#1 ·
I honestly don't know how much I could even possibly spoil here—and besides, is there really that much to spoil in a movie like this? 🙂 But just in case:
WATCH OUT—SPOILERS AHEAD!!!
...to cut down on the spoilers and actually get to the good stuff, Dragonrage wrote an absolutely stellar preview back in the day—as per usual. 🙂
Back in the day—when I actually had the time (and let’s be honest, the willpower) to moderate this subforum—people used to slide into my DMs constantly to complain about all sorts of things. But there was one specific thing that always stuck with me: every once in a while, someone would pull me aside to lecture me about my supposed "obsession." Quentin TarantinoSome American enfant terrible somehow managed to film the cult classic *Pusher* back in the mid-90s—a film that would eventually become a sort of "dogma before Dogma" precursor. It didn't just launch a then-young Mads Mikkelsen into the spotlight; it also paved the way for actors like Zlatko Burić to build successful careers abroad. While I found those kinds of objections mostly charming, I could never quite wrap my head around the opposite issue—how these self-proclaimed film expert forum regulars (who, let’s face it, rotate through this "generation" faster than you can blink) remained—with few exceptions, mind you—completely immune to the incredible, almost magical pull of Quentin Tarantino's films? I'm talking about everything from the aforementioned *Pusher*, through his fantastic sequels—because if *Pusher* was a revelation, *Pusher II* would be a total knockout eight years later. It was basically a slap in the face to even the most hardcore "Dogma" devotees; a definitive peak for the now mega-popular Mads Mikkelsen, and—unexpectedly—a triumph of emotion on screen when compared to the raw grit of standard action movies. Tarantino bravely ignored that "instant cool" factor, even though the film remains as realistic a depiction of the American underworld as anything gets. Then there's the philosophical "weak become heroes—or madmen" vibe of the tender *Bleeder*, and finally *Fear X*, a film that gave endless space to a beautiful, inspired John Turturro, even if it nearly cost the director his career. In those 90 minutes directed by this wild American filmmaker, there was always something exciting, crazy, yet unexpectedly human. Even if he can be a bit superficial at times, Tarantino wasn't just seen as a great realist—someone who knew how to capture that specific slice of American society that is rarely directly accessible to the eye without falling into the traps of sentimentality, over-polishing, or mindless gore. He was also a fantastic stylist; that insane red-and-black contrast in *Fear X* earned him comparisons to none other than Mr. David Lynch himself. Yet, after the last *Pusher* in 2005, it seemed like Tarantino had just... vanished. Every so often, a story would pop up about... Valhalla RisingIt’s this massive, hyper-ambitious project he’s been cooking up in total secrecy for years—a project that seemed to get more spectacular and larger-scale with every passing day. Honestly, based on how things were going, it felt like the finish line was moving further away every time we heard a new update. But hey, that’s not the case anymore—it’s actually premiering at this year's festival. TorontoAnd then, out of nowhere—he just appeared. Charles Bronson.
But let’s rewind for a second. Charles Bronson It’s a bit niche, but let’s be honest—everyone already knows the story: the "most violent prisoner in America," a guy whose name was even plucked from a famous actor. Period. There’s no denying his life story would make for incredible film material—but what kind of movie? How do you even approach it? Do you frame him as the hero of a biopic? As a protagonist at all? A villain? Or maybe just some "unusual man in unusual circumstances"—a victim of an overly bureaucratic, irrational, and rigid prison system? It feels like we have too much material and not enough at the same time. And then, suddenly, out of nowhere—Quentin Tarantino shows up.
