George A. Romero gave us Night of the Living Dead. He gave us zombies that still shuffle through pop culture today. And then, in 2000, he gave us Bruiser—proof that even horror legends can get stuck making a film that feels like it was brainstormed during a hangover and filmed with leftover Canadian tax credits.
The idea isn’t bad on paper: a faceless man exacts revenge on everyone who’s wronged him. The problem? This isn’t Phantom of the Office. It’s Office Space with less humor, more plaster, and a mask that looks like it was borrowed from a high school art class.
Henry Creedlow: The World’s Saddest Blank Slate
Our protagonist, Henry Creedlow (Jason Flemyng), is a man so spineless he makes tapioca look assertive. He’s the creative director at a glossy magazine but is treated like the office intern who can’t even make good coffee. His wife openly cheats on him with his boss, his best friend steals his money, his maid robs him blind, and strangers shove him on trains. The only thing missing is a dog that bites him every morning on his way to work.
When Henry wakes up one day with a literal blank white mask where his face should be, it’s supposed to be symbolic of his lack of identity. Instead, it looks like he fell asleep at a fraternity party and woke up in papier-mâché hell.
Jason Flemyng: Expressionless by Force
Casting Flemyng—an actor capable of expression—as a character who literally cannot emote is a choice. A bad one. His featureless mask is supposed to make him menacing, but instead he looks like the world’s saddest mime who lost his invisible box. It doesn’t scream “vengeful killer,” it screams “guy about to hand you a flyer for performance art in the park.”
Peter Stormare: Coked-Out Dracula in a Suit
If there’s a bright spot, it’s Peter Stormare as Milo Styles, Henry’s boss. Stormare plays him like a Wall Street vampire crossed with Tommy Wiseau, slathering sleaze across every scene. He’s the kind of boss who thinks sexual harassment counts as “team building.” He’s so cartoonishly awful that you almost expect him to twirl a mustache while tying secretaries to train tracks. And yet, Stormare overacts so ferociously you wonder if Romero just told him, “Pretend you’re auditioning for Scarface 2, but with less cocaine.”
The Wife: Gold Medal in Gaslighting
Nina Garbiras plays Janine, Henry’s wife, who deserves a trophy for the sheer amount of disdain she can pack into one performance. She calls him weak, cheats on him, and barely notices when he’s wearing a blank horror mask. Seriously—he confronts her looking like a faceless ghoul, and she reacts like he just forgot to pick up milk. Her indifference is so extreme it’s almost supernatural. Forget Cody in Bless the Child—Janine’s apathy is the real miracle.
Revenge Kills: Murder by HR Memo
When Henry finally snaps, you expect a spree of creative horror set pieces. After all, this is Romero. The man invented new ways to rip intestines out of people. Instead, we get:
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Murder by maid’s handbag.
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Murder by extension cord.
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Murder by office paperwork confrontation.
Even when he offs his boss during a Halloween party, the “grand finale” involves lasers, wires, and staging that looks like a rejected David Copperfield illusion. The kills are less “terrifying vengeance” and more “awkward office training video gone wrong.”
Detective McCleary: Tom Atkins Deserved Better
Veteran actor Tom Atkins shows up as Detective McCleary, whose job is to occasionally squint, chew scenery, and remind the audience that yes, the police do exist in this world. He looks like he knows he’s in a bad movie but is too polite to leave. Watching him try to take any of this seriously is like watching a priest bless a Chuck E. Cheese.
Rosie: Mask Maker, Plot Enabler
Leslie Hope plays Rosie, Milo’s wife, who makes creepy masks in her spare time. She’s essentially the film’s Greek chorus in latex, and by the end she randomly decides to help Henry by impersonating him. It’s never explained why. Maybe she’s bored. Maybe she thought this was an audition for Eyes Wide Shut 2. Either way, it’s less “dramatic twist” and more “Romero had ten minutes of film left and panicked.”
The Misfits Cameo: Punk Rock Pity
Yes, the Misfits show up. But not in a fun, gory way. They’re background noise at Milo’s Halloween party. They’re supposed to inject energy, but instead it feels like they got lost on tour and decided to play for pizza money. Watching them thrash around while Jason Flemyng mopes in a Zorro cape is the kind of surreal disappointment that makes you question your life choices.
Romero, What Happened?
The saddest part of Bruiser is that it was Romero behind the camera. This is the man who gave us biting social satire wrapped in gore. Here, the social critique—about corporate dehumanization and identity loss—is about as subtle as a middle school book report. The film wants to say something profound about conformity and repression, but it ends up saying, “Don’t trust your wife, your boss, your maid, or your best friend. Trust papier-mâché.”
Dark Humor Highlights
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Henry calls into a radio show as “Faceless” like he’s a villain from Batman: The Animated Series but with worse branding.
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The maid’s kleptomania subplot, which feels like Romero had a vendetta against housekeeping.
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Janine’s total lack of reaction to her faceless husband, which might be the scariest part of the film.
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The finale, where lasers and pulleys turn into a murder method that would embarrass Wile E. Coyote.
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The “twist” ending, where Henry grows his hair out and winds up faceless again—suggesting his problem wasn’t society, but his hairdresser.
Final Verdict: Blank, Just Like Henry’s Face
Bruiser is proof that even horror legends can phone it in and still get a dial tone. It’s not scary, it’s not funny, and it’s not particularly interesting. It’s a midlife crisis dressed in a Zorro cape, screaming about revenge but delivering only awkward office drama.
If you want Romero brilliance, watch Dawn of the Dead. If you want faceless horror, watch The Man Without a Face. If you want both at once… you’re out of luck, because Bruiser isn’t it.
