It's a different kind of cinema. It's less interested in telling a story than producing provocative images. It's a horror film, but it's also a science fiction film because it's an alternate reality. How else would you approach a subject with so much emptiness? I loved Keanu, who breaks away from his usual nice-guy dude roles, and tries something different.
What a fairy tale: once upon a time, Terrence Malick had a baby with a Vogue magazine and that child watched Mean Girls way too many times. Neon Demon is a style exercise, a brand-to-be-recognized and a Hollywood glamatron - but it's not valuable cinema. It does what the industry does: glues together a lot of iconic projections, but with too little thoughts. This is a story that didn't need to be (re)told.
The Neon DEMON is a shiver down your spine, a lump in your throat: a dark triangular nightmare who wants to seduce you. And if that ghost bewitches you, you can't run away. If that delirium catches you, you can't escape.
During pre-production on 1983's 'Scarface,' De Palma asked cinematographer John A. Alonzo to give him the most beautiful images possible, so he could "put violence inside of them." This is much how punk visionary Refn's latest operates. The more he perfects an image (via acid-noir lighting and eerie framing), the greater our discomfort. And, entranced though you are, you long for something raw, real.
Though not surprisingly, this was a let down. Ever since Drive, Refn seems to have let himself get caught up in his own ego and has pushed himself into tepid, self-aggrandizing territory. Bland performances (not purposefully "empty" as some critics may say) from a mediocre cast, paired with a tiresome neon aesthetic and laughable sequences that border on masturbatory. Couldn't care less about this.
Una agresiva mirada sobre la gradual corrupción de la carne y el consumismo visual, en la que Refn añade elementos considerados politicamente incorrectos, lo que aleja al film de las convenciones del giallo italiano que pretende homenajear, acercandolo inesperadamente a los transgresores terrenos del cine de un Peter Greenaway, para sorpresa y beneplácito de unos, o desconcierto y rechazo de otros, según el caso.
The trailer promised a 'Black Swan' meets 'Devil Wears Prada' vibe. Add it 'Mean Girls', Nicolas Widing Refn's signature visuals and a fearless Elle Fanning that would make Lindsay Lohan go back to sniffing lines of coke into the oblivion. I'm dead.
Any sympathy that i could feel for the premises that generate this filmmaker's films - namely the soft-porn, the trash and other sub-genres properly experienced in the 70s - is totally foiled by his pretentiousness and inability to get out of a lethargic kind of elucubration, an onanism without sensoriality and a lack of critical ability. A heavy clip buried in its inanity, as the movies by Guadagnino and Sorrentino.