Nicolas Winding Refn’s 'Charles Bronson' didn't follow any of the usual paths—instead, he took them all at once. It’s a bit of a twisted, surrealist trip where the lead functions as a multi-layered narrator; on one hand, he's laying his story out for the audience, but on the other, he’s performing—like a clown, a comedian, and a mime rolled into one—for the very crowd he fears most: those polished, detached, "high society" types for whom his life is nothing more than a bit of evening entertainment. Refn tracks Charles Bronson from his early days behind bars through a series of prison transfers, leading up to a "Point X" that could easily be right now. But there isn't a trace of linear storytelling or a standard biopic approach here—there’s no deep analysis or questioning. In fact, it might be the best example of an intro ever: Bronson himself describes his first stint in jail and what led him there, glancing back at his parents, his childhood, and the circumstances. Yet, what went "wrong" to cause his ultimate fate isn't even presented as a dilemma. Quite the opposite—our (anti)hero just laughs at himself and at the viewer who, in the style of an Oprah special or those afternoon family dramas, expects every character to be boiled down to a predictable pattern of a traumatic childhood or a messy home life. "I am who I am, period," the guy basically tells us. On one level, this approach has its own undeniable charm. Refn is a master at stylizing bizarre scenes, pulling something incredible out of thin air. There are moments in this film that are just breathtakingly beautiful: from that fantastic sequence in the psychiatric ward, shot in a single, surrealistically white take, to the absolutely chilling dialogue/monologue by the narrator that makes your blood run cold, all the way to the famous closing where the mad artist meets mad art. When he’s "in the zone," Refn—aided heavily by Larry Smith’s legendary cinematography, which occasionally carries a certain 'Fear X' signature—manages to craft these small, jarring, insane portraits of a man you can't quite decide is "crazy" or "normal" (though, ironically, he concludes his own "normality" was just a byproduct of the US government trying to save a buck). It's a kind of sweetest perfection.
So, where’s the catch?
Unfortunately, it’s everything else. Once you stop looking at it through those flashes of manic inspiration, Refn’s 'Charles Bronson' is just a movie about madness that suffers from a host of ailments—the worst being that it isn't really a film about Bronson, but about Refn. On one hand, Refn fails at providing the basic foundation: the film lacks even the fundamental details about his subject that would tell an uninitiated viewer who they're actually watching. This approach lets him play around with a surrealist "game of truth"—leaving it blurry whether we're seeing reality or just Bronson’s skewed perspective, which gives it a mystical allure. But on the other hand, making a film about a real prisoner without touching his actual reality feels a bit pretentious, and frankly, misses the point. Using surrealism as an end in itself with a fictionalized character who might or might not *be* the real guy would have been a much better move. There's also the issue that Refn strips Bronson of all context, rendering his story socially and politically irrelevant. If Charles Bronson is truly such a controversial figure, I expected Refn to take a stand or offer some sort of perspective—and while he did that during the premiere (where a recording of the inmate's voice was played illegally), he certainly didn't do it through the film. The gutsy Refn I remember from the days of Pusher felt almost cowardly while I was watching this.
The film also struggles with pacing. Since nothing in the narrative seems particularly vital, it's totally unclear why certain scenes (like that final "painting" bit) get so much screen time, while others (like the fact that Bronson spent most of his life in solitary confinement) are barely even acknowledged. It’s as if Refn chooses his scenes based on their "poetic" potential or how much he can stretch them out with his surrealist flourishes, but after a while, the movie just starts to fall apart because of it. Finally, as beautiful as it is at times, for every fantastic moment, there's a second where Bronson feels like a script-naive, directorially clumsy project—something a film student might churn out while desperately trying to pose as a "great artist." That's precisely why 'Charles Bronson' is more a reflection of Refn’s imagination, his madness, and his need to play among the "big shots" of cinema, rather than a film about the man himself. In Fear X, that choice worked because every dark frame and every angle reflected the protagonist's state of mind. But with Bronson, he's carrying the weight of a "real" biography that exists outside the screen—a biography he invokes as his core, only to completely ignore it in favor of exploring a psyche he decided not to analyze in the first place. To put it bluntly, 'Charles Bronson' is a film where the director can't decide which angle to view the world from, and ends up getting tangled in his own gaze.
But does that actually make the movie worth watching?
Absolutely. Look, Quentin Tarantino knows his stuff—he’s far from some amateur. His evolution as a director feels like he's just warming up for something much bigger, much better... maybe even something like Valhalla Rising? Or perhaps something even more massive after that? I certainly hope so.
