Withnail & I (1987)
Withnail: Right, you fucker, I'm going to do the washing up!
Marwood: No, no, you can't. It's impossible, I swear it. 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 till the morning, we'll go in together.
Withnail: This IS the morning. Stand aside!
Marwood: [holding him back] 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: Then the fucker will rue the day!
Withnail: [seeing a road sign reading "ACCIDENT BLACK SPOT. DRIVE WITH EXTREME CARE"] 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!
[shouts out of the car window at a man standing on the pavement]
Withnail: Throw yourself into the road, darling! You haven't got a chance!
Withnail: Are you the farmer?
Marwood: Shut up, I'll deal with this.
Withnail: 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!
Withnail: We want the finest wines available to humanity. And we want them here, and we want them now!
Withnail: I must have some booze. I demand to have some booze!
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. This most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging 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! The paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me, no, nor women neither. Nor women neither.
Withnail: Free to those that can afford it, very expensive to those that can't.
Danny: I don't advise a haircut, 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.
Withnail: [approaching the pub] All right, this is the plan. We get in there and get wrecked, then we'll eat a pork pie, then we'll drop a couple of Surmontil-50's each. That means we'll miss out Monday but come up smiling Tuesday morning.
[Withnail and Marwood are lying in bed together, listening to a man coming inside the cottage. Withnail is cowering under the covers]
Withnail: [whispering] He's going into your room. It's you he wants. Offer him yourself.
[the bedroom door slowly opens and the intruder enters with a torch]
Withnail: [screwing his eyes shut in terror, moaning] We mean no harm!
Monty: Oh, my boys, my boys, forgive me.
Marwood: [relieved] Monty! Monty, Monty!
Withnail: MONTY, YOU TERRIBLE CUNT!
Monty: Forgive me, it was inconsiderate of me not to have telegrammed.
Withnail: WHAT ARE YOU DOING PROWLING AROUND IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING NIGHT?
Marwood: There's a man over there that doesn't like the perfume, the big one. 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: [cockily] What fucker said that?
[the man who called Marwood a ponce gets up and walks over to them. He is even taller than Withnail and much more burly. Withnail freezes in terror with a mouthful of pie]
Irishman: I called him a ponce. And now I'm calling you one. PONCE!
Withnail: [smiling] Would you like a drink?
Irishman: [ripping Withnail's tartan scarf off his neck] What's your name, MacFuck?
Withnail: I have a heart condition. I have a heart condition, if you hit me it's murder.
Irishman: I'll murder the pair of yers!
Withnail: [eyes filling with tears] My wife is having a baby. Listen, I don't know what my f... 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.
[Withnail suddenly runs out of the pub, so does Marwood]
Danny: Don't get uptight with me, man. Cos 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. Beside there's nothing invented I couldn't take.
Danny: If I medicined you, you'd think a brain tumour was a birthday present.
Withnail: I could take double anything you could.
Danny: [removing his sunglasses] Very, very foolish words, man.
Marwood: [voiceover] Even a stopped clock gives the right time twice a day. And for once I'm inclined to believe that 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.
Danny: The joint I'm about to roll requires a craftsman. It can utilise up to 12 skins. It is called a Camberwell Carrot.
Marwood: It's impossible to use 12 papers on one joint.
Danny: It's 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.
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. Do you grow?
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 sais quoi' oh so very special about a firm, young carrot.
Danny: I see you're wearing a suit.
Withnail: What's it got to do with you?
Danny: No need to get uptight, man. I was merely making an observation. I happened to be looking for a suit for the Coalman two weeks ago. For reasons I can't really discuss with you. The Coalman had to go to Jamaica. Got busted coming back through Heathrow. Had a weight under his fez. We worked out it would be handy karma for him to get hold of a suit but he's a very low temperature spade, the Coalman. Goes into court in his kaftan and a bell. This doesn't go down at all well. They can handle the kaftan, they can't handle the bell. So, there's this judge sitting there in a cape like fucking Batman with this really rather far-out looking hat.
