While sitting uncomfortably in the front row of a screening room earlier this week, I spent the time between my squirms and groans dreaming of bolting from the theater to find an idling DeLorean waiting for me on the street, ready to travel back in time convince director Nicolas Winding Refn to abandon The Neon Demon. Instead, I’ll forever be burdened with its memory.
The film, out today, opens with its star, Elle Fanning, covered in blood and draped on a couch. Is the blood real or fake? Is this a murder scene or a photo shoot? Though I eventually came to believe it was the latter on both counts, something to know about The Neon Demon (specifically Refn, who also wrote the script) is that I don’t think it wants the audience to choose. The blood? It’s both real and fake, when you think about it. And isn’t every photo shoot just murdering… the soul? This film doesn’t just want to have it both ways, it wants to have it every way. It wants to condemn narcissism as well as celebrate it. It wants to expose out the horrors of the fashion industry, but it also thinks those horrors are sort of sexy. And, worst of all, it thinks it can get away with its own contradictions by telling us we’re missing the point. And maybe I am! But I couldn’t possibly begin to care.
Would you like to know what this movie is about? If you plan on seeing The Neon Demon and prefer to be surprised, skip this paragraph. If not, I’ll explain it quickly, as there isn’t much to it. There is a 16-year-old girl, Jesse (Fanning), who moves to LA with the dream of becoming a model. After befriending a friendly-seeming makeup artist named Ruby (Jena Malone), an agent (Christina Hendricks) signs her immediately, two older models (Bella Heathcote and Abbey Lee) become jealous of her, a mountain lion (mountain lion) tries to kill her, two people (one of whom is Keanu Reeves) attempt to rape her, and then Ruby fucks a corpse. Oh, I almost forgot the cannibalism. There’s cannibalism too.
Though I’m generally a fan of horror films (that’s how Refn describes this one), I couldn’t bring myself to enjoy The Neon Demon’s particular brand of depravity. Regardless of your message (or whether or not you think brutality against children can be art), I will never in my life find it entertaining or defensible to watch a rapist—even a fictional one—force a 16-year-old girl to deep throat a knife. I will never laugh at a movie’s sole homosexual character revealing herself to be an amoral psychopath. I will never find it intellectually stimulating for a man to condemn women who are obsessed with beauty.