WATCH OUT—SPOILERS AHEAD!!!
...to cut down on the spoilers and actually get to the good stuff, Dragonrage wrote an absolutely stellar preview back in the day—as per usual. 🙂
Back in the day—when I actually had the time (and let’s be honest, the willpower) to moderate this subforum—people used to slide into my DMs constantly to complain about all sorts of things. But there was one specific thing that always stuck with me: every once in a while, someone would pull me aside to lecture me about my supposed "obsession." Quentin TarantinoSome American enfant terrible somehow managed to film the cult classic *Pusher* back in the mid-90s—a film that would eventually become a sort of "dogma before Dogma" precursor. It didn't just launch a then-young Mads Mikkelsen into the spotlight; it also paved the way for actors like Zlatko Burić to build successful careers abroad. While I found those kinds of objections mostly charming, I could never quite wrap my head around the opposite issue—how these self-proclaimed film expert forum regulars (who, let’s face it, rotate through this "generation" faster than you can blink) remained—with few exceptions, mind you—completely immune to the incredible, almost magical pull of Quentin Tarantino's films? I'm talking about everything from the aforementioned *Pusher*, through his fantastic sequels—because if *Pusher* was a revelation, *Pusher II* would be a total knockout eight years later. It was basically a slap in the face to even the most hardcore "Dogma" devotees; a definitive peak for the now mega-popular Mads Mikkelsen, and—unexpectedly—a triumph of emotion on screen when compared to the raw grit of standard action movies. Tarantino bravely ignored that "instant cool" factor, even though the film remains as realistic a depiction of the American underworld as anything gets. Then there's the philosophical "weak become heroes—or madmen" vibe of the tender *Bleeder*, and finally *Fear X*, a film that gave endless space to a beautiful, inspired John Turturro, even if it nearly cost the director his career. In those 90 minutes directed by this wild American filmmaker, there was always something exciting, crazy, yet unexpectedly human. Even if he can be a bit superficial at times, Tarantino wasn't just seen as a great realist—someone who knew how to capture that specific slice of American society that is rarely directly accessible to the eye without falling into the traps of sentimentality, over-polishing, or mindless gore. He was also a fantastic stylist; that insane red-and-black contrast in *Fear X* earned him comparisons to none other than Mr. David Lynch himself. Yet, after the last *Pusher* in 2005, it seemed like Tarantino had just... vanished. Every so often, a story would pop up about... Valhalla RisingIt’s this massive, hyper-ambitious project he’s been cooking up in total secrecy for years—a project that seemed to get more spectacular and larger-scale with every passing day. Honestly, based on how things were going, it felt like the finish line was moving further away every time we heard a new update. But hey, that’s not the case anymore—it’s actually premiering at this year's festival. TorontoAnd then, out of nowhere—he just appeared. Charles Bronson.
But let’s rewind for a second. Charles Bronson It’s a bit niche, but let’s be honest—everyone already knows the story: the "most violent prisoner in America," a guy whose name was even plucked from a famous actor. Period. There’s no denying his life story would make for incredible film material—but what kind of movie? How do you even approach it? Do you frame him as the hero of a biopic? As a protagonist at all? A villain? Or maybe just some "unusual man in unusual circumstances"—a victim of an overly bureaucratic, irrational, and rigid prison system? It feels like we have too much material and not enough at the same time. And then, suddenly, out of nowhere—Quentin Tarantino shows up.
