouth full]:

You got a truck coming up about two-hundred yards followed by a left slow-hander.

Marwood:

This is insanity! I can't keep this up!

Withnail:

Stay in this lane. [He pauses between chewing] Bear right. Bear right.

Marwood:

Lane? What lane? I can't see the fucking lane!

Withnail:

Bear right! Bear right! Bear right!

They narrowly avoid hitting a truck.

Marwood:

Right, that's it! Next garage, I've got to do something about that wiper. And I've got to get some sleep.

Withnail laughs as he takes another swig from his bottle.

The car

It is daytime again, and the rain has stopped. Marwood is asleep in the back of the Jag. The car jerks around and he woken. As he looks out of the window, the camera moves with his view. The car is hurtling down the motorway, swerving between the other cars.

Marwood [looking up]:

What's going on?

Withnail [drunkenly]:

I'm making time.

Marwood:

Are you out of your mind? Pull over, you haven't got a license.

Withnail:

No, I'm making time.

Marwood:

Where are we?

Withnail:

We're approaching London. [He looks in the rear-view mirror] Here comes another fucker.

They swerve in front of several more cars. Then Marwood sees a police van behind them.

Marwood:

Oh, no!

Withnail:

It's perfectly alright. Leave him to me.

Marwood:

You're full of scotch, you silly tool.

The police van comes along side them and a policeman leans out, pointing markedly to the roadside. Withnail pulls over, the van draws up in front of them and the officers get out and approach the car. One knocks on the window and Withnail winds it down.

Policeman 1:

Bit early in the morning for festivities isn't it, sir?

There is a large pile of bottles on the passenger seat of the car.

Withnail:

Those aren't mine, they belong to him.

Policeman 1:

You're drunk.

Withnail [drunkenly]:

I assure you I'm not, officer. Honestly, I've only had a few ales.

Policeman 1:

Out of the car. Please. Sir.

Withnail makes no move, so he opens the door. Withnail virtually falls out then stands against the car. The policeman offers him a Breathalyser bag.

Policeman 1:

I want you to take one deep breath and fill this bag.

Withnail shakes his head.

Policeman 1:

Are you refusing to fill this bag?

Withnail:

I most certainly am.

Policeman 1:

I'm placing you under arrest.

Withnail:

Don't be ridiculous I haven't done anything. look here, my cousin's a Q.C.

Policeman 2 [in a high-pitched voice]:

Get in the back of the van!

The police station

Withnail is behind a screen. A sergeant is sat at a desk while other policemen wonder around.

Policeman 3:

`Ere, Serg, what's that clown doing?

The sergeant pulls the screen aside and sees Withnail with the contraption that Danny gave him. He grabs the tube and urine splashes everywhere. Withnail grins sheepishly.

The flat

Withnail and Marwood enter their flat. They look through the post.

Withnail:

Where's our checks?

Marwood:

We didn't sign on.

Withnail:

That wouldn't make any difference to last week's payments.

They hear music from upstairs. The door to the bathroom is ajar and in the bath is a large black man who stares at them. Marwood looks in his bedroom. The bed is occupied by Danny.

Marwood:

What are you doing in my bed?

Danny:

Having a sleep.

Marwood:

Who's the huge spade in the bath?

Danny:

Presuming Ed.

Marwood:

Well, you've got ten minutes, right? I want you out, `cos I want to get in. Ten minutes, right? You'd better be on your feet.

The lounge

Later, Withnail is sat on the sofa, reading and Marwood is stood looking out of the window. Danny comes in, stretching.

Withnail:

How did you get in?

Danny:

Ingenuity man--come up the drainpipe. Would you like a smoke?

Withnail:

Yes.

Marwood:

No, thanks. I've got a call to make.

Danny sits at the table and starts pulling out Rizzler papers at a prolific rate. Marwood does into the kitchen.

Withnail [coming over to sit by Danny at the table]:

What are you going to do with those?

Danny:

The joint I am about to roll requires a craftsman and can utilise up to twelve skins. It is called a Camberwell Carrot.

Marwood comes back in from the kitchen with a slice of bread and uses a knife to put some marmarmalade from a jar on the table.

Marwood:

It's impossible to use twelve papers on one joint.

Marwood goes back into the kitchen.

