Withnail & I

I'm going for a cup of tea.

Do you want one?

- Do you want a cup of tea, Withnail?

- No.

Thirteen 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.

I have some extremely

distressing news.

I don't want to hear it.

I don't want to hear anything.

My God, it's a nightmare,

let me tell you. It's a nightmare.

We've just run out of wine.

What are we gonna do about it?

I don't know.

I don't know.

Oh, God!

I don't feel good.

My thumbs have gone weird!

I'm in the middle

of a bloody overdose.

Oh, God!

My heart's beating

like a f***ed clock!

I feel dreadful.

I feel really dreadful.

So do I.

So does everybody.

Look at my tongue.

Gray yellow sock.

Sit down, for Christ's sake.

What's the matter with you?

Eat some sugar.

Listen to this.

"Curse of the supermen.

"'I took drugs to win medal,'

says top athleteJeff Wode.

- Where's the coffee?

- "In a world exclusive interview,

"33-year-old shot putterJeff Wode,

who weighs 317 pounds,

"admitted taking massive doses

of anabolic steroids,

"drugs banned in sport.

"'He used to get in bad tempers,'

says 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 not considered sane.

"Jeff Wode is feeling better...

and is now prepared to step back into

society and start tossing his orb about. "

Look at him!

Look atJeff Wode!

His head must weigh

Imagine the size of his balls.

Imagine getting into a fight

with the f***er.

Please, I don't feel good.

That's what you'd say.

But that wouldn't wash with Jeff.

No. He'd like a bit of pleading.

Adds spice to it.

In fact, he'd probably tell you

what he was gonna do before he did it.

"I'm gonna pull your head off. "

"No, please don't pull my head off. "

"I'm gonna pull your head off

because I don't like your head. "

Have you got soup?

Why didn't I get any soup?

Coffee.

Why don't you use a cup

like any other human being?

Why don't you wash up occasionally

like any other human being?

How dare you!

How dare you!

How dare you

call me inhumane!

I didn't call you inhumane.

You merely imagined it. Calm down.

Right, you f***er.

I'm gonna do the washing up.

No, no, you can't.

It's impossible, I swear.

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 60 hours.

You're in no state to tackle it.

Wait till the morning.

We'll go in together.

This is the morning!

Stand aside!

You don't understand! I think

there may be something living in there.

I think there may be

something alive.

- What do you mean? A rat?

- It's possible.

Then the f***er

will rue the day.

Oh, Christ Almighty!

A sinew in nicotine base.

Keep back, keep back.

The entire sink's gone rotten.

I don't know what's in here.

I told you, you've been bitten!

Burnt! Burnt!

The f***ing kettle's on fire!

- There's something floating up.

- Fork it!

- L-I-I don't...

- You must! You must!

The poop will boil through the glaze. We'll

never be able to use our dinner service again.

Here. Get it with the pliers.

No, no. No, no.

Give me the gloves.

That's right.

Put on the gloves.

Don't attempt anything

without the gloves.

- Ugh.

- What is it? What have you found?

Matter.

Matter?

Where's it coming from?

Don't look.

I'm dealing with it.

I think we've been

in here too long.

I feel unusual.

I think we should go outside.

This is ridiculous.

Look at me.

I'm 30 in a month, and I've got

a sole flapping off my shoe.

It will get better.

It has to.

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 f*** sight more talent

than half the rubbish that gets on television.

Why can't I get on television?

I don't know.

It'll happen.

Will it?

That's what you say.

The only program I'm likely to get on

is the f***ing news.

I tell you, I can't take

much more of this.

- I'm gonna crack.

- I'm in the same boat.

Yeah, yeah.

I feel as sick as a pike.

I'm gonna have to sit down.

You know what we should do?

I say, you know

what we should do?

How can I possibly know

what we should do?

- What should we do?

- Get out of it for a while.

Get into the countryside,

rejuvenate.

Rejuvenate? I'm in a park,

and I'm practically dead.

What good's the countryside?

- What time is it?

- It's 8:
00.

Four hours till opening time.

God help us.

Have we got any embrocation?

- What for?

- To rub on us, you fool.

We can cover ourselves in Deep Heat

and get up against the radiator,

keep ourselves alive till 12:00.

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.

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.

Wasn't much in the tube.

Nothing left for you.

Why don't you ask your father

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