At the very least, Bronson introduces the world to Tom Hardy, who has a real chance to become a BIG DEAL in the acting world. As Michael Peterson, a hot-tempered nutjob who eventually changes his name to Charles Bronson for style points purposes, Hardy chews the scenery without ever taking the viewer out of character. He makes us believe that Bronson is who he is: a lost soul who craves the spotlight more than blood itself. The sporadic sequences with Bronson on a mock stage, excitedly talking to a crowd, back this viewpoint up, as does the fact that Bronson loves torturing his victims, but never goes all the way in murdering them. It’s all about psychological domination and control, both of his prey and his audience. Winding Refn’s attempt at a modern day A Clockwork Orange shows a bit of potential: for isolated spurts, he channels Lynchian imagery and Kubrick character probing. But unfortunately, these moments are really isolated. For such a potentially exciting subject matter—an attention-seeking criminal moving from solitary confinement to a mental hospital, then back again…a cycle of power and defiance—Bronson hits far too many lulls. It’s somehow boring for long stretches, despite Hardy’s best efforts to elevate the mediocre direction and poor editing, and leaves little to hold onto when all is said and done.
40/100
One of Kenneth Anger’s first works—and the earliest that I can find on DVD; perhaps this is his debut film intended for distribution?—Fireworks marks the beginning of Anger’s exploration into what would become his pet themes: sex, violence, and that which is not allowed (often cult activities), and how they merge together into one single, overwhelming force. Here, Anger dives into homosexual lust and tantalization. Fireworks, which is all a “dream,” opens with approximately five minutes of a young man—played by the then-20-year-old Anger himself—dressing while macabre images surround him: hands with fingers chopped off at the knuckles, etc. The scene then shifts to a topless, muscle-bound teenage boy (about 16-17) flexing his muscles, from his sculpted biceps to his washboard abs, while a salivating Anger (The Dreamer) looks on. The forbidden fruit, however, quickly lives up to his name, as The Dreamer is beaten to a bloody pulp by a gang of uniformed sailors (played by a bunch of Anger’s friends, who were apparently real sailors) in a public bathroom. One might be tempted to interpret this as an indictment of homoerotic thoughts, but the following slow-motion sequence of milk being seductively poured over Anger’s shirtless body says otherwise. Instead, Fireworks is about how breaking the rules can be sexy as fuck. The title stems from one of the film’s final shots, where a firework emerges from one of the sailor’s pants and goes off, but it could just as easily refer to the explosive feeling of rebellion. Phallic symbols abound. At just 15 minutes, Fireworks isn’t life-changing, but it’s a really impressive start for the brilliant-but-crazy Anger, and as of now, one of my favorites of his work.
Before The Lord of the Rings swept me headfirst into cinematic euphoria, there was Steven Spielberg’s Jurassic Park, which first introduced me to what movie magic can be. When Dr. Alan Grant (Sam Neil) and Dr. Ellie Sadler (Laura Dern) first see the brontosaurus’, when the velociraptor’s intelligence is gradually revealed…it’s difficult to not get tingly as a 13-year old boy, and it’s equally difficult now as a 30-year old man. Dinosaurs represent something special to children, a simultaneous portal to the past and to the grandiose, and I’m convinced that a trace of that sense of wonder remains in most of us as we grow up. And there wasn’t a better choice to helm Jurassic Park than Spielberg, who does the spectacular better than anyone. While the aforementioned moments are special, the real highlights are the first encounter with T-Rex, Dr. Sadler’s mad dash to get the park’s power back up-and-running, and a tour-de-force of framing and lighting in the Visitor Center’s sterile, stainless steel kitchen, where two beyond-crafty raptors stalk the Park founder’s grandchildren. Spielberg’s dinosaurs, revolutionary for their time, hold up extraordinarily well 17 years later. And on top of it all, Jurassic Park is a warning about the dangers of too much power, particularly too quickly: as Dr. Malcolm (a superbly snarky Jeff Goldblum) says, “you spent so much time trying to figure out if you could that you didn’t stop to think if you should.” Touché. A must-see for action lovers and youngsters (but not too young) alike. Also, a special thank you to my lovely mother, who endured me dragging her to this one about six times in theaters. Oh, what a parent will do for their child!