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 Coalman looks at him and says "You think *you* look normal, your honour?" Cunt gave him two years.
Withnail: [looking at the kitchen sink overflowing with dirty dishes] 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 kettle on the stove. It's too hot so he drops it]
Withnail: Aargh! Aargh!
Marwood: I told you, you've been bitten!
Withnail: Burnt! Burnt! The fucking kettle's on fire!
Marwood: There's something floating up.
Withnail: [lunges towards the sink] FORK IT!
Withnail: [is being arrested for drunk driving] Look here, my cousin's a QC!
Policeman 2: [high-pitched voice] GET-IN-THE-BACK-OF-THE-VAN!
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.
[They drunkenly barge into some tearooms]
Withnail: [pointing at a table] All right here?
Waitress: What do you want?
Withnail: Cake. All right here?
Waitress: No, we're closing in a minute.
Withnail: We're leaving in a minute.
[he sits down and picks up a menu]
Withnail: We want cake and tea.
Tea Shop Proprietor: Didn't you hear? She said she'd closed. What do you want in here?
Withnail: Cake. What's it got to do with you?
Tea Shop Proprietor: I happen to be the proprietor. Now, would you leave?
Withnail: Ah! I'm glad you're the proprietor, I was gonna have to have a word with you anyway. We're working on a film up here. Locations, see. We might wanna do a film in here.
Tea Shop Proprietor: You're drunk.
Marwood: Just bring out the cakes.
Withnail: Cake and fine wine.
Waitress: If you don't leave, we'll call the police.
Withnail: Balls! We want the finest wines available to humanity. And we want them here, and we want them now!
Tea Shop Proprietor: Miss Blennerhassett, telephone the police.
Marwood: [with his mouth full] All right, Miss Blennerhassett, I'm warning you, if you do, you're fired. We are multimillionaires. We shall buy this place and fire you immediately.
Withnail: Yes, we'll buy this place and we'll install a fucking jukebox in here and liven all you stiffs up a bit!
Tea Shop Proprietor: The police, Miss Blennerhassett. Just say there are a couple of drunks in the Penrith tearooms and we want them removed.
Marwood: We are not drunks, we are multimillionaires!
Tea Shop Proprietor: Hurry up, Mabs. We'll keep them here til they arrive.
Withnail: You won't keep us anywhere. We'll buy this place and have it knocked down!
[Monty's Rolls-Royce pulls up outside the window]
Marwood: [pulling back the lace curtain] 'S alright, 's alright, s'alright... We're going, our car has arrived!
Withnail: [staggering out] We'll be back. We're coming back in here.
Marwood: [voiceover] 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, and then all at once those frozen hours melt out through the nervous system and seep out the pores.
[Withnail picks up a bottle of lighter fluid]
Marwood: I wouldn't drink that if I was you.
Withnail: Why not? 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: Nonsense. This is a far superior drink to meths. The wankers don't drink it because they can't afford it.
[he pours the lighter fluid down his throat. He gags and gasps]
Withnail: Have we got any more?
[Marwood shakes his head]
Withnail: Liar. What's in your toolbox?
Marwood: No, we have nothing. Sit down.
Withnail: Liar. You've got antifreeze.
Marwood: You bloody fool, you should never mix your drinks!
[Withnail laughs hysterically and falls to the floor, then vomits on Marwood's feet]
Barman: Time, gents, please.
Withnail: Alright, we're going to have to work quickly.
[to the barman]
Withnail: A pair of quadruple whiskies and another pair of pints, please.
Marwood: What about whatshisname?
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 whatshisname and ask him about his house?
Marwood: Why not?
Withnail: All right. What's his number?
Marwood: I've no idea. I've never met him.
Withnail: Well neither have I. What the fuck are you talking about?
[Marwood is in the pub toilets, after walking past a hulking Irishman who's called him a ponce]
Marwood: [voiceover] I could hardly piss straight with fear. Here was a man with 3/4 of an inch of brain who'd taken a dislike to me. What had I done to offend him? I don't consciously offend big men like this. And 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.
