BronsonOnce you find your true home, why would you ever want to leave? Bronson is the highly dramatized biographical film about the notoriously violent convict, Michael Gordon Peterson (who later changed his name to Charles "Charlie" Bronson). Portrayed by Tom Hardy, Charlie Bronson rose to infamy in the press, heralded as the "most violent prisoner in Britain", due to his enthusiastic, provocative, and aggressive acts of rebellion while incarcerated. Presenting his story to an audience that may well exist solely in his mind, Charlie recounts his misadventures from his youth to the present like a wild tiger pacing in his cage, not looking on his imprisonment as a punishment, but as a reward.
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Just as the character of Charlie Bronson is larger than life, so too is this dramatized biopic, which exists in a heightened state of reality. Directed by experimental filmmaker, Nicolas Winding Refn, Bronson is filled with vivid and dynamic colors that express the inner fire burning within Charlie. Dream-like montages that show moments from Charlie's life--in and out of prison--feel more like a metaphor to evoke a mood than to drive the narrative. Aside from being a big, burly beast of a man, Charlie possesses a powerful personality, carrying himself with a dominant attitude and driven stride. He moves as though he were constantly a hair away from breaking out into a full-blown brawl; paradoxically, when he leaves prison, he often wears a professional suit with vest and tie, belying his savagery. His bald head and handlebar mustache give him a distinct look, and he stands out in every scene, even when he is surrounded by other colorful characters. Bronson tells the audience that for "all his life, he wanted to be famous"; he has become infamous, but even infamy draws attention like moths to a flame. Charlie constantly remakes himself through his story, as though he were a living work of brutal art. Charlie is an aficionado of detail; he cites the subtle differences between his various "accommodations" during his first tour of England's prisons. When Charlie proves too expensive of a prisoner (and mental patient) to maintain, he is set loose and reunites with a former ex-con named Paul Daniels (Matt King). Paul styles him as a bare-knuckle boxer, and encourages him to take the name of "Charles Bronson", after the Hollywood actor. For just over two months, Charlie finds some satisfaction in this new persona, before he is taken back to prison for stealing a ring for a stripper, tragically misjudging her feelings for him. This is a welcome reunion for Charlie; he discards the costume of a free man, and making a comeback like the proverbial rock star he is. Charlie gets some satisfaction by flexing his artistic muscle in a rehabilitation program promoted by the prison art teacher, Phil Danielson (James Lance). As Charlie exercises his creativity, he wears round metal sunglasses; in his white t-shirt, he strikes a look that is unmistakably reminiscent of John Lennon, swelling his already titanic personality. In the bravura climax of Bronson, the merging of art and action comes as Charlie covers his body in paint, resembling a muscular, bronze statue from ancient times. He decorates the art room with his works, and the tense standoff culminates in an explosive royal rumble with the guards. This conflict of consolidating the two diametrically opposed forces at work within him is reminiscent of another dramatized biopic: Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters, about another controversial public figure, Yukio Mishima. Bronson highlights the raging and eternal conflict within Charlie through the music in the film, which alternates between selections of uplifting and sonorous classical music and arias from Verdi and Wagner operas, as well as pulse-pounding synthwave which exemplifies the adrenaline-fueled fury that commands Charlie's id and sets him on a rampage.
Unsurprisingly, comparisons have been made between Bronson and Stanley Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange. Both films feature protagonists with big personalities that put them at odds with society. Both films feature a juxtaposition of synthetic and classical music to highlight the conflict of creation and destruction in art. Both films suggest inherent flaws in the prison system; it doesn't discourage violent behavior, but worse, concentrates and even encourages it. And both Charlie and Alex have parents that, while good-intentioned, are far too liberal with their children; the lack of discipline is like an invitation to commit criminal activity, until the law says otherwise. While the narration of A Clockwork Orange is exclusively off-screen, Charlie sometimes delivers his from an elaborate stage, dressed in wild, clownish makeup, like Alex and his droogs. He offers up a warm and brassy smile, only to have it suddenly drop away with disarming speed, an act which emphasizes his theatricality. In both films, the state run psychiatric institutions make vain efforts to alter both anti-heroes' minds with drugs, to deprive them of their criminal impulses, a form of "chemical slavery" which is more fascistic than even the prisons. And, of course, there is the "ultra-violence"; Bronson's fights are so intense, that it often takes at least half a dozen men to restrain him. When the condescending prison governor (Jonathan Phillips) warns Charlie that if he keeps this up, he'll die "on the inside", we believe he will be proven right. Michael Peterson/Charlie Bronson knew where he was going to end up from the start of his life; the earliest shot we see of him is as a baby, clutching the bars on his prison-like crib. There is the sense that when Michael is confronted by the police for stealing from his job, and subsequently slugs the cop out of the blue, it is because he has been manipulating these criminal events to lead him to his destiny. For Charlie, prison is one long-lasting free-for-all. He doesn't seem to mind taking a beating--he may even enjoy it--but his true crisis comes when he is shipped off to a mental asylum. His stay there is reminiscent of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, because he underestimates the subtle tortures the staff can inflict on his soul through a constant barrage of agency-depriving drugs. His revenge is to shame the system by inciting so costly of a riot, that they have to kick him out--ironically, it is a coup that could only be dreamt of by a true madman. Charlie's understands life behind bars much better than the real world, having spend more time in prison than otherwise. His social awkwardness and almost masochistic urge to fight makes him reminiscent of Robert De Niro's portrayal of Jake LaMotta in Martin Scorsese's Raging Bull, another stylized biopic like Bronson; even his monologues mirror the poem LaMotta recites at the end. Charlie Bronson exists like a living anachronism in civilized society, behaving according to rules all his own, and breaking those of our world out of impish glee. The presence he conveys is like some kind of demon; while not necessarily evil, he is wreathed in an energy that cannot be understood by mere mortals. He is like a barbarian king, a primal beast that must be caged, for if he were to roam free, it would mean the upheaval of all of our laws and social order. Anarchy--and he wouldn't have it any other way.
