Clintborari
Joined Aug 2016
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Clintborari's rating
Reviews248
Clintborari's rating
Dark, gritty, and unrelentingly grim, Harry Brown is not a feel-good story. It reeks of societal decay and the sickening void left behind when communities collapse under the weight of poverty, violence, and neglect. This is a film that doesn't blink in the face of the worst parts of the world. Instead, it forces you to stare helplessly into them.
A Bleak Urban Nightmare set against the backdrop of a crumbling London council estate, Harry Brown immerses the viewer in a world ruled by gang mentality, corruption, and a total absence of empathy. The film doesn't simply depict crime, it presents a cycle of generational violence and abuse born from broken families and neglected children.
There is a palpable sense of claustrophobia throughout, from the camera's gaze out of a high-rise window to the gang members stationed like gatekeepers in shadowy passageways. For residents, this estate feels less like a neighborhood and more like a prison.
The opening scene, in which a young woman pushing a pram is senselessly gunned down, sets the tone for what's to come, an unflinching descent into despair.
Michael Caine's performance is nothing short of outstanding. He embodies Harry with quiet dignity, pain, and deep moral conflict. This is not a superhero masked in an elderly man's skin, Harry acts his age. He struggles to run, he gets hurt, he pulls punches with effort, not ease. And yet, he remains dangerous. His power doesn't come from action-movie bravado but from marine training, calculation, and desperation.
His body language is a masterclass in restraint. Caine gives us a man haunted by loss, surrounded by decay, and forced into action not just out of vengeance, but because the world has stopped listening to reason.
Emily Mortimer plays DI Alice Frampton, one of the few police officers trying to navigate this fractured world with empathy and integrity. She's not your standard hard-nosed detective, instead, she brings a quiet resolve, pushing back against a system that has clearly given up. Mortimer's portrayal adds emotional depth to the procedural aspects of the film. Her character feels deeply aware of the community's pain, but constantly stymied by bureaucracy and indifference.
Harry's quiet companionship with Len Attwell (played movingly by David Bradley, known for roles like Argus Filch in Harry Potter and Walder Frey in Game of Thrones) is grounded in small, tender moments, particularly their regular chess games at the pub. These scenes are deceptively simple but carry emotional and symbolic weight. The chessboard becomes a metaphor for control, strategy, and the slow, calculated nature of Harry's eventual retribution.
His murder is the catalyst for Harry's descent, and though his screen time is brief, Bradley's presence lingers for a long time.
Sean Harris, known for his terrifying role in Creep (2004), delivers another deeply unsettling performance here as Stretch, a twitchy, volatile drug dealer entrenched in the estate's criminal underworld. Harris has a knack for portraying characters who feel unpredictable and feral, His lair, filled with weapons, heroin, and rape, is one of the film's most disturbing sequences, and a stark descent into pure, chaotic evil.
There are moments where the police, as a whole, appear completely overwhelmed. You feel their powerlessness, the way corruption and community apathy have rendered them nearly obsolete. This gives the gangs the upper hand, they rule the estate, not by cleverness, but because the system has surrendered.
Harry Brown is a deeply uncomfortable film to watch, and that's by design. The way it captures the gang members loitering at train stations or guarding stairwells evokes a fear that many have felt in real life. If you've ever hesitated to pass a group of hooded youths at night, this film weaponizes that to great effect.
It's not just the violence that unsettles; it's the detailed degradation of community, from crude graffiti to disturbing scenes of sexual exploitation and the open disregard for law enforcement. These aren't exaggerations; they're reflections of what can fester in places where hope has long since died.
The film portrays a chilling imbalance: the gangs aren't just more violent, they're more organized, more present, more feared. And that fear seeps into every frame. As Harry ventures deeper into this underworld, you see not just a man on a mission, but a man torn between the instincts of survival and the morality of justice.
Some scenes in Harry Brown are genuinely hard to watch. Bullying, harassment, and senseless murder are portrayed with raw intensity, not just for shock value, but to expose the human cost of apathy and abandonment. It forces the viewer to confront the emotional toll of violence, not just on victims, but on communities, and on those who remain behind to mourn, cope, and eventually snap. There's no glamour here, just intense trauma, and it's hard not to feel emotionally impacted in some way.
8/10.
A Bleak Urban Nightmare set against the backdrop of a crumbling London council estate, Harry Brown immerses the viewer in a world ruled by gang mentality, corruption, and a total absence of empathy. The film doesn't simply depict crime, it presents a cycle of generational violence and abuse born from broken families and neglected children.
