Robinson, Bruce

Withnail and I - Criterion Collection

A corrosively funny, semiautobiographical account by writer-director Bruce Robinson (How to Get Ahead in Advertising) about a couple of destitute roommates, young actors living in drunken squalor in 1969, the twilight days of swingin' London. Withnail (the astounding Richard E. Grant in a definitive performance) is a kind of depraved, modern-day Oscar Wilde, but without the money or the manners. The "I" of the title is the younger and more impressionable Marwood (Paul McGann), who stands somewhat in awe of his scandalous, demented, hysterical pal. While on a miserable holiday in the bitterly cold and damp countryside, they stay with wealthy, corpulent "Uncle Monty" (Richard Griffiths), who takes quite a liking to young Marwood, much to his consternation. Though not well known in the United States, Withnail & I has a major cult following in England. It's uproariously funny in a peculiarly British way, and the acting is absolutely scintillating. (Chicago Sun-Times critic Roger Ebert said Griffiths's was the best performance by an actor in a British film since Denholm Elliott in A Room with a View.) This one's a real treat for the caustic at heart. --Jim Emerson

London. The 60s. Two unemployed actors-acerbic, elegantly wasted Withnail (Richard E. Grant) and the anxiety-ridden "I" (Paul McGann)-drown their frustrations in booze, pills, and lighter fluid. When Withnail's Uncle Monty (Richard Griffiths) offers his cottage, they escape the squalor of their flat for a week in the country. They soon realize they've gone on holiday by mistake when their wits-and friendship-are sorely tested by violent downpours, less-than-hospitable locals, and empty cupboards. An intelligent, superbly acted, and hilarious film, The Criterion Collection is proud to present Bruce Robinson's semi-autobiographical cult favorite in its complete and uncut version.

Jennifer 8 (Widescreen Edition)

A second look reveals some exit-wound-size holes in the plot, but there's nothing second-rate about the performances or the pacing of this serial-killer whodunit written and directed by Bruce Robinson (Withnail and I, The Killing Fields). Andy Garcia plays a cop whose failed marriage and recent spell with the bottle has brought him upstate from L.A to live near his half-sister (Kathy Baker) and one-time partner (Lance Henriksen). But he has barely unpacked his bags when a routine homicide call takes him to a spectacular local dump. There, amid heaps of detective-movie typewriters and colorful bags of garbage, he kicks up a severed hand. This leads him to reopen an unsolved psycho-killer file--codename "Jennifer"--that in turn reopens some old sores in the department. In the noir tradition, Garcia falls hard for his key witness, who happens to be blind (Uma Thurman, playing against the luster Pulp Fiction would Monroe-ize two years later) and in one stroke puts her life, and his career, in exquisite jeopardy. The plot weaves in and out of logic, but the dialogue track keeps you leaning in for the details. Along with the taut and suggestive work by Garcia and Henriksen (as usual, all skull beneath the skin), Jennifer 8 boasts a giddy-to-behold gargoyle performance from John Malkovich as an internal affairs cop whose head cold only sharpens the resentment he feels listening to rogue cops insult his intelligence. --Lyall Bush

How to Get Ahead In Advertising

After the release of Withnail & I, British writer-director Bruce Robinson continued his satirical assault on British culture with this fiendishly funny rant, the title of which can be taken figuratively and literally as an object lesson in the art of consumer manipulation. Nobody dupes consumers better than Dennis Bagley (Richard E. Grant); his genius in crafting seductive ad campaigns has earned him a country estate, countless awards, an admiring boss, a loving wife (Rachel Ward), and, well, a gigantic boil on his shoulder that's like a throbbing zit from hell. Dennis is so tormented by a difficult campaign for pimple cream--and so filled with self-loathing after years of promoting dubious products--that his inner demon, the media-savvy and profiteering side of himself, has manifested itself as a talking pustule with a mind (and a face and a voice) of its own.

Robinson's scathing critique of mindless consumerism begins with one of the funniest monologues ever written, and Grant instantly claims his role with manic perfection. A time bomb of repressed anxiety, Dennis blossoms in righteous protest against his profession, only to find his evil boil growing dominant, worrying his wife (Ward's performance is charmingly sympathetic), and inevitably seizing control. The movie's message is obvious and heavy-handed, and Robinson's blazing wit grows increasingly bilious and urgent, but you can't blame him for sniping at easy targets. As corporate synergy and rampant commercialism reach insane proportions, How to Get Ahead in Advertising grows more relevant than ever, holding a mirror to the grotesqueries of capitalism in extremis. --Jeff Shannon

