The Neon Demon — A Dream That Fades Into a Nightmare of Pretension

The Neon Demon: full review

Fashion isn’t a world—it’s an altar. And on that altar, Nicolas Winding Refn has decided to sacrifice more than just heifers. The Neon Demon isn’t a movie about glamour; it’s an exorcism shot on 35mm with the subtlety of a jackhammer. When Jesse (Elle Fanning) steps into that gilded elevator in the first act, clad in her virginal white dress and wide-eyed innocence, we already know this isn’t ending with a Victoria’s Secret runway show. This is ending with blood on the catwalk—not the kind that scandalizes tampon advertisers, but the kind that makes you wonder if you’ve just witnessed a snuff film disguised as haute couture.

Refn has built his career on stylized violence and characters plucked from a Vertigo comic written by a junkie with Stockholm Syndrome. Here, though, the Danish auteur overplays his own hand. The Neon Demon isn’t bad—that would imply it matters—but it is pretentious to the point of absurdity. Every frame screams, "Look at me, I’m profound!" when it’s really just saying, "Look at me, I’m a perfume ad directed by a guy who’s seen Suspiria one too many times and Project Runway not nearly enough."

The issue isn’t the ambition; it’s the execution. Refn wants to dissect the obsession with youth, the objectification of women, the symbolic cannibalism of the fashion industry. But instead of developing these ideas, he embalms them in formalism. The film is like an anorexic model: stunning on the outside, hollow within. Every sequence is meticulously calculated to shock, yet none manage to move. It’s cinema as art installation—something you’d stare at in the MoMA while sipping a $12 espresso, pretending to get it.

And yet… there are moments. There’s the shot where Jesse gazes into the mirror and sees, for the first time, not a small-town girl, but an icon. The camera lingers, hypnotized, as neon light bleeds across her face. It’s a fleeting instance of pure cinematic magic, one of those rare beats where style and substance briefly hold hands. Then there’s the motel scene, drenched in eerie blue light straight out of an ‘80s slasher, where Jesse realizes her beauty isn’t a gift—it’s a curse. These are flashes of brilliance in a desert of self-satisfied indulgence.

Direction and Mise-en-Scène: The Midas Touch, If Midas Had Clay Hands

Nicolas Winding Refn is a director who polarizes like few others. To his detractors, he’s a charlatan who mistakes style for substance—a poor man’s Tarantino with delusions of cursed-artist grandeur. To his fans, he’s a visionary who’s dragged genre cinema into uncharted territory. The Neon Demon is the film that lays this dichotomy bare, because it is simultaneously brilliant and ridiculous, hypnotic and infuriating.

The Dane shoots Los Angeles as if it were a Blade Runner set designed by a coked-up art director. The colors are saturated to the point of pain: reds that burn, blues that freeze, golds that blind. The lighting is so artificial it feels like the characters are trapped inside an Absolut Vodka commercial. Yet that artificiality is, in part, the point. Refn doesn’t want us to believe in this world; he wants us to feel violated by it, as if we’re watching a high-fashion snuff film.

The editing is another of the film’s strengths—and weaknesses. Sequences like the opening runway show are pure visual dynamite. Refn cuts with the precision of a surgeon, alternating between close-ups of faces and wide shots of bodies in motion. It’s as if Enter the Void and Valley of the Dolls had a bastard child and raised it on Red Bull and LSD. But then there are the moments where the rhythm collapses, like that interminable club scene where three models discuss… well, nothing, really. It’s as if Refn forgot that cinema needs oxygen, not just atmosphere.

The influence of Argento’s Suspiria (1977) is so glaring it borders on plagiarism. The colors, the lighting, even Cliff Martinez’s score echo the giallo classic. But where Argento balanced the dreamlike with the narrative, Refn gets lost in his own visual labyrinth. It’s as if he binge-watched Suspiria for a week and decided that was enough to make a movie. It isn’t.

Performances: Elle Fanning and the Rest of the Cast, or How to Survive a Shipwreck

Elle Fanning is, without a doubt, the best thing about The Neon Demon. Her Jesse is a character who oscillates between innocence and ambition with a naturalism that disarms. When she arrives in Los Angeles, suitcase in hand and girl-next-door smile intact, it’s impossible not to pity her. But as the film progresses, Fanning achieves something rare: she makes Jesse evolve without losing her essence. It’s not a dramatic transformation, but something subtler, like peeling back layers of an onion to reveal the darkness beneath.

The rest of the cast, however, is a biblical-scale disaster. Jena Malone, usually a reliable actress, seems to be on another planet entirely. Her portrayal of Ruby, the makeup artist obsessed with Jesse, is so over-the-top it borders on unintentional comedy. In one scene, Malone bites into an apple as if she’s auditioning for American Horror Story, and you can’t help but wonder if someone told her, "Hey, Jena, this is The Neon Demon, not Carrie 2."

Keanu Reeves, meanwhile, is wasted as the motel owner where Jesse stays. Reeves has that magnetic presence that could’ve added depth to his character, but Refn reduces him to little more than an extended cameo. It’s as if the director thought, "Keanu’s hot, let’s put him in the movie," without bothering to give him anything to do. Then there’s Abbey Lee as Sarah, a model who sees Jesse as a threat. Lee has moments where she shines, especially when her character shows vulnerability, but overall, her performance is as cold as the steel of a knife.

The real problem with the cast is that no one seems to be in the same movie. Fanning does an admirable job, but the rest of the ensemble feels like they’re performing in entirely different stories. It’s as if Refn gathered a group of talented actors and told them, "Do whatever you want, but make it fashion." The result is a chaotic mess of performances ranging from the sublime (Fanning) to the unintentionally hilarious (Malone).