There is a palpable sense of claustrophobia throughout, from the camera's gaze out of a high-rise window to the gang members stationed like gatekeepers in shadowy passageways. For residents, this estate feels less like a neighborhood and more like a prison.
The opening scene, in which a young woman pushing a pram is senselessly gunned down, sets the tone for what's to come, an unflinching descent into despair.
Michael Caine's performance is nothing short of outstanding. He embodies Harry with quiet dignity, pain, and deep moral conflict. This is not a superhero masked in an elderly man's skin, Harry acts his age. He struggles to run, he gets hurt, he pulls punches with effort, not ease. And yet, he remains dangerous. His power doesn't come from action-movie bravado but from marine training, calculation, and desperation.
His body language is a masterclass in restraint. Caine gives us a man haunted by loss, surrounded by decay, and forced into action not just out of vengeance, but because the world has stopped listening to reason.
Emily Mortimer plays DI Alice Frampton, one of the few police officers trying to navigate this fractured world with empathy and integrity. She's not your standard hard-nosed detective, instead, she brings a quiet resolve, pushing back against a system that has clearly given up. Mortimer's portrayal adds emotional depth to the procedural aspects of the film. Her character feels deeply aware of the community's pain, but constantly stymied by bureaucracy and indifference.
Harry's quiet companionship with Len Attwell (played movingly by David Bradley, known for roles like Argus Filch in Harry Potter and Walder Frey in Game of Thrones) is grounded in small, tender moments, particularly their regular chess games at the pub. These scenes are deceptively simple but carry emotional and symbolic weight. The chessboard becomes a metaphor for control, strategy, and the slow, calculated nature of Harry's eventual retribution.
His murder is the catalyst for Harry's descent, and though his screen time is brief, Bradley's presence lingers for a long time.
Sean Harris, known for his terrifying role in Creep (2004), delivers another deeply unsettling performance here as Stretch, a twitchy, volatile drug dealer entrenched in the estate's criminal underworld. Harris has a knack for portraying characters who feel unpredictable and feral, His lair, filled with weapons, heroin, and rape, is one of the film's most disturbing sequences, and a stark descent into pure, chaotic evil.
There are moments where the police, as a whole, appear completely overwhelmed. You feel their powerlessness, the way corruption and community apathy have rendered them nearly obsolete. This gives the gangs the upper hand, they rule the estate, not by cleverness, but because the system has surrendered.
Harry Brown is a deeply uncomfortable film to watch, and that's by design. The way it captures the gang members loitering at train stations or guarding stairwells evokes a fear that many have felt in real life. If you've ever hesitated to pass a group of hooded youths at night, this film weaponizes that to great effect.
It's not just the violence that unsettles; it's the detailed degradation of community, from crude graffiti to disturbing scenes of sexual exploitation and the open disregard for law enforcement. These aren't exaggerations; they're reflections of what can fester in places where hope has long since died.
The film portrays a chilling imbalance: the gangs aren't just more violent, they're more organized, more present, more feared. And that fear seeps into every frame. As Harry ventures deeper into this underworld, you see not just a man on a mission, but a man torn between the instincts of survival and the morality of justice.
Some scenes in Harry Brown are genuinely hard to watch. Bullying, harassment, and senseless murder are portrayed with raw intensity, not just for shock value, but to expose the human cost of apathy and abandonment. It forces the viewer to confront the emotional toll of violence, not just on victims, but on communities, and on those who remain behind to mourn, cope, and eventually snap. There's no glamour here, just intense trauma, and it's hard not to feel emotionally impacted in some way.
8/10.
Murder at Yellowstone City truly captures the gritty, tough, and sometimes hauntingly beautiful spirit of the American West. It's not trying to reinvent the genre. Instead, it leans into the raw, hard-nosed realism and despair that so many modern Westerns forget and that, in itself, makes it memorable.
The story is subtle and simple, but that's part of its strength. This isn't a bloated epic. It's a focused, character-driven tale of murder, betrayal, and redemption, woven into the dusty fabric of a changing town. With murder, sex, prostitution, affairs, drinking, and explosive shootouts, the film doesn't just include these elements because it can, it showcases them with intensity and purpose.
The town itself becomes more than just scenery. Yellowstone City feels vibrant and alive, almost like another character. Its wide, dusty streets, the saloon's vast balcony, and slick, deliberate camera work make you feel like you've stepped into the time of outlaws.
