Sometimes it’s weirdly comforting when things don’t change – take Walter Hill for example. Famous for gritty, minimalist thrillers where talk is cheap and the measure of a man is often measured by acts of violence, a glance at Hill’s debut feature, Hard Times proves that he’s always been obsessed by these themes. In fact, when it comes to the trope of the two-fisted heavy who buries a keen intellect and noble heart under a squinty, inscrutable and incredibly leathery shell, you’d be hard pressed to find an actor who embodies these traits as well as Charles Bronson – so the fact that these two managed to collaborate on a film is something of a match made in heaven.
Better yet, it’s set around the world of bare-knuckle street fighting during the time of the great depression of the 30s and includes a host of equally grizzled co-stars for Bronson to stare impassively at. But with such a perfect pedigree behind it, can Hard Times land a haymaker worthy of its talent?
After riding into town in the box car of a train with six measly bucks in his pockets, a mature bruiser known only as Chaney looks for some action in order to increase his sparce funds. He finds it in the form of Spencer “Speed” Weed, a fast talking huckster who backs fighters in bare-knuckle bouts for much needed moolah, and after proving his worth after knocking out a much younger opponent with a single punch, both he and Speed team up to boost their worth and rack up some big money fights.
To do that, they travel to New Orleans with the intention of getting the attention of sponsor and fish tycoon, Chick Gandil, in order to fight his champion, a bald brick of meat by the name of Jim Henry. However, to buy in, Speed has to take a sizable loan out from some local mobsters in order to get them all started. With opium addicted, genteel, cutman, Poe, along for the ride, the trio start booking brawls to pave the way to a fight with Henry. However, whenever he isn’t pounding thugs into unconsciousness for cash, Chaney, hooks up with the down-on-her-luck Lucy Simpson to pass the time.
After various shenanigans that sees them get into various side adventures, both Speed and Chaney finally get their shot at Chick Gandil’s grinning goon. However, the aftermath sees the two partners at odds with one another as Speed simply can’t help gambling his recently earned share on the winnings away on every two-bit bet in the city. Jealous that Chaney can keep hold of his cash, Speed demands a bigger cut – primarily because those mobsters he borrowed money from are getting quite adamant that he pay them back with interest. Similarly, Gandil isn’t about to take his loss lying down and hires an out-of-state fighter by the name of “Street” to score him a rematch. Will Chaney agree to fight in order to save his buddy, and even if he does, can his skills overcome this latest challenger?
Always a champion of straightforward, minimalist storytelling strokes, we find Walter Hill starting his hard-bitten career with something that interestingly delivers a template for a lot his films that followed. While his stoic hero remain schtum about any part of his existence that occurred before the opening credits rolled, lavish amounts of detail are instead granted to the surroundings that he finds himself in. Much like the treacherous swamps of the Louisiana bayou in Southern Comfort and the filth strewn street of New York in The Warriors, Hill makes the world of 1933 New Orleans a character in its own right, while populating it with various fiends and crooks to keep Bronson’s unflappable lead on his toes. The main culprit is James Coburn’s excitable Speed, the fast-talking charmer that gleefully gets himself in disturbing amounts of debt just to embark on another get rich quick scheme that’ll see various knuckle draggers pulp each other’s faces in on order to make him some money. Fittingly for a film about streetfighting, Hill and Coburn don’t pull any punches with the character, refusing to make excuses for his selfish ways, crippling gambling habits and stubbornly denying the guy anything but the most rudimentary arc. No one in this film learns any great moral truth because they simply don’t want to – but watching the double act of Bronson and Coburn rise up the ranks and get into weird scrapes with their winnings barely intact prove to be the best bits of the film.
The movie is slightly less sure footed when it comes to the relationships our leads have with the various women in their lives. Maggie (The Italian Job ) Blye doesn’t seem to have much of worth to say about the infuriating habits of her gambling boyfriend, while Jill Ireland’s enigmatic Lucy isn’t much more than a shoulder for Chaney to almost share emotions with. However, while the curmudgeonly leads attempt to outdo each other on how badly they communicate with women, Hill is far more at home letting Strother Martin’s Poe deliver random poetry through his teeth or staging the sweaty fights in some impressively imaginative locations. Anyone who has ever played a beat ’em up video game over the past 40 years will recognise some classic backdrops to the battles such as a harbour, an expansive warehouse and other such grimy surroundings. However, there may be some younger viewers who will find the fight scenes a little stodgy compared to what they’re used to. More the like the brutal, middle-aged flailing you’d find Clint Eastwood engaging in when he wasn’t fucking around with an orangutan (or Sandra Locke) in Every Which Way But Loose, rather than the lithe footwork of a Van Damme skull-buster, it still gets the job done, and Bronson is in remarkable, brick shit-house, shape for 54.
As simple, straightforward and uncomplicated as its taciturn lead, Hard Times leads to an incredibly easy watch that excels in old school toughness and no-nonsense drama. Part crime film, part unconventional sports drama (think Rocky directed by Sergio Leone), it’s always nice to see Bronson do his thing while looking as stern as he possibly can, and there’s the added draw of Coburn getting to gab his way through proceedings with one of the most distinctive voices in Hollywood in movies. But possibly most rewarding aspect is watching Hill get to marshal two legends while surrounding them with the likes of a leering Bruce Glover and a sneering Robert Tessier. Before making this debut, Hill was already a veteran screenwriter who had paid his manly dues working for Sam Peckinpah, but you can tell that as a director, he emerged fully formed when it came to telling stories that carry more craggy weight that the weathered complexions of its stars.
As perfectly formed as Charles Bronson’s 54 year-old abs and just as solid, Hard Times uses its simplicity to speak volumes as a couple of salty street hustlers try to make a living. As direct as a punch to the bridge of the nose, Walter Hill’s first attempt at directing set the scene for numerous bouts with masculinity still to come.
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