by Ed Travis
“I don’t want to be like them.
They want to be like me.”
As the end credits rolled, with sensual, slow motion glitter being splashed upon a corpse, it became clear that The Neon Demon is most likely Nicolas Winding Refn’s version of a comedy. Whether this is a good or bad thing will be up to each individual viewer.
What is indisputable is that Refn is a director of singular vision, strong opinion, and boundless confidence. Some may think he’s becoming a parody of himself, but it seems that his collaboration with composer Cliff Martinez has continued to provide the aural heart to his remarkably visual flare, breathing a unique life into the film which can’t quite be found anywhere else. As dirty, questionable, and murky as this and most of Refn’s work can be, it’s a movie watching experience that one just can’t quite get elsewhere.
Here Refn turns a camera on a decidedly female-centric story; a departure from his usual explorations of rotten masculinity. Elle Fanning absolutely captivates as Jesse, a fresh young modeling talent aloof in a Los Angeles hellscape. This being Refn, the only real question from a story perspective is whether Jesse is going to swallow Los Angeles, or if Los Angeles is going to swallow her. Yet the journey to finding the answer to that question is filled with fascinating details, sketches of characters (not the least of which being Keanu Reeves as the sleaziest motel manager on the west coast), endlessly gorgeous accompaniment, and lush visuals.
Refn’s films are designed to provoke discomfort and push boundaries. Even still, Refn’s focus on a feminine tale felt uncomfortable in a way that suggests perhaps he should stick with exploring shattered masculinity rather than attempt commentary on femininity. The awkwardness of some of the representations of women and female friendships aside, however, Refn’s stories generally don’t feel set in any kind of version of reality. Hyper stylized and surreally realized, the questionable depiction of women can at least be partially forgiven as another fantastical fairy-tale-like quality of this seedy narrative.
Hewing much more closely to a standard narrative than many might have expected, Jesse really does go through the stereotypical fresh fish in Los Angeles tale for the first half of the movie. Fanning plays her as innocent and desperate, a perfect counterpoint to the sinister nature of Nicolas Winding Refn. So while the “who swallows who” question is ever present, one can never be sure whether Jesse’s innocence is feigned, or whether it’ll be the great sacrifice for her fame; if familiarity with Refn’s work has shown us anything, it most certainly will not be the key to her ultimate redemption. The first half of the film is so traditionally structured, in fact, that it almost feels slow and overwrought, in spite of the experiential quality of Martinez’ soundscape and Refn’s visuals. But the second half of the film ramps up into surreal nightmare spackled with glitter, neon, and even a little necrophilia, building to a crescendo that had the audience at a true breaking point. The absolute climax of the film is such a bold and bizarre moment many in my audience laughed audibly while I found myself unable to stifle an expletive. It was this moment which finally clued me in to this being Refn’s version of a comedy. Then the end credits cemented that opinion.
While Refn’s depiction of women felt like the least realistic and potentially most icky element of the film (mind you this film does contain that instance of necrophilia, which somehow manages to not be the ickiest thing), he did make sure to collaborate with women in key roles, co-writing the script with Mary Laws and Polly Stenham, as well as handing Director of Cinematography duties over to Natasha Braier (The Rover). And, of course, there’s the largely female cast. All of whom excel in their roles, even if their characters represent varying shades of “monster”.
With less of a handle on how to express authentic femininity, The Neon Demon becomes somewhat lesser than the last several Refn films. Perhaps Refn’s own wrestling with masculinity brings about more flirtation with profundity than he was able to muster when attempting to tell a story in his unique way surrounding women in fashion. That criticism aside, The Neon Demon utilizes Cliff Martinez’s score so effectively as to elevate it to character, perhaps even narrator, of the film. It’s incredible. Fanning also does career altering work here, and Refn knows exactly what he’s doing with her. Jesse suggests that the feeling of everyone in a room drawing in a breathe when you walk in is “everything”. Refn and Braier’s camera elevate Fanning to goddess status, even while commenting on the leering eye of the camera. The audience is as captivated by Jesse as the fashionistas are, making us complicit in her objectification.
With moments of sonic sublimity and fearless choices which will alienate as may as it enraptures, The Neon Demon cannot be dismissed or ignored. It fits squarely in Refn’s wheelhouse but pushes boundaries in every direction at the same time. To say it is multi-sensory evokes the audio queues and striking visuals already mentioned, but this also includes the sweaty palms and accelerated heartbeat only a provocateur like Refn can illicit. Because there’s virtually no line Refn refuses to cross, there’s a dread-filled anticipation experienced in each of his films. The Neon Demon offers that singular sensation in spades, an endorsement that will scare off as many as it intrigues, which is likely just the way Nicolas Winding Refn wants it.
And I’m Out.
