Bronson Monologues

A young man who was sentenced to seven years in prison for robbing a post office ends up spending three decades in solitary confinement. During this time, his own personality is supplanted by his alter-ego, Charles Bronson.

How would you feel, waking up in the morning without a window? My window is a steel grid, I 'ave to put my lips against that steel grid and suck in air, that's my morning... 'cause I got no air in my cell. I have to eat, sleep and crap in that room twenty-three hours of a twenty-four hour day. You tell me, what human being deserves that? Apart from the stinking paedophile or a child killer. I don't deserve that, I done nothing on this planet to deserve that. My bed is four inches off the floor, it's a concrete bed, my toilet hasn't even got a seat on it or a lid, and I 'ave to live like this month after month after month, and the way it's looking it's year after year after year. Now is that's right then so be, but let somebody else 'ave a fucking go at it, 'cause I've had twenty-six years of this bollocks and it's time to come out, and I want the jury at my trail to come and see how I'm living. But I'm not living, I'm existing.

You don't want to be trapped inside with me sunshine. Inside, I'm somebody nobody wants to fuck with do you understand? I am Charlie Bronson, I am Britain's most violent prisoner.

Right! That's enough! He's had enough, come on, get him out of here! Go on and get him the fuck out of here, he's had enough! Come on! You fucking cunts! No class next week. Right!

You shouldn't mess with boys that are bigger than you.

Right! I've got a librarian up here, and he's in a lot of trouble!

To a terrified woman in a jewellery shop: "Don't fucking move! Or I'll kill you. Alright?"

Now hang on to your fillings. Alright? 'Cause it's going to get fucking Leary.

My name is Charles Bronson. All my life I wanted to be famous. I knew I was made for better things. I had a calling. I just didn't know what it is. Wasn't singing. I can't fucking act. Kinda running out of choices really, aren't we?

I'm sat 'ere, with Andy Love, and I'm gonna snap his fucking neck and stick his head up his arse if I don't get what I want!

1974… tough time to be young in England. Not a lot of opportunity around. Still, life moves on. Irene and I got hitched. It was all right. We didn't have it bad for a couple from the chippy. But they don't give you a star on the walk of fame for "not bad," do they?