Sir Henry at Rawlinson End

I've seen this movie twice and yet still can't make head or tail of it. However, that doesn't prevent it from being near on brilliant, perhaps the lamentably late Vivian Stanshall's masterpiece. Trevor Howard as Sir Henry rambles on pompously (and nonsensically) and maintains a bunker which houses two guys who pretend it's still World War II for Howard's sake. There's some sort of plot involving exorcising Howard's brother's ghost (played by Stanshall) and a sub-plot involving Patrick Magee as a Reverend up to no good (can't figure out what sort of no good, however). The extremely low production values add to the feeling of run-down old money that make this dada narrative so damn funny. It's also got some good music and Howard in blackface on a unicycle. Director Steve Roberts was responsible for writing the Max Headroom TV show, of which I have extremely fond but vague memories.

Mad, propelled by language and stereotype reinvented by surreal humour, this is a unique and brilliant film of a text which ranks with 'Under Milk Wood'or 'Facade' by Edith Sitwell. There are, however, too many references to 'sambos' and 'jungle bunnies' for my liking although I appreciate that the characters are supposed to be reactionary, the narrator also joins in. I suspect that Vivian Stanshall both loved and hated his subject matter. If you want a living parallel, try the poetry of Mike Haslam.

Given the junk, like Pirates of the Caribbean, which gets 7.5 +, I don't think the assessment of this film reflects its uniqueness. It's good to see Trevor Howard debunking Englishness too.

I don't have a lot to add to the previous comments - just wanted to get that one-line summary in.

I saw "Sir Henry" when it first came out, not knowing the Bonzos or Viv Stanshall at the time and not knowing the characters' previous incarnations. Sometimes baffling but incredibly amusing. The "German" prisoners are wonderful. Sound was pretty bad, a problem for American viewers given the thick, country-ish English accents. Most annoying during the scene where Old Scrotum sings a comic song at a (comically) ratty town festival of some kind. I was laughing, but not knowing exactly why.

Direction is good, too. Alan Mowbray and Peter Chelsom are the only other true representatives of this drolly rambling style, and Roberts seems to have given it up subsequently. There's definitely a method to the madness.

Favorite lines: "Germany calling!" "Fetch me my antlers - no, not those antlers - the ones I use to deface Reader's Digest!"

I saw this film in the Cinecenta in Panton Street when it was first released. I was so surprised that I went back in to watch it a second time. That was probably not the best use of £3.25 but I didn't regret the spending of it. I have seen it many times since and am still filled with that original sense of awe and mystification. And I love to share it. The sheer poetry and feeling of Theatre de Absurdisme. The unpredictability and blunt refusal to genuflect at the altar of political correctness (gone mad).

I recently had the opportunity of watching it with an American film buff. At the end he turned to me and asked "Can you tell me what that was about?" From this I gathered that American film buffs need to know about things like themes and analysis. Anyway, the answer still is that I don't know what this film is "about", any more than I know what my son's haircut is "about".

Some years ago I had the chance to ask Vernon Dudley Bowhay-Nowell (the ukulele player who gets stabbed with the bison horn) what it was all about. He didn't know either.

'Sir Henry ..." is irritating mainly because it is so damn funny while it makes no sense at all. Bizarrely adapted from Stanshall's radio series, and starring the quintessentially English actor Trevor Howard as Sir Henry in one of his last movie roles, this odd, odd film is a total blast from start to finish.

Helped by Howard playing the role of the crusty old racist (shackled in the filth of his ancestral pile - Knebworth House in tatters for the film) with utter seriousness, the film manages to get a flavour of the Rawlinson saga which began all those years ago on the LP 'Let's Make Up And Be Friendly'.

I'm not going to spoil it for you by giving any of those wonderful and daft lines away - suffice to say if you love Viv's work with the Bonzos and have caught any of this daft tale in its various projects over the years you'll appreciate this movie. If you just stumble across it without any prior knowledge - well, you've been warned. Give it a go anyway. The world needs more Viv Stanshalls, he's greatly missed ...