Marwood: [reading graffiti] "I fuck arses." Who fucks arses?
Marwood: [aloud] Maybe *he* fucks arses!
Marwood: [voiceover] Maybe he's written this in some moment of drunken sincerity.
Withnail: [looking at a newspaper] Oh, look at this little bastard. "Boy lands plum role for top Italian director" Course he does! Probably on a tenner a day, and I know what for! 2 pound 10 a tit and a fiver for his arse!
Danny: 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. Then you gotta change its drawers for it. It's horrible really but they like that, the little girls. So we're gonna make one that shits itself as well.
Withnail: Shits itself?
Danny: He's an expert. He's building the prototype now.
Withnail: [on top of a hill, shouting into a valley, his voice echoing] BASTARDS! YOU'LL ALL SUFFER! I'LL SHOW THE LOT OF YOU! I'M GONNA BE A STARRR!
[after coming out of a field, Withnail hasn't closed the gate properly, and a bull walks through it. Withnail hands Marwood the bag of shopping and jumps over the wall to safety. Marwood stands there, petrified]
Withnail: [calmly] Grab its ring. Keep your bag up. Outvie him.
Isaac 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!
Isaac Parkin: Well, it's randy!
Marwood: Yes, yeah, I know he is!
Withnail: [casually lighting a cigarette] He wants to get down there and have sex with those cows.
Marwood: Shut up, Withnail!
[the bull is scraping the ground with its front hoof, snorting]
Isaac Parkin: Run at it, shouting!
Withnail: Do as he says. Start shouting. He won't gore you.
Marwood: A coward you are, Withnail, an expert on bulls you are not! AAAAARGGGHHHH!
[he throws the shopping the air and it scatters in the mud. Screaming like a madman he moves towards the bull, which turns around and runs back through the gate. He slams it shut and slumps against it, shaken]
Isaac Parkin: Shut that gate and keep it shut!
Withnail: [cheerfully hopping back over the wall] I think an evening at The Crow.
Withnail: This place is uninhabitable.
Marwood: Give it a chance. It's got to warm up.
Withnail: Warm up? We may as well sit round this cigarette. This is ridiculous. We'll be found dead in here next spring.
Marwood: Parkin's been. There's the supper.
[a live chicken is standing on the table]
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, but I got the logs in.
[they get up and approach it]
Marwood: 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 got to throttle him. Listen, I think you should strangle it instantly in case it starts trying to make friends with us.
Withnail: All right, get hold of it. You hold it down, I'll strangle it.
Marwood: I can't. It's those dreadful beady eyes, they stare you out.
Withnail: It's a bloody chicken! Just think of it with bacon across its back.
[They drive past some schoolgirls]
Withnail: [leaning out the car window] SCRUBBERS!
Schoolgirl: Up yours, grandad!
Withnail: SCRUBBERS! SCRUBBERS!
Marwood: Shut up.
Withnail: Little tarts, they love it.
Danny: I recommend you smoke some more grass.
Marwood: No way, no fucking way.
Danny: That is an unfortunate political decision. Reflecting these times.
Withnail: What are you talking about, Danny?
Danny: Politics, man. If you're hanging onto a rising balloon, you're presented with a difficult 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? They're selling hippie 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.
Marwood: [after trying the Camberwell Carrot] Give me a downer, Danny. My brain's capsizing, I've gotta unfuck my brain!
Danny: Change down, man. Find your neutral space. You got a rush. It'll pass. Be seated.
Marwood: Aren't you getting absurdly high?
Danny: Precisely the reason I'm smoking it.
Withnail: [Withnail sees Marwood eating some brownish fluid out of a bowl with a spoon] You've got soup. Why didn't I get any soup?
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: How dare you. How dare you! How dare you call me inhumane!
Withnail: [reading a newspaper] Listen to this. "Curse of the Superman. I took drugs to win medals says top athlete Geoff Woade."
Marwood: Where's the coffee?
