Bronson: Beautiful&Bonkers
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Beautiful Brutal Bronson
My sole aim in life is to be romantic. Forget all that flowers and chocolates bullshit, I mean proper romantic-like taking your girlfriend to a spectacularly violent film.
One Word
Saturday night at the movies, who cares what picture you see? I do. I 
chose ‘Bronson’, mainly because I like one word titles for films (‘Fargo’, ‘Goodfellas’ as opposed to ‘The curious case of Benjamin Button’ or ‘The Assassination of Jesse James by the coward Robert Ford’). My girlfriend (‘The Spaniel’) had not heard of Britain’s most dangerous prisoner, in fact she thought that I should bear that moniker, except that I had clearly escaped and used deep make up to disguise my tagging device as an oversized skin blemish.
I told The Spaniel that it was a violent film and that there might even been be some swearing in it. She punched me in the face and called me a cunt. Everything was in place for a romantic evening. We booked tickets in advance as I had had a crazy notion that it might be a popular choice for a Saturday night out. We sat in the 72% empty Duke of York’s and I realised that I had misjudge the mood a tad-perhaps the Hanover hippy crowd weren’t so down with the prospect of watching a man with serious mental issues beat the shit out of everyone in his path.
Sociopathic Monster
There was no time for heavy petting before the first jaw crushing punch flashed across the screen. I realised I had to go into protective male role at once-The Spaniel was sure to be traumatised by this level of unbridled brutality and I would be there to reassuringly offer my broad chest for support. Except for she seemed to be transfixed and was rolling with the on screen punches and exclaiming something like ‘Cor!’ as Bronson disfigured another speechless extra. It seemed that I had once again misjudged the mood. The reality seeped into my little brain-The Spaniel was a sociopathic monster-ten years of kickboxing classes had quite literally gone to her curly head. Frankly, she scared me more that Tom Hardy’s twelve foot high bulk in front of me. I tried to shuffle to another seat but she gripped my hand, clicking knuckles and I sat my bum back down.
As screws and gypsies fell (and were pissed on), as ‘Cunts!’ was roared from between heavily spittled lips, The Spaniel looked on, wishing she was ‘inside’ and kicking a prison warden in the balls. (Ok, perhaps she was wondering what pub to go to after the film, but who wants to hear that?)
Film reviews often spend five hundred words trying to tell you very little (see above). They muse on comparisons with other films in the genre, the director’s other work when all you really want to know is, ‘Is it shit?’ So, seeing as I have talked crap throughout this piece so far, here are my thoughts in easy to read bullet point form (mail me for the full PowerPoint presentation slides).
-It is (despite its violent premise) a beautiful film.
-Great soundtrack.
-Offers no explanation of how Bronson became quite so bonkers.
-Far from glamorising him, he comes across as lonely and horribly pathetic.
-I liked it.
Review written by Tim Smillie with help from The Spaniel
Tags: Beachdownwriter
