Bronson

It's funny how jovial psychopaths often make excellent storytellers. At least they do at a safe distance. I'm not sure you would want to actually be in the car when they told the story of that magical evening they repeatedly stabbed a police officer. "We was larfin'."

Bronson is a maniacal portrait of a man incredibly proud of his status as the most violent prisoner in Britain. Tom Hardy is spectacular as the clearly deranged but disarmingly charming beast of a man. Blending comedy and menace and never shying away from what was clearly a very demanding role, involving reshaping his entire body and a good deal of full frontal nudity. Bronson was keen on going into battle butt naked and greased, you see.

While engaging and capable of occasional genius, it does feel like terribly familiar ground. It does have it's own take upon things but it's hard not to think of it as Chopper with different facial hair. Which isn't such a bad thing, it is after all a particularly fine 'tache. It's just that it fell, seemingly inevitably into the traps laid out for it by so many prison dramas and biographies.

The first half, narrated by Bronson himself is fast paced, arresting (if you'll forgive the pun) and often hilarious, but, as is so often the case, it all goes a bit pear shaped once he leaves Her Majesties considerable pleasure. We discover that the initial farce is a counterpoint to the grim aimlessness of his existence. It doesn't try to impose reason to his actions or labour any particular point, but it begins to paint him as an essentially ludicrous figure. A victim of his own outlandish persona.

A perfectly valid point to make, and one I felt well made, but I couldn't help but miss the anarchic storyteller from the films beginning, with a grin on his face and a violent glint in his eye.