Technical Breakdown: When Style Devours Substance

Natasha Braier’s cinematography is, without question, the other great triumph of The Neon Demon. Braier, who also worked with Refn on Drive, transforms Los Angeles into a fever dream, a place where light and color seem to have a life of their own. Every frame is composed with surgical precision, as if Braier were painting with light. The neon tones, the contrasts between light and shadow, the way the camera moves around the characters—it all contributes to an atmosphere that is both beautiful and disturbing.

But, as with the rest of the film, the style ultimately consumes the substance. Braier does impeccable work, yet sometimes she seems more interested in creating tableaux vivants than serving the story. There are shots so stunning they hurt, but they add nothing to the plot. It’s as if Braier and Refn decided aesthetics were more important than narrative, resulting in a film that often feels like a filmed fashion catalog.

Cliff Martinez’s score is another highlight. A frequent Refn collaborator, Martinez crafts a soundtrack that oscillates between the hypnotic and the oppressive. There are moments where the music feels like it’s straight out of a ‘90s rave, with synths that envelop you like toxic fog. In other scenes, the score is subtler, almost imperceptible—a whisper warning that something bad is about to happen. It’s a soundtrack that works, but like the rest of the film, it sometimes seems more interested in style than substance.

The production design, meanwhile, is flawless. Every set, every object, every detail is carefully chosen to create a world that is both real and unreal. The motel where Jesse stays, Ruby’s apartment, the photography studio—all these places feel plucked from a dream (or a nightmare). But once again, the design ends up being more important than the story. It’s as if Refn decided the look of the film was more important than what happens to the characters.

The best

• Elle Fanning’s performance: Fanning achieves something rare—making Jesse both innocent and ambitious, fragile and strong. It’s a portrayal that hooks you from the first frame and doesn’t let go until the end. It’s the only thing saving this film from being a hollow style exercise.

• Natasha Braier’s cinematography: Braier turns every frame into a work of art. The colors, the lighting, the composition—everything is calculated to create an atmosphere that is both beautiful and unsettling. If this film were a painting, it’d be a poisoned Rothko.

• Cliff Martinez’s score: Martinez composes a soundtrack that swings between the hypnotic and the oppressive. It’s music that envelops you, drags you in, makes you feel like you’re inside the film. It’s as if Kraftwerk and John Carpenter had an illegitimate lovechild.

• The production design: Every set, every object, every detail is meticulously chosen to create a world that is both real and surreal. It’s like David Lynch and Tom Ford designed a loft together.

The worst

The screenplay: The Neon Demon*’s script is a disaster. The dialogue is forced, the characters lack depth, and the plot lurches forward haphazardly. It’s like Refn scribbled the story on a napkin after a night of heavy drinking.

• The pacing: The film has brilliant moments, but also interminable sequences where nothing happens. It’s like Refn forgot that cinema needs to breathe.

The supporting performances: Jena Malone and Abbey Lee do their best, but their characters are so flat they feel like they’ve wandered in from a Saturday Night Live* sketch. It’s like Refn cast them for their looks, not their talent.

The pretentiousness: The Neon Demon* wants to be a profound film, but it ends up being a hollow style exercise. It’s like Refn confused glamour with art.

• The ending: The film’s final act is so ridiculous it borders on unintentional comedy. It’s as if Refn decided that if he couldn’t save the story, he’d at least go out with a bang. Spoiler: the bang sounds more like a damp firecracker.

The Verdict of Claqueta Ácida

The Neon Demon is a film that hurts to watch—not in the good way. It’s as if Nicolas Winding Refn decided cinema was too boring and injected his style with steroids until it became a caricature of itself. There are brilliant moments, shots that take your breath away, a standout performance from Elle Fanning… but all of it drowns in a sea of pretension, forced dialogue, and a script written by someone who’s seen too many fashion films and not enough real ones.

Refn wanted to make a movie about the darkness of the fashion industry, but he ended up making one that’s as superficial as the world it criticizes. The Neon Demon is a funhouse mirror: beautiful on the outside, hollow within. If you love high-fashion music videos with artistic pretensions, this is your film. If you’re looking for something more, rewatch Suspiria and dream of what could’ve been. Fashion kills, but Refn’s cinema sometimes just gives you a headache. 💀

The Neon Demon: frequently asked questions

What is the rating of "The Neon Demon" on Claqueta Ácida?

"The Neon Demon" scored 7.5/10 on Claqueta Ácida in the review by Silvia Mordaz.

Is "The Neon Demon" worth watching?

With reservations. We gave it 7.5/10 (Citric Acid), our rating for uneven films with something worth saving.

Who directed "The Neon Demon"?

"The Neon Demon" was directed by Nicolas Winding Refn.

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Theater Collateral Damage Report

Psychophysical impact certificate issued by Silvia Mordaz

🛡️ Epic Survival

🥱 Yawn-o-meter

3 amagos en el tramo intermedio; pestañeo pesado en las transiciones más innecesarias.

⏱️ Panic Clock Checks

Un par de miradas al reloj en el tramo intermedio, comprobando cuánto quedaba de suplicio.

😬 Cringe Index 0/10

☕ Caffeine Prescription

1 espressos para no dejarse vencer por la mediocridad cómoda.

💥 Derailment Point

"A mitad del segundo acto cuando la subtrama secundaria empezó a pesar más de lo que aportaba."