The Chaney who hops from the train in N'awlins, his wool cap pulled tight over a smudged brow, isn't a man of a thousand faces; he presents only one, the craggy, unchanging mug of Charles Bronson. This face has seen the hard times of Depression-era America and been worn down by them. In no time at all, he picks up temporary employment: a bare-knuckles fight in an alleyway. Fighting-or at least its counterpart, never giving up-is what Chaney does. With primitive ferocity, he swiftly wins. Atmospheric to a fault, the film brings us vintage New Orleans, filled with sharpies and cons, among them Speed (James Coburn), a motormouth gambler, and Poe (Strother Martin), a whiny, hophead doc, who join Bronson in a hardscrabble hustle. Hard Times lunges forward, brawl by brawl, with the same momentum Hill gave earlier screenplays like The Getaway. When Bronson raises his club-like fists to pound adversity, it's for all of us, Body and Soul on the backstreets.