The Neon Demon Should Possess a Better Filmmaker
Reviewed by Clark Savage for DecimalPointless and HumbleHeckler.com
(Editor’s note: Film critic Clark Savage is currently pursuing a rigorous 12-step program in an effort to treat his ongoing issues with anger management.)
So-called “writer” and “director” Nicolas Winding Refn needs a serious beating. No, I’m not kidding. I have never—EVER!—wanted to punch anyone in the face as much as I want to punch this clown after seeing The Neon Demon. Talk about pretentious: This film is stuffed to the gills with monologues that I sincerely believe Refn and his alleged “co-writers” stole directly from bumper stickers they saw on the freeway from the backseat of their Tesla. Oh, and by the way, this film is appropriately titled: Every single frame of this cinematic turd absolutely pulses with neon. The constant reds, blues, greens, violets, and oranges are enough to drive Gandhi to slap on a bib and skeletonize a live Holstein bull with his teeth. This film could seriously endanger the lives of anyone prone to seizures. Hell, the guy next to me went cross-eyed and shit his pants. Come on, Nic. Didn’t they teach you about chiaroscuro in film school? For the love of God, man, find a dictionary and look up the word “subtle”—and try to do it without monologuing about it, you half-baked potato.
And what’s the deal with the electronic score? The music in this film sounds like it was composed by constipated robots who learned to score movies by only watching movies directed by this lug nut. Where’s the humanity? Everything looks and sounds utterly synthetic, and don’t you dare try to tell me that it’s supposed to look that way, or I’ll find you and dunk you in an acid bath and then feed your bones to my cat, Nero (which exactly the kind of crap you’re likely to see in one of this moron’s movies).
The Neon Demon is another exercise in style, totally lacking substance, in which a collection of dead-eyed mannequin-people wander through an ill-conceived fantasy world of debaucherous sex and depraved violence. And for what? What’s the point? There is no point. Refn is just stupid enough to believe that filmgoers are so stupid that they will think this noxious puddle of rhinoceros vomit is deep and meaningful. But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, this is the same preening peacock that brought us Drive and Only God Forgives, two of the biggest time-sucks ever projected onto movie screens.
Just thinking about The Neon Demon makes the bile rise in my gullet. I’ve actually written to my congressman imploring him to create legislation that will keep atrocities such as this movie from ever infecting the public again. I lie awake at night wondering what impact this abomination will have on society. I mean, if this movie exists, can there really be a God? How does someone explain this brand of evil to their children? Is there any point in exercising or eating healthy if, at any time, you could end up watching a movie like this? When I finish this review, I’m going to smack myself in the head with a hammer until there’s no trace of this unfortunate chapter of my life left in my brain’s memory center.
So, basically, if you’re thinking about seeing The Neon Demon, don’t. You’ll be better off tying a bloody pork chop around your neck and picking a fight with a great white shark. Or maybe you should just grab a shovel and ask a buddy to beat you senseless with it. I’d bet every dollar in the bank that this is the movie Satan forces damned souls to watch on the plane ride to hell. Anyone who willfully pays to watch this dreck needs to be removed from society, sterilized, and abandoned on the edge of an active volcano.
I give The Neon Demon .0001% of one star and 100% of my bloated corpse the second I die.
(The Neon Demon is rated R. It is intended only for simpletons who lack taste, self-respect, dignity, and the ability to NOT flush their hard-earned money down the nearest craphole. It also contains adult language.)