The only movie based on the absurd world of Vivian Stanshall - the eccentric frontman of the Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band - Sir Henry At Rawlinson End is either a work of sublime genius or unmitigated crap, depending on who you speak to. In fact, Stanshall himself - who co-wrote the screenplay - was so horrified by the final cut, he tried to stab the director at a preview screening ("My wife knew what I was doing," Stanshall said, "but I was so pissed and full of pills and nerves that I fumbled getting my penknife out and she managed to arrest me in time.").
But despite its failings, anyone willing to put up with Sir Henry's leaden pace and bewildering plot will be charmed by Stanshall's skewed vision of the last days of the British Empire.
Making a movie based on Sir Henry was always going to a challenge; the story began life as a sketch on the last Bonzo album, appeared in instalments on John Peel's Radio One show, and eventually evolved into a full-length spoken-word LP. Like all Stanshall's work, the appeal of Sir Henry was his masterful use of the English language and lavishly posh, richly fruity accent (you'd never believe the man was from east London's Walthamstow), a commanding vocal presence that whisked listeners on a fleet-footed tango through the narrator's inscrutable imagination.
On film though, the power of Stanshall's verbal gymnastics is cruelly diluted, amounting to little more than some nutty old snob reading tangled yarns over a series of muddy, sepia-toned scenes. And even for the most forgiving Stanshall devotee, the disjointed delivery of a very simple tale soon becomes irritating.
Stick with it, though, and Sir Henry offers some unforgettable gems. The performances are stunning throughout, especially from Trevor Howard as the perpetually pissed Sir Henry, who captures the humour, tragedy and extraordinary brutality of Stanshall's embittered antihero. Sir Henry's faithful manservant, Old Scrotum (the "wrinkled retainer", you see - that joke never gets old), is also beautifully brought to life by TV regular JG Devlin, and Stanshall's turn as Henry's demented brother, Hubert, is a delight for fans of the great man (especially when he's confusing a priest with twisted riddles about his penis, or swallowing a mouthful of writhing worms).
Much like an Ealing comedy directed by Darren Aronofsky, Sir Henry At Rawlinson End is a difficult, confounding and frustrating experience. Strangely, though, I can't help loving it.
*Out Now on DVD
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