Withnail: "In a world exclusive interview, 33 year old shot putter Geoff Woade who weighs 317 pounds, admitted taking massive doses of anabolic steroids, drugs banned in sport. It used to give him bad tempers and act up 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." Jesus Christ. This huge, thatched head with its earlobes and cannonball is now considered sane. "Geoff Woade is feeling better and is now prepared to step back into society and start tossing his orb about." Look at him! Look at Geoff Woade! His head must weight fifty pounds on its own. 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 Geoff. 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. "I'm gonna pull you head off." "Oh no, please, don't pull my head off." "I'm gonna pull your head off because I don't like your head."
Marwood: [to Withnail] I have just narrowly avoided having a buggering, and have come in here with the express intention of wishing one upon you.
Withnail: You're not leaving me in here alone. Those are the kind of windows faces look in at.
Withnail: I've some extremely distressing news.
Marwood: I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear anything. Oh God, it's a nightmare, I tell you, it's a nightmare.
Withnail: We've just run out of wine. What are we going to do about it?
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 other plumbings, you can check the fuel and wood situation.
[a few minutes later, Withnail re-enters the cottage holding a wet stick]
Marwood: What's that?
Withnail: The fuel and wood situation. There's nothing out there except a hurricane.
Withnail: This is ridiculous. Look at me, I'm 30 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, luvvie, 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: Well, 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.
Withnail: [telephoning his agent] Listen, I pay you 10 percent to do that. Well, lick 10 percent of the arses for me, then! Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello? How DARE you!
[he slams the phone down]
Withnail: Fuck you!
Monty: I adore you. Tell him if you must, I no longer care. I mean to have you even if it must be burglary.
Withnail: Monty used to act.
Monty: Well, I'd hardly say that. It's true, I crept the boards in my youth. But I never really had it in my blood, and that's what's so essential, isn't it, theatrical zeal in the veins. Alas I have little more than vintage wine and memories. It is the most shattering experience of a young man's life when one morning he awakes and quite reasonably says to himself "I will never play the Dane." When that moment comes, one's ambition ceases. Don't you agree?
Withnail: It's a part I intend to play, Uncle.
Monty: And you'd be marvellous. "It's gone. We do it wrong, being so majestical. To offer it the show of violence..."
[as Monty continues to recite the line from Hamlet, Marwood gets up and whispers in Withnail's ear]
Marwood: Please, let's go. He's a madman. Any minute now he's going to rush out and get into his tights.
Marwood: How come Monty owns such a horrible little shack?
Withnail: No idea.
Marwood: You never discuss your family do you?
Withnail: I fail to see my family's of any interest to you. I've absolutely no interest in yours. I dislike relatives in general and in particular mine.
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 a fencing sword at Marwood face] You just wait. Just you wait! When I strike they won't know what hit them!
[Withnail's lonely, aging homosexual uncle Monty has gone home, leaving a note humbly apologising for the desperate sexual advances he made on Marwood the night before]
Marwood: Poor old bastard.
Withnail: I would say. Now that represents a degree of hypocrisy I've hitherto suspected in you, but have not noticed due to highly evasive skills.
Marwood: [wakes up in the back seat of the car, which is moving along the motorway] What's going on?
Withnail: I'm making time.
[he swerves dangerously through the motorway traffic]
Withnail: I will say one thing for Monty, he keeps a sensational cellar.
[Danny is charging £2 for a pill]
Withnail: You can stuff it up your arse for nothing and fuck off while you're doing it!
Withnail: I'm a trained actor reduced to the status of a bum!
Danny: Has he just been busted?
Danny: Then why's he wearing that old suit?
Withnail: Old suit? This suit was cut by Hawkes of Savile Row. Just because the best tailoring you've ever seen is above your fucking appendix doesn't mean anything!
Monty: [shouting at his cat] You beastly little parasite, how dare you! You little thug! How dare you! Beastly, ungrateful little swine!
Marwood: We're leaving in half an hour.
Withnail: Half an hour? Don't be ridiculous. I need at least an hour for lunch.
[Jake has left a dead hare hanging on the cottage door, along with a note]
Monty: [reading the note] "Here. Hare. Here."
