Withnail & I Page #7

- I give you my word.

- We'll leave first thing tomorrow morning.

- Tomorrow? What about tonight?

- He's not gonna try anything.

- Of course he is!

- He means business.

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

I couldn't drink it. I've got

a cramp in the mouth from grinning.

- Well, stop smiling at him.

- I can't help it.

I'm so uptight with him,

I can't stop myself.

"Laisse-moir respirir,

longtemps longtemps

L 'odeur de tes cheveux. "

Ah, Baudelaire.

Brings back such memories

of Oxford!

Oh, Oxford!

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.

I often wonder

where Norman is now.

Probably wintering

with his mother in Guildford.

A cat and rain.

Vim under the sink.

And both bars on.

But old now... old.

There can be no true beauty

without decay.

"A requiem for England. "

- How right you are. How right you are.

We live in a kingdom of rains...

where royalty comes in gangs.

Come on, lads. Let's get home.

The sky is beginning to bruise.

Night must fall,

and we shall be forced to camp.

He's not in my room, all right?

That's the condition, all right?

- All right.

- I want the room with the lock. Agree to that, or I'm off.

All right. All right.

Good ol'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 ol'Jake is back.

He's going away.

He's leaving.

Come on. Let's pack up and get out

of here before it gets dark.

"Here hare, here. "

"Here hare, here. "

Good ol'Jake.

Ace bets.

Ace bets two and it's over to you.

Your two and up two.

- Mmm.

- So that's four?

That's four.

- Four.

- This is for the raise. We'll see the two.

Now, last card up.

"Looking a bit lonely, isn't he?"

" He needs a queen

to come to the rescue. "

And... oh!

There she is.

Oh!

Well, it's the two queens

to beat.

Another hand?

I think we'd better

get him to bed.

No, no. He's down here.

You're in my room,

I'm in his room and he's down here.

I wouldn't dream of depriving the dear fellow

of his bed, especially in that condition.

- But it's agreed. It's what he wants.

- No, I don't.

I wanna get to bed.

All right then, lovey.

Let's get you to bed.

Early night will do us both good.

- Night-night, then, Monty.

- I want to be alone!

I wanna be alone.

I think he'd better

sleep alone tonight.

- He doesn't want to sleep with you.

- Right.

Well, you're in there,

and I'll take these

and I'll have the couch.

I'll say good night, then, Monty.

You already have... twice.

What is it, Monty? I'm terribly tired.

I need to go to sleep.

But not that tired, eh?

- Are you a sponge or a stone?

- What do you mean?

Do you like to experience

all facets of life?

Or do you shut yourself off

from new experience?

- I voted Conservative.

- Are you faithful?

- To whom?

- Faithfulness isn't selective.

I agree. It's more a question of

selecting to whom one will be faithful.

- Have you selected?

- I'm terribly tired.

I've been watching you

all evening.

You've been avoiding my eyes,

haven't you?

- Your eyes?

- Mmm.

At luncheon, you couldn't tear

your gaze from mine.

This evening,

you barely looked at me.

What did he say to you?

- Nothing.

- You can tell me.

I assure you, nothing, M-Monty.

I'm terribly tired.

I need to go to bed.

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.

Boy.

Boy.

I know you're not asleep, boy.

But he is.

I've been into his room.

He won't hear a thing.

I know you're not asleep, boy.

No, I'm not.

What is it, Monty?

What do you want?

I had to come.

I tried not to.

Oh, how I tried not to.

Monty, there's something

I have to explain to you.

You needn't explain.

He's told me everything.

He told me that

first day you came to Chelsea.

- What's he told you?

- He told me about your arrest in the Tottenham Court Road.

He told me about your problems,

how you feel, your desires.

- Problems? What problems?

- You are a toilet trader.

- He told you that?

- 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.

- I'm not homosexual, Monty.

- Yes, you are!

Of course you are. You're

simply blackmailing your emotions...

to avoid the realities

of your relationship with him.

- What are you talking about?

- You love him.

And it isn't his fault

he cannot love you...

any more than it's mine

that I adore you.

Couldn't we allow ourselves

just this one moment of indiscretion?

- No!

- He need never know.

I don't care what he knows! Monty,

you've gotta go! You've gotta leave!

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!

It's not me, it's him!

He lied to you.

We're an affair.

We have been for years,

but he doesn't want you to know.

He doesn't want anybody to know. We're

both in it. We're obsessed with each other.

But he's ashamed. He refuses

to 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 cheat on him.

It would kill him.

But he told me you were in purgatory

because he couldn't love you.

He's lying. Lying!

Oh, my dear boy.

If I had known that, I would never

have attempted to come between you.

I know that, Monty.

I respect you

for your sensitivity.

I thank you for it,

but you must leave.

Yes.

Yes. You'd better go to him.

Oh, I intend to.

This instant.

Withnail, you bastard. Wake up.

Wake up, you bastard,

or I'll burn this bastard bed down.

I deny all accusations.

What do you want?

I have just narrowly avoided

having a buggering.

I've come in here with the express

intention of wishing one on you.

Having said that, I now intend

to leave for London.

Hold on. Don't let your

imagination run away with you.

Imagination? I just finished

fighting a naked man.

How dare you tell him

I'm a toilet trader!

It was a tactical necessity.

If I hadn't told him you were active,

we'd never have got the cottage.

I never have wanted it...

not with him in it!

Geez. He'd come all this way.

- Monty? He'd go to New York.

- It was a calculated risk.

What is all this tactical

necessity and calculated risk?

This is 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!

- Sorry about that.

Got a bit carried away.

Sort of said it without thinking.

Let me tell you something, Withnail. If

he comes into my room again, it's murder,

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