When the state of your car mirrors the state of your life

Thomas Falkiner celebrates two cult classics: the movie 'Withnail and I' and the iconic Jaguar Mark 2 which was featured in it

It has been 30 years and a few days since Bruce Robinson gave the world Withnail and I, a dark and twisted comedy about two "resting" actors who, in an attempt to escape the hideousness of late '60s London, decide to holiday in the sparse English countryside for a bit of rejuvenation.

Not much of a plot, I'll admit, but then the film's characters more than make up for this structural deficit. Especially Withnail - played by Richard E Grant - whose maniacal, self-serving antics will haunt the seamier parts of your subconscious for all eternity.

From the way he looks, drawn and gaunt under a cloak of tattered tweed, to the way he lives, one hand clenched around a misappropriated bottle of '53 Margaux, the other bringing to his lips some rare herbs or prescribed chemicals, Withnail is perhaps one of the most fiendishly captivating protagonists you are ever likely to see on a screen.

Withnail is a snob of seedy elegance, sneering at the tabloids and those who consume them ("murder and all-bran and rape").

His friend Marwood (the "I" of the title, played by Paul McGann) is less tumultuous, but Marwood's car is a (barely) moving monument to the maelstrom that has become both their lives.

WATCH the trailer for Withnail and I

In its prime in the real world, Marwood's powder-blue Jaguar Mark 2 was a stately animal. When first unveiled to the public at the 1959 Earl's Court Motor Show, the Mark 2 was a luxury saloon that strictly adhered to the company's long-standing corporate maxim of "grace, pace and space". It came endowed with a walnut dashboard, leather seats, rear passenger heating and the option of a surprisingly potent 3.8-litre straight-six engine.

Back then it was the cream of the British executive crop.

In Marwood's possession it has long gone to seed. The cowhide has cracked to the texture of crisped desert mud. The sharp edges of Camden Town have left their mark on doors and fenders. Circles of rust and streaks of mud map years of deferred maintenance.

And yet like some dumb Cyclops it still manages to thunder down the M1 with one dim headlamp piercing the gloom. Uncle Monty's Rolls-Royce Silver Wraith De Ville may have broken down en route but the Mark 2 never skips a beat. Even in the middle of a ****ing gale, in the middle of ****ing nowhere, and without any aspirin, the Jaguar delivers the duo to Crow Crag with faded dignity.

After an alcohol-soaked, arrest-interrupted dash back to London, the audience remains unsure of the Jaguar's destiny. Was it impounded? Will it be sold to oppose the eviction notice? Although we're left with more questions than answers by the time the 107th minute rolls around, one can't shake a deep sense of foreboding.

For, much like the life of its passenger, this vehicular anti-hero is destined for nothing but luckless tragedy. Fortunately for both, there can be no true beauty without decay.