Recommended for: Fans of a bold and violent depiction of the controversial "most violent prisoner in Britain". Bronson defies traditional expectations of a biopic, presented not as a natural and plausible biography, but rather as a striking and vivid dramatization, a vision larger than life--like its subject.
Unsurprisingly, comparisons have been made between Bronson and Stanley Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange. Both films feature protagonists with big personalities that put them at odds with society. Both films feature a juxtaposition of synthetic and classical music to highlight the conflict of creation and destruction in art. Both films suggest inherent flaws in the prison system; it doesn't discourage violent behavior, but worse, concentrates and even encourages it. And both Charlie and Alex have parents that, while good-intentioned, are far too liberal with their children; the lack of discipline is like an invitation to commit criminal activity, until the law says otherwise. While the narration of A Clockwork Orange is exclusively off-screen, Charlie sometimes delivers his from an elaborate stage, dressed in wild, clownish makeup, like Alex and his droogs. He offers up a warm and brassy smile, only to have it suddenly drop away with disarming speed, an act which emphasizes his theatricality. In both films, the state run psychiatric institutions make vain efforts to alter both anti-heroes' minds with drugs, to deprive them of their criminal impulses, a form of "chemical slavery" which is more fascistic than even the prisons. And, of course, there is the "ultra-violence"; Bronson's fights are so intense, that it often takes at least half a dozen men to restrain him. When the condescending prison governor (Jonathan Phillips) warns Charlie that if he keeps this up, he'll die "on the inside", we believe he will be proven right. Michael Peterson/Charlie Bronson knew where he was going to end up from the start of his life; the earliest shot we see of him is as a baby, clutching the bars on his prison-like crib. There is the sense that when Michael is confronted by the police for stealing from his job, and subsequently slugs the cop out of the blue, it is because he has been manipulating these criminal events to lead him to his destiny. For Charlie, prison is one long-lasting free-for-all. He doesn't seem to mind taking a beating--he may even enjoy it--but his true crisis comes when he is shipped off to a mental asylum. His stay there is reminiscent of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, because he underestimates the subtle tortures the staff can inflict on his soul through a constant barrage of agency-depriving drugs. His revenge is to shame the system by inciting so costly of a riot, that they have to kick him out--ironically, it is a coup that could only be dreamt of by a true madman. Charlie's understands life behind bars much better than the real world, having spend more time in prison than otherwise. His social awkwardness and almost masochistic urge to fight makes him reminiscent of Robert De Niro's portrayal of Jake LaMotta in Martin Scorsese's Raging Bull, another stylized biopic like Bronson; even his monologues mirror the poem LaMotta recites at the end. Charlie Bronson exists like a living anachronism in civilized society, behaving according to rules all his own, and breaking those of our world out of impish glee. The presence he conveys is like some kind of demon; while not necessarily evil, he is wreathed in an energy that cannot be understood by mere mortals. He is like a barbarian king, a primal beast that must be caged, for if he were to roam free, it would mean the upheaval of all of our laws and social order. Anarchy--and he wouldn't have it any other way.
Recommended for: Fans of a bold and violent depiction of the controversial "most violent prisoner in Britain". Bronson defies traditional expectations of a biopic, presented not as a natural and plausible biography, but rather as a striking and vivid dramatization, a vision larger than life--like its subject.