Danny:

It is impossible to make a Camberwell Carrot with anything less.

Withnail:

Who says it's a Camberwell Carrot?

Danny:

I do. I invented it in Camberwell and it looks like a carrot. [Turning to Marwood in the kitchen] Do you realise this gaff;s overrun with rodents? When I come in, I seen one the size of a fucking dog.

Marwood [from the kitchen]:

No. That is a dog. Belongs to the fella downstairs.

Danny:

Does his dog get in the oven?

Withnail withdraws a bottle of wine from a pocket of his coat and pours himself another drink.

Withnail:

No. His dog doesn't come up here.

Danny:

Then it was a rodent. Opened the oven door and it was in there looking at me. Quite freaked me at the time. I was going to cook onions.

Marwood comes back into the living room and starts to put his coat on.

Danny [to Marwood]:

Are you going to bed now?

Marwood:

No. Phone.

Marwood leaves the flat.

Danny [to Withnail]:

Who's he gone to telephone?

Withnail gets up and crosses to the window.

Withnail:

Squat Betty. His agent. He's wasting his time, because he won't be in.

Cut to Danny and Withnail on the sofa. Presuming Ed is sat silently in an adjacent chair. The Camberwell Carrot is complete and is indeed of prodigious proportions. As Danny lights it, we see only the end, but as he hands it to Withnail we see the true size. It is enormous.

Danny:

This will tend to make you very high.

Withnail receives if from Danny and takes a long draw. He passes it back.

Danny:

This grass is the most powerful in the Western hemisphere. I have it special flown in from my man in Mexico. He's an expert. His name's Huang. This grass grows at exactly two thousand feet above sea-level.

Marwood returns from his phone call, takes the proffered joint from Danny.

Danny [to Marwood]:

Did you get the part, man?

Marwood takes a draw on the joint and splutters. He shakes his head.

Marwood:

No. I got a different one. [He coughs] They want me to play the lead.

Withnail:

Congratulations.

Marwood passes the Carrot over to Withnail.

Danny:

Where exactly have you two been?

Marwood:

A holiday in the countryside.

Danny:

That is a very good idea. London is a country coming down from its trip. We are ninety-one days from the end of this decade and there's going to be a lot of refugees.

Presuming Ed laughs deeply. Withnail passes the joint to Danny.

Danny [laughing]:

They'll be going round this town shouting, ``Bring out your dead!''

Danny passes the joint over to Presuming Ed.

Danny [to Marwood]:

There was a geezer round here the other day looking for you.

Marwood:

What geezer?

Danny:

Some bald geezer. Reckons you owe him two hundred and sixty-six quid back rent. I told him there's was no question of paying rent on a property cut with rodents. He takes exception to this. Starts coming on really bald with me.

Withnail:

You mean ratty.

Danny:

I told him to piss off.

Marwood:

You bloody fool. He'll have us up in court again.

Danny:

No, he won't. It ain't legal.

Withnail:

I assume we can quote you, can we?

Danny [seriously]:

Law rather appeals to me actually.

Withnail looks at him, begins laughing uncontrollably and drops to the floor.

Danny [regarding Withnail]:

Just high.

Marwood [concerned]:

Stop laughing, Withnail. This is serious.

Danny:

No it ain't. I looked into it. Studied the papers.

Marwood:

What papers?

Danny:

Legal papers.

Marwood:

What papers, Danny?

He shakes the papers out of a bag by his side. Marwood looks through the `papers'.

Marwood [shaking some bits of paper at Withnail]:

He's got our checks. [To Danny] What are you doing with these?

Danny:

I was going to cash them in for you.

Presuming Ed starts chanting and rotating a the globe drink's cabinet.

Presuming Ed:

Harriramma, harriramma.

Marwood:

For Christ's sake, Withnail. Stop laughing will you. Listen. This is a notice of eviction...

Withnail is still on the floor, laughing.

Marwood:

Will you stop laughing? They want to throw us out.

Presuming Ed:

Harriramma, harriramma.

Marwood [to Presuming Ed]:

For God's sake... Will you shut up, for God's sake? [He starts to panic] You're giving me the fear! Give me a downer, Danny. My brain's capsizing. I've gone and fucked my brain.

