Vapid style

Refn’s ‘The Neon Demon’ is as empty as the industry it skewers

Nicolas Winding Refn, whose work ranges from the poetic Herzogian gore-fest “Valhalla Rising” to the 80s-indebted action movie deconstruction “Drive,” wields his indelible style with the refinement a samurai. Gorgeous compositions and hyper-contrasted color palettes saturate the screen with sumptuous, sexy light. The thick tone, like oil on canvas, paints often esoteric portraits of his characters and the dream-like netherworlds they inhabit—netherworlds that, since “Drive,” have been drenched in the dirty, pulsing electronica of longtime Steven Soderbergh composer Cliff Martinez. They are films that aren’t meant to be watched so much as experienced—catnip for cineastes. 

Refn’s modulated affectations have always been a part of his charm as a filmmaker, his vision never tied down by audience expectations. While some of his narratives are relatively conventional (“Bronson,” “Drive”) others are exercises in impenetrable style, such as the much-maligned “Only God Forgives,” which seemed determined to alienate the modest-but-passionate fanbase Refn had acquired with “Drive.” Though its story is arguably his most conventional to date, “The Neon Demon” is executed with a sense of hubris and self-indulgence that feels misguided.

Elle Fanning is Jesse, an orphaned, fresh-off-the-bus 16 year-old, who’s come to L.A. in pursuit of a modeling career, staying in a sleazy Pasadena motel (run by a creepy, chain-smoking Keanu Reeves) while she hustles for work.

On a fake-blood-soaked photoshoot, Jesse meets Ruby (Jena Malone), a makeup artist who moonlights at the city morgue, who introduces her to Roberta Hoffman (Christina Hendricks), a modeling agent. Hoffman is instantly taken with Jesse and promptly schedules a test shoot for her with a sought-after fashion photographer (Desmond Harrington).

Ruby runs with an alabaster clique of supermodels, Gigi (Bella Heathcote) and Sarah (Abbey Lee), who take a dim view of the ingénue Jesse, despite Ruby’s obvious affection for her. Their barely veiled contempt turns to angry alarm when Jesse catches the awed attention of an influential designer (Alessandro Nivola) while auditioning for a show. Jesse’s newfound frenemies see the clear threat she represents to their positon in an industry that feeds on youth eternal and where “beauty isn’t everything; it’s the only thing.”

Throughout his career, Refn has been criticized for his treatment of female characters—usually portrayed as victims, sex workers or meek love interests, or some combination of the three. “I always set out wanting to make films about women but it always ends up being about men. Maybe it’s because I don’t know how to write them,” Refn admitted to the Evening Standard in 2013. 

So he hired wunderkind playwright Polly Stenham to write the first draft of “Demon,” and later brought on Mary Laws for subsequent rewrites. But, perhaps owing to the story’s milieu, their contributions are indiscernible. These are vacuous, terrible people, regardless of gender. 

Fatally, Refn has crafted a pitch-black satire that simply mirrors (often literally) the leering vapidity of the industry it’s trying to skewer without saying anything new about it. It’s as if Zack Snyder remade Cronenberg’s “Maps to the Stars” as a crushingly self-indulgent quasi-music video.  

The horror elements of the last act are presaged in subtle ways, and the film folds those tropes into an arty deconstruction of the genre. But its unconventionality minimizes their dreadful impact until the Countess Báthory-inspired resolution, when we get some moments of Grand Guignol creepiness. But the themes of institutionalized narcissism and exploitation in the fashion world combined with the grotesque body horror feel like a misappropriation of Cronenberg’s kinkier psychosexual work. And while that sounds great on paper, the result is that rare Refn film where his singular, formidable style is not enough to compensate for the lack of substance.

For more from Joe, read his review of "Finding Dory."