28 Feb 07
Bruce Robinson
It's often said that every other unsolicited manuscript on a publisher's 'slush pile' is an autobiographical novel opening with a badly written hangover scene.
The classic British film Withnail and I, which began life as an unpublished autobiographical novel, is one long hangover: The stale dog-end of the 60s as seen through the bloodshot eyes of two potless, perennially 'resting' actors: the acidly pompous Withnail and the long-suffering Marwood ('I'). Exhausted by their soul-sapping existence in a freezing flat, surviving from one booze bender to the next, they embark upon a disastrous drive to the countryside.
It is brilliantly, beautifully written; the British Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Two decades after its release, Withnail remains as grimly funny as ever. And it is, without doubt, the greatest British road movie ever made.
'I like movies that travel, don't you?' says the real Marwood, the man who wrote, directed and, back in the long, cold winter of 1969, actually lived Withnail and I: Bruce Robinson.
Richard E Grant as Withnail
A leather flying jacket hangs from Robinson's tall, bony frame. His hair is long and grey and clamped to his temples are a pair of Hunter S Thompson-issue, yellow-tinted aviator shades which, he will later tell me, make him look 'like a preying mantis'.
Although not strictly reclusive, he doesn't give too many interviews. His agreement to this one hinged on the absence of video cameras. And in an age when everyone seems desperate to be a D-list TV celebrity - or failing that, shag one - his disinclination to, as he puts it, 'show a leg' is hugely endearing.