Thomas Jane's preacher stole the film for me. At first, I disliked him, a dim, scarred, bitter man shaped by war and faith. But by the end I was cheering his resolve, he was the unexpected hero, and one of the best arcs I've seen in a Western in a long time. He brought a deep morality to the role and if felt earned, and deeply human.
Anna Camp as Alice (well-known from True Blood as the ambitious and manipulative Sarah Newlin ) is phenomenal here. She plays yet another preacher's wife, and finally gets greater screen time she deserves to showcase a broader emotional range. She's one of the most likable and grounded characters in the film, a powerful contrast to the violence around her.
Aimee Garcia as Isabel is another quiet powerhouse. Her presence brings a maternal, almost spiritual center to the story, despite her many moral flaws, but when she's on screen, she owns it in every scene.
Zach McGowan's Dunningham has only a brief time to make an impact, but he absolutely does it in style, rugged and confident. His early scenes draw you in, and his storyline, is the beginning of the mystery.
Cicero, the mysterious outsider, clearly channels the "Man With No Name" archetype without the confidence. While I didn't feel a strong emotional pull toward Isaiah Mustafa, he plays the part well as he could with limited dialogue, armed, and unreadable. He claims innocence, but you know there is a lot more to the man that's meets the eye.
With so many layered characters and storylines, Murder at Yellowstone City could have been a brilliant character-driven series. I would've binge-watched it in a heartbeat. There's so much left to explore, the town, its people, its ghosts, it's past.
The final shootout is brutal, immersive, and choreographed with raw intensity, easily one of the best since the classic Westerns of Wayne and Eastwood. It doesn't hold back, and the stakes feel real and unrelenting. Characters you care about don't make it, and that risk elevates the whole experience.
What's embarrassing isn't anything in the film, it's that so few people are talking about it. Murder at Yellowstone City has excellent period details, committed performances, gripping action, and the courage to kill off beloved characters for the sake of story. It's a film that understands its genre, honors it, and still brings something new.
7/10.
The story is subtle and simple, but that's part of its strength. This isn't a bloated epic. It's a focused, character-driven tale of murder, betrayal, and redemption, woven into the dusty fabric of a changing town. With murder, sex, prostitution, affairs, drinking, and explosive shootouts, the film doesn't just include these elements because it can, it showcases them with intensity and purpose.
The town itself becomes more than just scenery. Yellowstone City feels vibrant and alive, almost like another character. Its wide, dusty streets, the saloon's vast balcony, and slick, deliberate camera work make you feel like you've stepped into the time of outlaws.
Thomas Jane's preacher stole the film for me. At first, I disliked him, a dim, scarred, bitter man shaped by war and faith. But by the end I was cheering his resolve, he was the unexpected hero, and one of the best arcs I've seen in a Western in a long time. He brought a deep morality to the role and if felt earned, and deeply human.
Anna Camp as Alice (well-known from True Blood as the ambitious and manipulative Sarah Newlin ) is phenomenal here. She plays yet another preacher's wife, and finally gets greater screen time she deserves to showcase a broader emotional range. She's one of the most likable and grounded characters in the film, a powerful contrast to the violence around her.
Aimee Garcia as Isabel is another quiet powerhouse. Her presence brings a maternal, almost spiritual center to the story, despite her many moral flaws, but when she's on screen, she owns it in every scene.
Zach McGowan's Dunningham has only a brief time to make an impact, but he absolutely does it in style, rugged and confident. His early scenes draw you in, and his storyline, is the beginning of the mystery.
Cicero, the mysterious outsider, clearly channels the "Man With No Name" archetype without the confidence. While I didn't feel a strong emotional pull toward Isaiah Mustafa, he plays the part well as he could with limited dialogue, armed, and unreadable. He claims innocence, but you know there is a lot more to the man that's meets the eye.
With so many layered characters and storylines, Murder at Yellowstone City could have been a brilliant character-driven series. I would've binge-watched it in a heartbeat. There's so much left to explore, the town, its people, its ghosts, it's past.
The final shootout is brutal, immersive, and choreographed with raw intensity, easily one of the best since the classic Westerns of Wayne and Eastwood. It doesn't hold back, and the stakes feel real and unrelenting. Characters you care about don't make it, and that risk elevates the whole experience.
What's embarrassing isn't anything in the film, it's that so few people are talking about it. Murder at Yellowstone City has excellent period details, committed performances, gripping action, and the courage to kill off beloved characters for the sake of story. It's a film that understands its genre, honors it, and still brings something new.
7/10.