“My name is Charles Bronson, and all my life I wanted to be famous”
[Warning: Spoilers Ahead]
Avant-garde cinema, which emerged in the early 20th century from movements like Expressionism, Cubism, Abstract art, Dadaism, and Surrealism, continues to influence modern filmmaking, especially in films that are often difficult to decipher and sometimes deliberately shocking. These are films that reject traditional storytelling and avoid logical or chronological sequences. Instead, they lean into irrational characters and situations, where impulses and emotions are conveyed more through the power of imagery than through plot development.
The plot
Bronson tells the story of Michael Gordon Peterson, born in Luton, England, in 1952. Now infamous as one of Britain’s most dangerous prisoners, he has spent over forty years behind bars — with thirty of those in solitary confinement.
From a young age, Peterson exhibited aggressive behavior and violent outbursts as a way to assert dominance. He married and became a father, but in 1974, a minor post office robbery landed him a seven-year prison sentence. While incarcerated, he quickly gains notoriety for a series of increasingly extreme incidents. Prison authorities move him from facility to facility in a futile attempt to calm him down. Eventually, he’s committed to a psychiatric hospital — but tries to strangle a fellow patient just to be sent back to prison.
In 1988, Peterson is released. Unable to stay with his family, he moves in with an uncle and begins participating in clandestine fights. It is during this time that he changes his name to Charles Bronson, in honor of the famous Hollywood actor. Just months later, he gets arrested again for a jewelry store robbery and returns to his cycle of violence in prison. It is at this turning point that he starts taking an interest — a uniquely personal one — in art.
The structure
While it could have easily been a straightforward biopic, Danish director Nicolas Winding Refn turns the genre on its head. Instead, he experiments with new techniques to deconstruct linear storytelling, presenting a heightened, hyperreal version of events infused with grotesque overtones. The result is a film so exaggerated it borders on absurdity — yet beneath its bizarre surface lies something deeply tragic. To quote Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, “There is but one step from the grotesque to the horrible”.
Refn amplifies this uneasy feeling with a striking visual style, particularly through bold colors crafted by cinematographer Larry Smith — a collaborator of Stanley Kubrick, who also worked on Eyes Wide Shut (1999).
The screenplay follows a theatrical structure: Bronson addresses the audience directly through monologue, unfolding the film in acts like a play inspired by the Theater of the Absurd. Hardy’s voice often echoes offscreen, guiding the viewer through Bronson’s world.
And speaking of English actor Tom Hardy — his performance is nothing short of phenomenal. Physically and emotionally, he fully embodies the role. This movie was a major breakout moment in his career, paving the way for high-profile projects like Christopher Nolan’s Inception (2010) and The Dark Knight Rises (2012). Interestingly, Hardy wasn’t Refn’s first choice. The director originally wanted action star Jason Statham, who turned the part down due to the film’s nudity and intense scenes. That decision forced Refn to reconsider and lucky for us, he did. Tom Hardy would later meet the real Michael Peterson in prison several times — Peterson was thrilled with the project. Even the original Charles Bronson — the famed star of ’60s and ’70s westerns, war and cop movies — praised Hardy’s performance along with the film in its entirety.
The references
Since Refn is first and foremost a cinephile, it’s easy to imagine he drew inspiration from all kinds of lesser-known films and documentaries while creating Bronson. Still, given that Bronson is, at its core, a “prison movie”, it makes sense to start by mentioning one of the best in that genre: Runaway Train (1985) by Andrej Končalovskij. Its main character, Manny — played by a phenomenal Jon Voight — shares a number of traits with Bronson, from the prominent mustache to staying fit with constant push-ups. But their strongest connection is their wild, untamable nature and raw, almost mythic strength. In different ways, both characters feel like cinematic incarnations of Nietzsche’s “Übermensch” — fiercely resistant to any kind of constraint. This same refusal to be tamed links Manny and Bronson to another extreme movie figure: Alex, the “droog” from A Clockwork Orange (1971). Kubrick’s masterpiece is also evoked through Bronson’s English setting, its surreal, hallucinatory tone, and the deeper parallel between both characters: once released from prison, neither is able to reintegrate into society.
Refn carries that Kubrickian influence into his soundtrack choices as well, using music not just as background but as a frame of reference that deepens its meaning. The soundtrack is eclectic — ranging from classical to electronic — and depending on the scene, it either grounds the action or jarringly contrasts it, opening up new layers of interpretation. Wagner’s Siegfried’s Funeral March and Verdi’s Va Pensiero — the latter also memorably used by Dario Argento in Inferno (1980) — serve as callbacks to the violent spirit of 19th-century rebellion. Meanwhile, the melodic synth-pop of New Order’sYour Silent Face and the nostalgic synthwave of Glass Candy’s Digital Versicolor transport us back to the 1980s. And finally, honorable mention goes to the unforgettable scene set in a psychiatric hospital, where Bronson bursts into an energetic dance to It’s a Sin by the Pet Shop Boys.
The meaning
That ballroom scene — set in this strange, almost non-existent space — really reinforces that Bronson isn’t insane. If anything, he might be the only sane person in the story. At its heart, the film takes us deep into the mind of a lonely man, a harsh victim of modern society, obsessed with chasing success.
Bronson’s obsession with fame shapes everything about him. He feels at home on any kind of stage — whether it’s the theater, his prison cell, or the boxing ring — almost like he’s watching his own wild, over-the-top life unfold with a sense of amusement. As the world’s values crumble around him, violence — whether given or received — becomes essential. It’s how he proves he’s alive and carves out his own version of success.
But then, something shifts. With the guidance of a teacher, Bronson discovers a love for Art and realizes he’s an artist himself. He starts channeling his intense, violent energy not into destruction, but into creation — and in doing so, finds a long-sought freedom. Inspired especially by Hieronymus Bosch and Salvador Dalì, Bronson produced a number of bold and provocative drawings while in prison. They all share a common theme: a portrayal of imprisonment that serves as a powerful metaphor for modern life — artificial, suffocating, and ruled by control and constant surveillance.
Control Box (2000), ink, pencil and pastel on paper, 11.6 x 8.3 inches.
Courtesy of the Princess Headbones Gallery, 1997–2000.
Epilogue
These thoughts bring us to consider the filmmaker’s own intentions — Nicolas Winding Refn —who at the time was a lesser-known rising star in Danish cinema and is now a well-established director. Refn has declared that making this film wasn’t just about creating something innovative and unconventional; it was also a deeply personal journey. He wanted to express himself, using Bronson as a way to tell his own story. Surprisingly, despite Refn’s calm nature, he and Bronson share the same driving force: a hunger to leave something real and authentic behind for future generations.
[Disclaimer]
Poster (link).
Photographs shown in this article (link).
These images are protected by copyright and are included solely for illustrative, non-commercial purposes.
