Last night at about 10 to midnight, I decided to put this movie on. It's a fairly decent early 80s detective story about the one and only Charles Bronson as he hunts a fit young asshole who hates women. Now this dude clearly has issues, stripping naked before he pursues his young attractive victims. There has to be something sexual about what and why he does these things, but he doesn't try anything dirty on them. He just wants to kill him. What a weirdo.

As the pieces connect, you begin to notice this guy has his alibis and defense strategies all planned out, advised by his low-moral lawyer played by the great Geoffrey Lewis. It becomes less about who did it and more about how do we stop this guy when we don't have the evidence to convict him?

Bronson is the older and more jaded detective here, willing to break the rules to catch the bad guy, whereas his partner is new and virtuous. Fortunately for us, this isn't that guy's movie. This is Bronson's movie.

Oddly enough, there isn't a lot of Bronson action in this one. He's mostly there in the background trying to piece things together while we follow the main villain, who seems like a valid inspiration for Patrick Bateman in ways. This dude is trying to steal the show, but in the end, Bronson reminds us whose movie this really is.

I also love the abruptness of the ending. As soon as the climax is over, the credits roll. We know what we just watched, so there's no need to wrap it up with some boring epilogue of characters trying to explain things. When it's over, it's over.