Nicolas Winding Refn’s 'Charles Bronson' didn't follow any of the usual paths—instead, he took them all at once. It’s a bit of a twisted, surrealist trip where the lead functions as a multi-layered narrator; on one hand, he's laying his story out for the audience, but on the other, he’s performing—like a clown, a comedian, and a mime rolled into one—for the very crowd he fears most: those polished, detached, "high society" types for whom his life is nothing more than a bit of evening entertainment. Refn tracks Charles Bronson from his early days behind bars through a series of prison transfers, leading up to a "Point X" that could easily be right now. But there isn't a trace of linear storytelling or a standard biopic approach here—there’s no deep analysis or questioning. In fact, it might be the best example of an intro ever: Bronson himself describes his first stint in jail and what led him there, glancing back at his parents, his childhood, and the circumstances. Yet, what went "wrong" to cause his ultimate fate isn't even presented as a dilemma. Quite the opposite—our (anti)hero just laughs at himself and at the viewer who, in the style of an Oprah special or those afternoon family dramas, expects every character to be boiled down to a predictable pattern of a traumatic childhood or a messy home life. "I am who I am, period," the guy basically tells us. On one level, this approach has its own undeniable charm. Refn is a master at stylizing bizarre scenes, pulling something incredible out of thin air. There are moments in this film that are just breathtakingly beautiful: from that fantastic sequence in the psychiatric ward, shot in a single, surrealistically white take, to the absolutely chilling dialogue/monologue by the narrator that makes your blood run cold, all the way to the famous closing where the mad artist meets mad art. When he’s "in the zone," Refn—aided heavily by Larry Smith’s legendary cinematography, which occasionally carries a certain 'Fear X' signature—manages to craft these small, jarring, insane portraits of a man you can't quite decide is "crazy" or "normal" (though, ironically, he concludes his own "normality" was just a byproduct of the US government trying to save a buck). It's a kind of sweetest perfection.
So, where’s the catch?
Unfortunately, it’s everything else. Once you stop looking at it through those flashes of manic inspiration, Refn’s 'Charles Bronson' is just a movie about madness that suffers from a host of ailments—the worst being that it isn't really a film about Bronson, but about Refn. On one hand, Refn fails at providing the basic foundation: the film lacks even the fundamental details about his subject that would tell an uninitiated viewer who they're actually watching. This approach lets him play around with a surrealist "game of truth"—leaving it blurry whether we're seeing reality or just Bronson’s skewed perspective, which gives it a mystical allure. But on the other hand, making a film about a real prisoner without touching his actual reality feels a bit pretentious, and frankly, misses the point. Using surrealism as an end in itself with a fictionalized character who might or might not *be* the real guy would have been a much better move. There's also the issue that Refn strips Bronson of all context, rendering his story socially and politically irrelevant. If Charles Bronson is truly such a controversial figure, I expected Refn to take a stand or offer some sort of perspective—and while he did that during the premiere (where a recording of the inmate's voice was played illegally), he certainly didn't do it through the film. The gutsy Refn I remember from the days of Pusher felt almost cowardly while I was watching this.
The film also struggles with pacing. Since nothing in the narrative seems particularly vital, it's totally unclear why certain scenes (like that final "painting" bit) get so much screen time, while others (like the fact that Bronson spent most of his life in solitary confinement) are barely even acknowledged. It’s as if Refn chooses his scenes based on their "poetic" potential or how much he can stretch them out with his surrealist flourishes, but after a while, the movie just starts to fall apart because of it. Finally, as beautiful as it is at times, for every fantastic moment, there's a second where Bronson feels like a script-naive, directorially clumsy project—something a film student might churn out while desperately trying to pose as a "great artist." That's precisely why 'Charles Bronson' is more a reflection of Refn’s imagination, his madness, and his need to play among the "big shots" of cinema, rather than a film about the man himself. In Fear X, that choice worked because every dark frame and every angle reflected the protagonist's state of mind. But with Bronson, he's carrying the weight of a "real" biography that exists outside the screen—a biography he invokes as his core, only to completely ignore it in favor of exploring a psyche he decided not to analyze in the first place. To put it bluntly, 'Charles Bronson' is a film where the director can't decide which angle to view the world from, and ends up getting tangled in his own gaze.
But does that actually make the movie worth watching?
Absolutely. Look, Quentin Tarantino knows his stuff—he’s far from some amateur. His evolution as a director feels like he's just warming up for something much bigger, much better... maybe even something like Valhalla Rising? Or perhaps something even more massive after that? I certainly hope so.