Modeling is a shallow and superficial world of emotionally fragile weirdos and perverts, and contemporary Hollywood is a morally bankrupt urban cesspool with misguided notions of talent and beauty.
That’s the scintillating insight provided by The Neon Demon, an atmospheric thriller from director Nicolas Winding Refn (Drive) that, like its primary characters, is visually striking but has redeeming qualities that are only skin deep.
Indeed, Refn’s latest audacious effort finds the Danish auteur at both his most cynical and his most playful, with the result a highly stylized and shamelessly self-indulgent lark that’s likely to polarize audiences. Even when it flies off the rails, which is frequently, it remains watchable.
The film follows Jesse (Elle Fanning), a young aspiring model who moves to Los Angeles and immediately wows an agent (Christina Hendricks), leading to a session with a top photographer (Desmond Harrington). Along the way, she takes up residence in a dingy Pasadena motel with a sour manager (Keanu Reeves) who’s not big on maintenance requests. She meets a neighbor (Jena Malone) who looks out for her at first before revealing ulterior motives.
But as Jesse’s star continues to rise, the cutthroat nature of the business causes plenty of danger, specifically when fellow models Sarah (Abbey Lee) and Gigi (Bella Heathcote) accuse Jesse of stealing their spotlight.
Those familiar with his work know that Refn refuses to do anything conventionally, and The Neon Demon is no exception. He toys around with shapes and vibrant colors (as the title suggests) including multiple strobe sequences, while he eschews traditional music impulses in favor of long pauses and contemplative silences.
Meanwhile, the pace is so deliberate that it feels like the whole thing is moving in slow motion at times. Some of the imagery feels arbitrary — including an appearance by a wayward mountain lion that provides some shock value — and then it takes a twisted detour into a subplot involving lesbian rape, necrophilia, and cannibalism. So there’s that.
However, all the gimmicks only serve to disguise a lurid and catty revenge story at the film’s core. Muddled by heavy-handed symbolism, maybe it’s some sort of nihilistic feminist satire or a surreal fable about fame and body image. Or perhaps it’s just an example of a slick filmmaker giggling to himself while moviegoers try to make something out of nothing.
