That’s the way to do it. The warcry of archetypal British aggro-puppet Punch, and a pretty good summary of what Bronson achieves. It’s a classic example of how to make a low budget film that punches above its weight, a wilfully controversial tale of a prisoner famous for his violent exploits in the penal and mental health systems.

Director Nicolas Winding Refn and co-writer Brock Norman Brock have kept a canny eye open to the power of Australian prison shocker Chopper, another tale of a brutal and pathetic con dominated by a charismatic central performance (Eric Bana’s) and arthouse sensibility, assisted in this case by director of photography Larry Smith, most known for his work with Stanley Kubrick.

Make no mistake, Bronson makes a strong assault on your sensibilities, cleverly bringing a tabloid monster to life with devices that might tire with a less compelling lead. The protagonist holds the centre stage, and we get to see him parade up and down on it like a musichall performer, a legend in his own mind, and with some impact beyond it…we’d not be tempted to see a film about him otherwise.

This is quality stuff in almost every respect, from the episodic narrative that dips in and out of its protagonist’s life to highlight different facets of this repulsive but fascinating man, to a shooting style that makes the most of the limited palette of its lead’s surroundings. No attempt is made to present a Freudian copout that ‘explains’ Bronson’s violence: it’s what he resorts to since his desire to achieve fame is limited by his inability to do anything else but hurt people.

The use of classical music helps disguise what seems to be a pretty cheap movie: a blast of opera or an orchestra goes a long way in papering over the cracks of a low budget, especially when the sources are copyright-free. Plus, it makes the occasional use of more modern music, such as Pet Shop Boys, that much more effective.

Violence is, not unexpectedly, a recurrent theme in the story. Bronson hurts people first to achieve notoriety, then to maintain it, but ultimately because it’s all he knows. As he ruefully acknowledges, his plans haven’t come to fruition, mostly because he hasn’t got any. But he certainly makes an impact doing things the wrong way, earning a reputation as Britain’s most expensive prisoner for the riots he causes.

Ultimately, the film faces the same limitations as its protagonist. The episodic structure and use of fantastic attention-grabbing devices such as Bronson having a debate with a nurse who is in fact himself with his face painted down one side; and getting a prison librarian to smear him with cream in a not-at-all-homoerotic way before yet another confrontation with guards…it all delays the inevitable conclusion that, fascinating as he is, you only want to spend so long in Bronson’s company.

Fortunately the filmmakers are aware of that, and the story ends pretty crisply just at the point when I was starting to think it might be dragging. Or maybe that was part of the point, to bring alive how repetitive Bronson’s life is.  Bronson is a powerful example of British low budget cinema at its finest, even if its director is Danish.