When the culture of celebrity is discussed today, images of vapid blondes carrying dogs in their purses and “forgetting” their panties as they migrate from their Lamborghini to the paparazzi line is inevitable. But in 1974 a young Englishman named Michael Peterson wanted to be famous more than anything. The problem is he couldn't sing, dance or act. Actually, he wasn't particularly talented at anything. So, he decided that fame would come to him if he didn't respect any societal conventions and lived without fear of pain or retribution. Naturally, Michael Peterson became the most violent person in English history.
Read more after the jump!
Read more after the jump!
This true story is the latest film by director Nicolas Winding Refn. Prior to Bronson, Refn would probably be best known for the inconsequential Pusher trilogy. But with Bronson, he seems to find his muse because he delivers a film that is compelling and full of images that will echo in your mind long after the credits roll. Told in a mix of vignettes punctuated by Peterson telling his own story in a sort of Broadway one-man show play, the presentation and story delivers the texture of A Clockwork Orange.
Filmmaking, however, can only take this story so far. The cross of this film is borne by the title character played by Tom Hardy. With his bald head and barbershop quartet mustache, Hardy rides the razor edge between crazy psychopath and relatable seeker of love and fame. Early in the film, Peterson, searching for a bad-ass American film star to emulate, quickly comes to the determination that his celluloid doppelganger would be none other than the original bad ass, Charles Bronson. Thus the title. And thus the attitude as the newly named Bronson begins simply enough with some petty violence that lands him in the big house. Once there, Bronson's true nature begins to reveal itself. Like a fucked up butterfly, he finds his place in the place where hope dies. He thrives behind bars, and his fearless, violent nature turns a routine jail stay into the longest stint of solitary confinement in Britain's history.
There is a courage and self-sacrifice in Hardy's portrayal of Bronson that catches you by surprise. The intensity of his approach to the character, both in the moments of stirring violence and the quiet contemplation, transcends the story and the filmmaker, delivering a performance that should be one of the most memorable and iconic portrayals on film. This isn't a man of pure id, acting without remorse or consequence. He toys with people. He exploits their fear but doesn't harm without cause or conscience. Violence is a means to an end. Violence is his medium, and he is the artist.
Though the energy of the film tends to ebb and flow, it is Hardy's performance that grounds the film and brings you back into Bronson's world and his search for celebrity. As an indictment of celebrity culture, Bronson is less cutting. As a uniquely creative film (and as the delivery device of one of the most memorable pieces of acting in memory), Bronson succeeds in almost every way, including providing Michael Peterson the infamy he so desperately craved.
--Greg Wilson
Filmmaking, however, can only take this story so far. The cross of this film is borne by the title character played by Tom Hardy. With his bald head and barbershop quartet mustache, Hardy rides the razor edge between crazy psychopath and relatable seeker of love and fame. Early in the film, Peterson, searching for a bad-ass American film star to emulate, quickly comes to the determination that his celluloid doppelganger would be none other than the original bad ass, Charles Bronson. Thus the title. And thus the attitude as the newly named Bronson begins simply enough with some petty violence that lands him in the big house. Once there, Bronson's true nature begins to reveal itself. Like a fucked up butterfly, he finds his place in the place where hope dies. He thrives behind bars, and his fearless, violent nature turns a routine jail stay into the longest stint of solitary confinement in Britain's history.
There is a courage and self-sacrifice in Hardy's portrayal of Bronson that catches you by surprise. The intensity of his approach to the character, both in the moments of stirring violence and the quiet contemplation, transcends the story and the filmmaker, delivering a performance that should be one of the most memorable and iconic portrayals on film. This isn't a man of pure id, acting without remorse or consequence. He toys with people. He exploits their fear but doesn't harm without cause or conscience. Violence is a means to an end. Violence is his medium, and he is the artist.
Though the energy of the film tends to ebb and flow, it is Hardy's performance that grounds the film and brings you back into Bronson's world and his search for celebrity. As an indictment of celebrity culture, Bronson is less cutting. As a uniquely creative film (and as the delivery device of one of the most memorable pieces of acting in memory), Bronson succeeds in almost every way, including providing Michael Peterson the infamy he so desperately craved.
--Greg Wilson
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