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: 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 countryside, rejuvenate.
Withnail: Rejuvenate? I'm in a park and I'm practically dead. What good's the side?
Withnail: [spits onto the ground] Jesus, look at that. Apart from a raw potato, that's the only solid to have passed my lips in the last 60 hours. I must be ill.
Marwood: Don't vent spleen on me, I'm in the same boat!
Withnail: 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!
Monty: Indeed, I remember my first agent. Raymond Duck. This dreadful little Israelite. Four floors up on the Charing Cross road and never a job at the top of them.
[Mr Parkin is sitting on his tractor with one leg wrapped from thigh to ankle in a plastic fertiliser bag. He winces as he stretches his leg]
Marwood: What happened to your leg?
Isaac Parkin: Got a randy bull up there. Gi' me one in t' knee.
Monty: It's all your 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: [offering Monty a glass] Sherry?
Monty: Sherry? Oh dear, 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.
Monty: Laisse-moi, respirer, longtemps, longtemps, l'odeur de tes cheveux. Oh, Baudelaire. Brings back such memories of Oxford. Oh, Oxford...
Marwood: [voiceover] 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: You shouldn't treat each other so badly. This boy's been out there frozen to the marrow and you just sit in here drinking. Now, come along, he's going to revitalise himself and you're going to finish the vegetables.
Withnail: I don't know how to do them.
Monty: Well, of course you don't, you are incapable of indulging in anything but pleasure, am I not right? You don't deserve such loyalty. Now, come along, I'm going to teach you how to peel a potato.
Marwood: How dare you tell him I'm a toilet trader!
Withnail: 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? This is me naked in a corner!
Withnail: [overtaking a car on the motorway] Here comes another fucker!
Danny: Where exactly have you two been?
Marwood: Holiday in the countryside.
Danny: That's a very good idea. London is a country coming down from its trip. We are 91 days from the end of this decade and there's gonna be a lot of refugees.
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.
[holding up a Fairy Liquid bottle with a strap and a tube]
Withnail: This is a device enabling the drunken driver to operate in absolute safety. You fill this with piss, take this pipe down the trouser and sellotape this valve to the end of the old chap. Then you get horribly drunk and they can't fucking touch you. According to these instructions, you refuse everything but a urine sample. You undo your valve and give them a dose of unadulterated child's piss and they have to give you your keys back. Danny's a genius.
Withnail: I think we've been in here too long. I feel unusual.
Marwood: Have another look in that shed. Find *anything*. If you can't find anything, bring in the shed.
Marwood: A coward you are, Withnail! An expert on bulls you are not! ARRRGH!
Monty: The older order changeth, yielding place to new. God fulfils himself in many ways. And soon, I suppose, I shall be swept away by some vulgar little tumour. Oh, my boys, my boys, we're 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.
Withnail: [during dinner] Vegetables again. I'll be sprouting bloody feelers soon. Must be 20,000 sheep up there on those volcanoes, we've got a plate full of carrots.
Marwood: There's black puddings in it.
Withnail: Black puddings are no good to us.
[he stands up]
Withnail: I want something's flesh!
Jake: I might come and see you lads in the week. I might fetch you up a rabbit.
Withnail: We don't want a rabbit, we want a pheasant.
Jake: Listen, you young prat. I ain't got no pheasants, ain't got no birds. No more than you have.
Withnail: Course you have, you're the poacher.
Jake: [pointing an eel at him] If I hear more words out of you, I'll put one of these here 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 I'll wake you up with a live one.
Withnail: Sod your pheasants! You'll have to find us first.
Jake: I know where you are, you're at Crow Crag. I've been watching you, especially you, prancing like a tit. You want working on, boy.
[a poacher enters the pub with pheasants stuffed under his coat, making him look like a hunchback]
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. Them 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: Our cooking pot.
Jake: Ah, he knows. Hey, give us a wheeze on that fag.
[he pulls Withnail's cigarette out of his mouth and puts it in his]
Withnail: Listen, I know what you're 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: Your 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 got another thing coming.
