short film reviews, criticism, and occasional musing.

Wednesday, September 08, 2010

Bronson (2008, UK)

Bronson is director Nicholas Winding Refn’s semi-biopic about Michael Peterson/Charlie Bronson, the United Kingdom’s most notorious prison inmate. With the exception of about four months here and there, Bronson has been locked up his entire adult life, moved more than 100 times (including in and out of maximum security asylums for the criminally insane), and is currently serving out a life sentence with pretty much zero chance for parole.

Refn’s film has its problems – it moves in fits and starts, absolutely spellbinding in certain sequences and rather unfocused in others – but it’s a fascinating piece of work. More stylized than his Pusher films, its most obvious predecessor is A Clockwork Orange, crossed perhaps with Lindsay Anderson’s If . . . Not a bad lineage. But what Bronson really has going for it is Tom Hardy. Hardy seems to be a virtual unknown in the States, something that is likely to chance with Inception and the upcoming Mad Max reboot (in which I imagine he will make an absurdly dynamic Max). As Bronson, Hardy ‘s every muscle sings, taut with barely tamped-down energy when he’s not actively beating the crap out of some prison guard or complete stranger. Hardy and Refn build a sense of almost unbearable tension together, as the audience constantly finds itself waiting for Bronson’s next explosion. At certain points during the most straightforward half of the dual-level narration (the structure of Bronson can be hard to describe – to put it as simply as possible, sometimes Bronson narrates his story from a prison cell, and sometimes as the actor upon the stage), Hardy simply stares at the camera, silent and blank-faced for what seems like an eternity, before breaking out in a maniacal grin. During the theatrical narration segments, he minces, prowls, and dares you to look away. It’s pretty much impossible to do so.

One question raised by Hardy’s unhinged performance – does his charisma glorify Bronson’s life and actions? Does he become less of a madman, and more of a badass? The final sequences seem to prove this idea a lie, as Refn tries to hammer home the consequences of Bronson’s life choices. Still, more so than a prison movie or a criminal caper, Bronson is something like a portrait of an artist – one who may paint in blood and write in a steady stream of “cunts”, but whose genius for violence can’t be apprehended by most of us. Which is certainly for the best.