Two heads are not necessarily better than one in this "highly entertaining" (The Hollywood Reporter) "blistering" (Los Angeles) satire about a man brought to the edge of insanity by a rival out for control of his career and his body!To hotshot ad exec Dennis Bagley (Richard E. Grant) people are pathetic sheep to whom he can sell anything except a brand-new pimple cream. Creatively blocked Dennis becomes so stressed that he sprouts a pimple of his own a pimple that eventually grows into a huge head...with a mind and a voice! Before long the sassy carbuncle takes over Dennis' life revealing to him a diabolical plan to control the masses. Now Dennis must find courage deep within himself to save society and himself from the beastly blemishSystem Requirements:Running Time 94 MinsFormat: DVD MOVIE Genre: COMEDY Rating: R UPC: 027616884442 Manufacturer No: 1004364

How To Get Ahead in Advertising - Criterion Collection

After the release of Withnail & I, British writer-director Bruce Robinson continued his satirical assault on British culture with this fiendishly funny rant, the title of which can be taken figuratively and literally as an object lesson in the art of consumer manipulation. Nobody dupes consumers better than Dennis Bagley (Richard E. Grant); his genius in crafting seductive ad campaigns has earned him a country estate, countless awards, an admiring boss, a loving wife (Rachel Ward), and, well, a gigantic boil on his shoulder that's like a throbbing zit from hell. Dennis is so tormented by a difficult campaign for pimple cream--and so filled with self-loathing after years of promoting dubious products--that his inner demon, the media-savvy and profiteering side of himself, has manifested itself as a talking pustule with a mind (and a face and a voice) of its own.

Robinson's scathing critique of mindless consumerism begins with one of the funniest monologues ever written, and Grant instantly claims his role with manic perfection. A time bomb of repressed anxiety, Dennis blossoms in righteous protest against his profession, only to find his evil boil growing dominant, worrying his wife (Ward's performance is charmingly sympathetic), and inevitably seizing control. The movie's message is obvious and heavy-handed, and Robinson's blazing wit grows increasingly bilious and urgent, but you can't blame him for sniping at easy targets. As corporate synergy and rampant commercialism reach insane proportions, How to Get Ahead in Advertising grows more relevant than ever, holding a mirror to the grotesqueries of capitalism in extremis. --Jeff Shannon

Richard E. Grant is the endlessly suave Dennis Bagley, a high-strung advertising executive whose shoulder sprouts an evil, talking boil. The boil speaks only to Bagley, is silent to the rest of the world, and seems to be growing. This caustic satire reunites the talented team behind the cult classic Withnail and I to create a tour de force of verbal jousting and physical comedy.

Jennifer Eight

A second look reveals some exit-wound-size holes in the plot, but there's nothing second-rate about the performances or the pacing of this serial-killer whodunit written and directed by Bruce Robinson (Withnail and I, The Killing Fields). Andy Garcia plays a cop whose failed marriage and recent spell with the bottle has brought him upstate from L.A to live near his half-sister (Kathy Baker) and one-time partner (Lance Henriksen). But he has barely unpacked his bags when a routine homicide call takes him to a spectacular local dump. There, amid heaps of detective-movie typewriters and colorful bags of garbage, he kicks up a severed hand. This leads him to reopen an unsolved psycho-killer file--codename "Jennifer"--that in turn reopens some old sores in the department. In the noir tradition, Garcia falls hard for his key witness, who happens to be blind (Uma Thurman, playing against the luster Pulp Fiction would Monroe-ize two years later) and in one stroke puts her life, and his career, in exquisite jeopardy. The plot weaves in and out of logic, but the dialogue track keeps you leaning in for the details. Along with the taut and suggestive work by Garcia and Henriksen (as usual, all skull beneath the skin), Jennifer 8 boasts a giddy-to-behold gargoyle performance from John Malkovich as an internal affairs cop whose head cold only sharpens the resentment he feels listening to rogue cops insult his intelligence. --Lyall Bush

Jennifer 8 [Region 2]

A second look reveals some exit-wound-size holes in the plot, but there's nothing second-rate about the performances or the pacing of this serial-killer whodunit written and directed by Bruce Robinson (Withnail and I, The Killing Fields). Andy Garcia plays a cop whose failed marriage and recent spell with the bottle has brought him upstate from L.A to live near his half-sister (Kathy Baker) and one-time partner (Lance Henriksen). But he has barely unpacked his bags when a routine homicide call takes him to a spectacular local dump. There, amid heaps of detective-movie typewriters and colorful bags of garbage, he kicks up a severed hand. This leads him to reopen an unsolved psycho-killer file--codename "Jennifer"--that in turn reopens some old sores in the department. In the noir tradition, Garcia falls hard for his key witness, who happens to be blind (Uma Thurman, playing against the luster Pulp Fiction would Monroe-ize two years later) and in one stroke puts her life, and his career, in exquisite jeopardy. The plot weaves in and out of logic, but the dialogue track keeps you leaning in for the details. Along with the taut and suggestive work by Garcia and Henriksen (as usual, all skull beneath the skin), Jennifer 8 boasts a giddy-to-behold gargoyle performance from John Malkovich as an internal affairs cop whose head cold only sharpens the resentment he feels listening to rogue cops insult his intelligence. --Lyall Bush

Jennifer Eight