Withnail: [after having entirely covered himself in muscle embrocation to keep warm] Have you been at the controls?
Marwood: 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?
[Monty's cat jumps onto the sofa]
Monty: Get that damned little swine out of here!
[he lunges at it and it runs off]
Monty: 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!
Withnail: Monty, Monty...
Monty: No, no, no, dear boy, you must leave, you must leave. Yet again that oaf has destroyed my day!
[Marwood knocks on the door of a farmhouse. An old woman with a clunky hearing aid pinned to her apron opens the door]
Mrs. Parkin: What do you want?
Marwood: I'm a friend of Montague Withnail's. He's lent us his cottage. I wondered if you could sell us some food. Eggs and things.
[the woman just squints at him]
Marwood: What about wood and coal?
[she still doesn't answer. He leans up close to her, speaking into to her hearing aid]
Marwood: I'm not from London, you know.
Mrs. Parkin: I don't care where you come from!
[she slams the door in his face]
Marwood: [voiceover] 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.
Marwood: [voiceover] If The Crow and Crown ever had life it was dead now. It was like walking into a lung. A self-sustained 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 arseholed on rum and got progressively more arseholed until he could take no more and fell over at about 12 o'clock.
[the drunken, elderly pub landlord opens the till and it hits it him the chest and he almost falls down]
General: 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 fact I have. Before I became a journalist I was in the Territorials.
General: Do you know, when you first came in here I knew you were a services man. You can never, never disguise it.
Withnail: What were you in?
General: Tanks. Afrika Korps. A little before your time. Don't suppose you've engaged, have you?
General: Oooh, a crack at the Mick?
Withnail: We'll have another pair of large scotches.
General: These shall be my pleasure.
[he pours their drinks]
General: 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.
General: Have you met Jake? Poacher. Works the lake, but keep it under your hat, hm?
[they go and sit down at a table with their drinks]
Marwood: What's all this army bollocks?
Withnail: We got a drink, didn't we?
Monty: I had to come. I tried not to. 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: 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.
Danny: Law rather appeals to me actually.
[Withnail laughs uncontrollably and drops to the floor]
Danny: Just high.
Monty: I can never touch meat until it's cooked. As a youth I used to weep in butcher's shops.
Withnail: [fondling the money Monty has given them to buy wellingtons] I think a drink, don't you?
Marwood: What about the wellingtons?
Withnail: Oh, bollocks to the wellingtons. We'll tell him they had a farmers' conference and had a run on them.
Monty: Come on lads, let's get home. The sky's beginning to bruise, night must fall and we shall be forced to camp.
[Marwood comes out of the bathroom wearing a towel]
Danny: You're looking very beautiful, man. Have you been away? Saint Peter preached the epistles to the apostles looking like that.
Withnail: Listen, we're bona fide. We're not from London!
Withnail: [after a phone call with his agent] Bastard asked me to understudy Konstantin in The Seagull. I'm not gonna understudy anybody. Especially that little pimp! Anyway, I loathe those Russian plays. Always full of women staring out of windows, whining about ducks going to Moscow.
Withnail: [after being threatened by Jake the poacher] If I see that silage heap hanging about up here, I'LL TAKE THE BASTARD AXE TO HIM!
[Withnail has been pulled over by the police for speeding down the motorway in the beat-up Jaguar]
Policeman 1: Bit early in the morning for festivities, isn't it?
Withnail: [gesturing at the wine bottles and Marwood in the back] These aren't mine, they belong to him.
Policeman 1: You're drunk.
Withnail: [clearly drunk] I assure you I'm not, officer. Honestly. I've only had a few ales.
Marwood: [about Monty] Where is he?
Withnail: Sulking up the hill. He says he won't come in for lunch without an apology.
Marwood: [referring to the radish on Monty's lapel] Suits me. He can eat his fucking radish.
Danny: You have done something to your brain. You have made it high. If I lay 10 mils of diazepam on you, it will do something else to your brain. You will make it low. Why trust one drug and not the other? That's politics, innit?
