A series of delightfully violent episodes as the most vicious inmate in England checks out of one prison and into another, then another, then a few more.
A person who’s had their nose or a bunch of other bones broken won’t ever think twice about getting into a brawl. But what if that scuffle is against someone who craves a beating? By the time his itching fists are done with you, broken bones will be the least of your worries.
I myself have never gotten my hands dirty in a fight. I’m thin and nimble but my fists don’t really pack a punch. I’m the sort of person, and it may be an admission of cowardice what I’m about to say, who would kick a man in square in the balls if I ever got into a fight with him. They’ll drop like a tumbling wall before they even know what hit them. Some may think that’s a dirty and cheap trick, to me that’s taking advantage of their Achilles heel.
On my first day off from work, after three back breaking long shifts, I decided to lay back and watch Bronson (2008) during my convalescence. And I must say, for a film about a violent, psychotic juggernaut, this is quite an idiosyncratic and fun watch that doesn’t overstay it’s welcome with the relatively short runtime. A sort of biography of Charles Bronson (not the American one), Britain’s most belligerent and violent inmate, the film entertains not just through his vicious outbursts of bloodlust but through how everything around it is framed via the cinematic language of a maturing Nicolas Winding Refn.
Tailing off of what I just mentioned about the filmmaking qualities that make this strange biography so fun, the camerawork is wonderfully kinetic and active. It wanders around and takes in what little space is afforded in prisons and transforms it into an almost boundless “hotel room” for Bronson. The eyes of the camera dart and dance around as if in combat with us. On the other side of this coin, it stays still and frozen when the occasion is perfect, especially out of prison or any other place where Bronson feels out of place. Each dirty grain on the filmstock capsules the gritty and bizarre violence that emanates off of this madman. This rough and grinding cinematography is perfect for it looks like the red haze which constantly compels him to bash someone’s brains out – once your head is shrouded in that red mist for long enough, everything begins to look normal again.
That purely simple and lovely way in which the little things are framed and flashed on screen for just one moment is where the editing really shines brightly. Supplementing the cinematography, it pieces those blood-stained segments together into a rather visually ambiguous mural – shall I be disconcerted by the violence or sit here and enjoy the filmic language, I can’t make up my mind and this confusion is sublime. What breaks up the narrative into interesting little bits is how he presents his life to an audience on stage in this carnivalesque, vaudevillian performance. Almost recounting to figments of his imagination who have manifested through the possible insanity borne from decades of solitary confinement. Identities begin to coalesce into each other as the thin veil of imagination and audience begins to unfurl as this narrative device begins to pull at loose strings.
I’ve read some reviews that decry the senseless violence of the film, and yes, all this savagery is indeed senseless but it’s also the product of an unhinged mind that can’t live without insane stimulus. Of course, it’s senseless, but not gratuitous. This is where the runtime truly does it many favours, I’m all up for pure unadulterated brutality, but there’s only so much depth you can excavate down to before you hit bedrock in this region of humanity, so had the film gone on a single moment longer, the effects would turn the audience weary. The film knew exactly when to stop and it left at perfect note that rings in the ears for a while like shellshock from a good punch that drives your nose into your skull.
It’s the sort of film where thought isn’t required, after all I can imagine your brain sort of just switches off during a fight and pure animalistic impulse takes over. You can just sit back and watch a bunch of heads get cracked.
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