CANNES 2013: Nicholas Winding Refn’s ONLY GOD FORGIVES

CANNES 2013: Nicholas Winding Refn’s ONLY GOD FORGIVES


In Nicolas Winding Refn’s Only God Forgives, to witness God is to experience the devil. The
grim reaper glides through the night in the form of Chang (Vithaya
Pansringarm), a corrupt police enforcer who lords over a seedy neon-dipped slumhole in Bangkok as judge, jury, and executioner. In the early moments of the film, after a
thuggish American ex-pat boxing promoter named Billy (Tom Burke) rapes and
kills a 16-year-old local girl, Chang steps in and allows the victim’s father a
chance at brutal revenge. The grieving man takes it. This sets in motion a series of escalating
retaliations involving Billy’s brother and partner Julian (Ryan Gosling) and
their visiting horror-show of a mother, Crystal (Kristin Scott Thomas), each
bit formed to brutally triangulate Refn’s masochistic view of familial

Unlike Drive,
Refn’s semi-hopeful ode to pure genre cinema, Only God Forgives wallows in the misery of its bleak and
quasi-surrealist urban setting. Brooding characters move through shadowy spaces
at a snail’s pace as if each were in the process of being defrosted from a
cryogenic sleep. These human zombies barely speak, and when they do their words
resemble grunts more than coherent sentences. Everyone appears to be perfectly
at home living in hell, but exactly whose nightmare this belongs to is nearly
always obscured. When action does occur, as with the restaurant shootout that
acts as the centerpiece for the film, it’s mostly revealed in slow motion,
turning even the violence of Only God
into a protracted variation on Refn’s lobotomy aesthetic. 

A few bizarre sequences inside a brothel involving Julian
and his Thai prostitute/girlfriend hint at a more sexually psychotic
form of repression and guilt. Coated in vibrant colors and texture, these
disjointed “love” scenes are often complemented by a deafening score and
sporadic gong beats that seem to echo from the heavens above. It’s almost too
much kinetics to spare. Here, Refn isn’t interested in exploring anything
beyond the surface of his own vision; he’d rather just bang the drum loudly and
crush you into submission.

If anything, Only God
proves that Refn is out to create something akin to a kind of red-light-district cinema. Compositions are excessively balanced and held for long
amounts of time. These images are meant to be watched and desired, lusted after
simply because they evoke a form of evocative skin-deep arousal. Refn
ultimately fails in his efforts. The front-on shot of Kristin Scott Thomas’s
serpent queen sitting ready to strike at a restaurant table engulfed with
crystal ware is a perfect example of why Only
God Forgives
is mostly poseur filmmaking. Whatever visual impact it may
inherently carry, it’s devoid of any actual character tension, relegating the
vulgar key scene that follows into the territory of camp. 

Style aside, Only God
is of interest for an oddly compelling thematic structure that
involves a series of decisions (and non-decisions) by fathers and daughters,
mothers and sons. One small but harrowing example comes when Chang approaches
the man responsible for setting up the aforementioned hit on the restaurant.
During their muted conversation, the impending victim’s handicapped son watches
on from a nearby chair. The man takes responsibility for his action but asks
Chang to spare his boy. Such sacrifices and deals inevitably define Only God Forgives as a super-excessive
morality play where some characters act nobly in their final moments, while
others attempt to weasel out of their inevitable fate. Either way, gushers of
blood are inevitable.

Finally, the duality between public and private performances
(be it violence, song, or confession) is something to consider before labeling Only God Forgives a massive failure.
Chang’s karaoke sequences before his police brethren are both intimate and
collectively creepy, a religious ballad of sorts performed by an earthly deity.
Mai’s peep show for Julian behind a wall of dangling beads is initially framed
as something private, until Refn cuts to reveal other men in the room. When
Julian assaults one of the men for laughing at Mai it proves that Only God Forgives is deeply concerned
with the moment-to-moment shifts between closed and open spaces, and how each
character invades and retreats between the two. Interestingly, Chang’s long
blade often severs these spatial connections with one swipe, as in a sequence
involving ice picks and sharp hairpins. Only God can permanently sever Refn’s
fanatic and indulgent underworld.

Glenn Heath Jr. is a film critic for Slant Magazine, Not Coming to a Theater Near You, The L Magazine, and
The House Next Door. Glenn is also a full-time Lecturer of Film Studies
at Platt College and National University in San Diego, CA.




[EDITOR'S NOTE: Fearless Sarah D. Bunting of is making it her mission to watch every single film nominated for an Oscar before the Academy Awards Ceremony on February 26, 2012. She is calling this journey her Oscars Death Race. For more on how the Oscars Death Race began, click here. And you can follow Sarah through this quixotic journey here.]

The IMDb's plot summary of Drive is hilariously understated: "A mysterious Hollywood stuntman, mechanic and getaway driver lands himself in trouble when he helps out his neighbour." Well…yeah. If by "mysterious," you mean "communicates primarily in stares and vicious, bloody attacks and is never given a name," and if by "trouble," you mean "a zero-degrees-Kelvin-cold set-up that will beat a path of shattered skulls to his door." But: yeah.

nullFor all that, and all the horrible crunching and squelching that accompanies the ultra-violence (which the film is basically nominated for in Sound Editing), and the Red Shoe Diaries credits font and the Sonny-Crockett-esque brooding by the dashboard light and various other hat-tips to '80s culture, it's a compelling 100 minutes. If you don't find gazing at Ryan Gosling a worthwhile pursuit for its own sake, your mileage may vary (sorry about that pun), but whenever I started to make a snarky note about B-side Tangerine Dream videos mated with a Chevy commercials, something twisted or capital-M Mythic would happen and yank the movie back onto the right side of lazy collage: Bernie (Albert Brooks) killing a dude in an unnecessarily messy way, then soothing him in a bedside tone as he dies; the lights going out in the elevator and turning a kiss between the driver and Irene (Carey Mulligan) into a dream sequence.

Several sequences stretch out too far without much apparent rationale, and the matching of soundtrack lyrics to onscreen emotional narrative is probably intended as another homage to the '80s, but that's not a film formula in need of honoring. Drive can get a little referential and self-indulgent for what is, in the end, a splattery heist-gone-wrong flick, and it oversold the scorpion/frog thing. But it's a world you don't usually see, in a story that doesn't use the usual toolkit or timing cues, and I liked it for that. It respects an ellipsis.

After the driver, Irene, and her son Benicio (Kaden Leos, exactly cute enough) spend an afternoon driving around, Irene breaks a gaze-tastic silence to say, "That was good." I really liked that line, how it was broad and specific at the same time.

Sarah D. Bunting co-founded Television Without, and has written for Seventeen, New York Magazine,, Salon, Yahoo!, and others. She's the chief cook and bottle-washer at TomatoNation.comFor more on how the Oscars Death Race began, click here.