Marwood: [voiceover] 13 million Londoners have to wake up to this. The 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.
Marwood: I'm in the middle of a bloody overdose! My heart's beating like a fucked clock!
Withnail: [sticking out his yellowy tongue] Look at my tongue, it's wearing a yellow sock.
Withnail: How can it be so cold in here? It's like Greenland in here. We've got to get some booze. It's the only solution to this intense cold.
Withnail: 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.
Monty: There can be no true beauty without decay.
Withnail: Legium pro Britannia.
Monty: How right you are, how right you are. We live in a kingdom of reigns where royalty comes in gangs.
Monty: Are you a sponge or a stone?
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: I'll sleep here. It won't be the first time I've been left with the couch.
Monty: [entering Marwood's room in the dark] Boy... boy... I know you're not asleep, boy.
Marwood: September. It's a bad patch.
Withnail: Rubbish. Haven't seen Gielgud down the labour exchange! Why doesn't he retire?
Marwood: 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've got a rush. It'll pass. Be seated.
Withnail: [Danny offers Withnail his huge Camberwell carrot spliff] 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: What do you mean?
Danny: I 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 them all drugged onions.
[Marwood is leaving to go to Manchester to do a play. Withnail is walking him to the station in the heavy rain]
Marwood: 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 and look at each other. Marwood puts his hand on Withnail's shoulder]
Marwood: I shall miss you, Withnail.
Withnail: [teary-eyed] I shall miss you too. Chin-chin.
Jake: [pulling a pheasant out of his coat] He's been fed from arsehole to beak.
Monty: [to Marwood] Where did you school?
Withnail: He went to the other place, Monty.
Monty: Oh, you went to Eton?
Monty: You mustn't blame him. You mustn't blame yourself. I know how you feel and how difficult it is. And that's why you mustn't hold back, let it ruin your youth as I nearly did over Eric. It's like a tide. Give in to it, boy. Go with it. It's society's 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.
Marwood: What are you talking about?
Monty: You love him. And it isn't his fault he cannot love you any more than it's mine that I adore you.
[they've arrived at the cottage, it's cold and dark]
Marwood: What are you doing?
Withnail: [ruefully] Sitting down to enjoy my holiday.
Withnail: [in a telephone box, speaking to an operator] 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 puts the phone down]
Withnail: Bitch hung up on me.
Monty: Now, which of you is going to be a splendid fellow and go down to the Rolls for the rest of the wine?
Withnail: [getting up] I will.
Marwood: [getting up at the same time] 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.
[realises he's used the wrong word]
Marwood: I mean...
Monty: [noticing the plastic bags that Withnail is wearing over his shoes] What on Earth are those?
Withnail: We forgot to bring our Wellingtons.
Monty: Oh, but how dreadful. Do you mean you've been up here in all this beastly mud and oomska without Wellingtons?
Monty: [amorously puts his hand on Marwood's arm as he peels vegetables] I think you've been punished enough. I think we'd better release you from the légumes and transfer your talents to the meat.
Monty: [picking up an apron] I brought two of these in case either of you is any good in the kitchen.
Marwood: I'm not.
Monty: Oh, of course you are. Cooking's one of the natural instincts.
Danny: Do you realise this gaff's overrun with rodents? When I come in, I seen one the size of a fucking dog.
Marwood: No, that is a dog. Belongs to the fellow downstairs.
Danny: Does his dog get in the oven?
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 gonna cook onions.
Withnail: [about Danny] I'm not having this shag-sack insulting me!
Danny: This doll is extremely dangerous. It has voodoo qualities.
[he pulls its head off and tips some pills out of it]
Danny: [holding up a pill] Trade: Phenodihydrochloride benzorex. Street: the embalmer.
Withnail: Balls! I'll swallow it and run a mile!
Danny: Cool your boots, man.
Danny: [stands barefoot, about to leave Withnail and Marwood's flat] Have you either of you got shoes?
Marwood: [voiceover] Danny's here. Headhunter to his friends. Headhunter 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?