Danny:

Change down, man. Find your neutral space. You got a rush. It will pass. Be seated.

Marwood sits down on a chair by the window and starts to feel better.

Marwood [to Danny]:

Aren't you getting absurdly high?

Danny:

Precisely the reason I'm smoking it.

He offers the joint to Withnail, who has risen off of the floor and is on one knee behind the sofa.

Withnail:

I couldn't. I'm spaced.

Danny:

Not as spaced as your rodents.

Marwood:

Don't talk about them.

Danny:

I imagine they're talking to each other.

Marwood [panic rising again]:

What do you mean?

Danny:

I've dealt with them.

Marwood:

Dealt with them? What the fuck do you mean?

Danny:

Dosed `em. I expect they're dead down the drain.

Marwood:

Dead down the drain? What have you done to them?!

Danny:

Given 'em all drugged onions.

Marwood:

Jesus Christ! Why've you drugged their onions!?

Marwood has risen again and is looking distressed.

Danny:

Sit down, man. Take control.

Marwood:

Give me a valium, Danny. I'm getting the fear.

Danny:

You have done something to your brain. You have made it high. If I lay 10 mills of diazipan on you, you will do something else to your brain; you will make it low. Why trust one drug and not the other? [To Withnail] That politics, innit it?

Marwood:

I'm going to eat some sugar.

He goes off into the kitchen.

Danny [to Marwood]:

I recommend you smoke some more grass.

Marwood [from the kitchen]:

No way. No fucking way.

Danny:

That is an unfortunate political decision, reflecting these times.

Withnail gets up and moves over to sit in the chair Marwood occupied a few moments ago. He looks at Danny.

Withnail:

What are you talking about, Danny?

Danny:

Politics, man. If you are hanging on to a rising balloon you are presented with a difficult political decision--let go before it's too late or hang on and keep getting higher, posing the question: how long can you keep a grip on the rope? [He pauses] They're selling hippy wigs in Woolworths, man. The greatest decade in the history of mankind is over. And, as Presuming Ed here has so consistently pointed out, we have failed to paint it black.

Sometime later, Marwood is looking around his room, which is now very bare. There are boxes of his personal possessions stacked in the room. The scene cuts to Withnail sat on the sofa as Marwood enters the living room.

Marwood [to Withnail's back]:

My dad will pick up the boxes in the week. And he's also going to do something about the car. I'm off now, eh?

Withnail:

Already? But I've got us a bottle open.

Withnail gets up and picks up two glasses and a bottle of wine from the coffee table in front of him. He moves around to stand in front of Marwood.

Withnail:

Confiscated it from Monty's supplies. [He reads from the label of the bottle] `53 Margaux. Best of the century. I'm sure he wouldn't resent us a parting drink.

Marwood:

I can't, Withnail, I've got to walk to the station. I'll be late.

Withnail:

There's always time for a drink.

Marwood [apologetically]:

I don't have the time.

Withnail:

Alright., I'll walk with you through the park. We can drink it on the way.

He grabs his coat and an umbrella and takes the bottle.

Regent's Park

It is pouring down with rain. Withnail offers the bottle to Marwood.

Marwood [shaking his head]:

No. No more. Listen, Withnail, it's a stinker. Why don't you go back?

Withnail:

Because I want to walk you to the station.

Marwood:

Well don't. Please don't. I really don't want you to.

They stop by the wolves in the zoo. Marwood grasps Withnail's shoulder and looks at him.

Marwood:

I shall miss you, Withnail.

Withnail [with tears in his eyes]:

I'll miss you, too. Chin-chin.

Withnail takes a swig of wine from the bottle as Marwood departs. He walks to the railings of the zoo and leans into them.

Withnail:

I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory...

It may only be the wolves that listen, but Withnail is on stage, and all his bitterness and injured pride are poured into his performance.

Withnail:

... this most excellent canopy the air, look you, this brave o'er hanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire; why, it appeareth nothing to me but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, how like an angel in apprehension, how like a god! The beauty of the world, paragon of animals; and yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me, no, nor women neither. Nor women neither.

The effect is bitter and spell-binding, but the wolves are unimpressed. Withnail exits hopelessly into the rain.

Fade out.

---

Transcribed by Jonathan Dale
6th January, 1998