Nicolas Winding Refn, is one of the few directors who deserves the enfant terrible label. The Danish filmmaker, best-known for his neon-drenched tales of sex, violence and revenge — Drive, Only God Forgives, The Neon Demon — is at the Venice Film Festival this year with two works that, he says, represents both his “classic past and the future”: A restored version of his 1996 debut Pusher and Beauty Is Not a Sin, a seven-minute commercial for Italian motorcycle company MV Agusta. “Whoever said a movie can’t be seven minutes long?” is its irreverent, Refn-esque tagline.
In recent years, Refn has pivoted from cinema towards streaming, bringing his acid Day-Glo aesthetic and digressive narrative style — he typically shoots in sequence, not knowing how his stories will end — to series like Too Old to Die Young for Amazon and Copenhagen Cowboy for Netflix. He also, surprisingly, reimagined Enid Blyton’s beloved kids classic Famous Five for the BBC.
Refn spoke to The Hollywood Reporter about revisiting his origins with the Pusher restoration, the possibility of working with Ryan Gosling again, and why, despite being linked to reboots of Barbarella, Logan’s Run and even Batgirl, he’s never gone Hollywood.
You’ve gone back and restored Pusher, your first film, and the whole Pusher trilogy. How did it feel to revisit your first film after all these years?
Well, your memories don’t disappear. But I think one of the things that I reminded myself of just [doing the restoration] was how lucky I was to have been able to make a movie at that time, with very little to show for until then. It’s a bit like going into and getting a record contract when you can’t play the instruments, but you’re really good at selling yourself. That was something I was very grateful for, for having been given that opportunity. And I made it with arrogance, which is what you’re supposed to do.
Did that film set a template for you in terms of how you make your films?
I think it very much cemented my desire to always be the audience of one, because, at the end of the day, that’s really all you can do. You can just be yourself and make what you would like to see. And that is the one thing you can never be criticized for, for being yourself. There’s a sense of freedom in that kind of attitude, you know? So although I’ve gone down many paths, I don’t think I’ve ever changed. At least my mother believes I’ve never changed.
What was it like seeing Pusher again after so many years? What surprised you about it on this new viewing?
Well I restored all three [Pusher] films, so it was more like looking at the larger canvas but, of course, when you’re dealing with your first official piece of work, there’s a lot of warm memories attached to it. There’s also a real understanding of how quickly time passes, and that it’s important that we have a good time all the time. The idea of going in and making something with so much attitude and naivety, in a really idealistic way. Pusher was like Kaspar Hauser was given a camera. There’s a sense of innocence that was nice to revisit, in a way that you were so grateful for the smallest things, and then as you grew, everything got just more complicated. That’s always something to really remember, that just being allowed to do what you want to do is the greatest privilege you can ever have.
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Did going back to Pusher revive an idea of maybe collaborating with Mads Mikkelsen again? Did you ever discuss getting together on another project?
We always talk about it. But I do that with [Drive and Only God Forgives star] Ryan Gosling as well. We always talk about how we’ve got to get back together again. But we’ve all grown older and more wiser, and the industry has been mutating into something else. I know that eventually will work together again. It’s like Christmas: You never know what you’re going to get, which is nice, because everything is possible.
Has getting films made become more difficult for you recently? Your last film was The Neon Demon (in 2016) and you’ve done a lot of television and streaming stuff since. Has it become more challenging or more difficult for you to sort of maintain that freedom and make the projects that you want to make?
No, no. On the contrary, it’s gotten easier and easier, but I think it’s because I held on to the belief that at the end of the day, I could only do it my way, and if you are true to yourself, then you’re free. I learned very early on that compromise did not exist in my hemisphere. I’ve just found other ways to make what I want to make.
Which seems to include making art house commercials, like your most recent short, Beauty Is Not a Sin, for Italian motorcycle company MV Agusta, which is also screening in Venice. I find it interesting how many auteur directors do commercial work alongside their features. Zone of Interest director Jonathan Glazer is one, for example. He’s said he often uses commercials to experiment with the stuff he later puts into films, and vice versa.
I think the way Jonathan describes it is very precise. You are more aware of the idea that you’re communicating through a commercial medium, but there’s also something very freeing in that. I don’t see anything different from what I did making Pusher to making Beauty is Not a Sin. It seems kind of ironic that it’s a commercial that is part of the official selection at Venice, but I think it opens up interesting avenues, particularly seeing both these projects back to back. It shows where I originated from and where I am now. It’s almost a life cycle event. That was what was very fun about Venice selecting these projects, representing both the classic past and the future.
But the future of cinema is so unpredictable. What’s the difference in making a seven- to eight-minute commercial and a feature film for the commercial market? There’s no real difference and there never was. We were just segregating them from each other, but technology has kind of allowed everything to become one giant screen where everything just feeds into each other. If we can break down the barriers of the norms of cinema, maybe it’s not to reinvent cinema but to infuse new energy into the motion picture industry.
And new cash, I’d assume. Do you see commercial brands as a possible future for the financing of certain kinds of arthouse projects. A lot of big fashion brands in France, for example, are now co-financing art house films like Emilia Perez and Parthenope, especially now that the streamers seem to be pulling back from these kinds of movies…
Absolutely, I think that a lot of new avenues are beginning to open up. I did a similar project about two years ago with Prada, where we also made a larger installation that became a film, and it was enormously freeing. There are so many more possibilities if the format can be different. Telling a narrative within X amount of time has become so predictable. But you can go through your social feeds in a matter of a few minutes and you have a completely free narrative of just experiences. What does that do to traditional cinema? It makes the past seem ancient, and not as freeing as the future.
I think especially the brands, usually in fashion or luxury, have a desire to tell narratives with an enormous amount of sensibility and obviously quality. At the end of the day, we are all selling illusions, so for me working with these places is a wonderful collaboration, because it allows me to continue to be me, but also in a world that is much more seeking experimentalism, and is not so rigidly bound to a conventional narrative structure. It’s a little bit like when Netflix first came on the scene, they really challenged the norm of what is cinema, because could put it up on their service, and it would become instantly accessible. All these elements or experiences are part of the central challenge [of cinema]: How do you communicate motion and emotion? We are all as much visual artists as we are storytellers.
You surprised a lot of people, including me, by doing a new series adaptation of the Famous Five children’s books. The series is excellent but it seems almost the opposite of what you’re saying. Making a series for families, for kids, you can’t be fully free. You can’t show extreme sex, you can’t show extreme violence. It’s based on a beloved book series so you have to meet certain expectations, and so on. What was the appeal for you of doing something that would seem from the outside, to be incredibly constricting?
Well, that’s an interesting question. I think a lot of it had to do with the Famous Five being something I grew up with as a child. You know, being Danish, everyone kind of grew up with those books. The urban legend is there was the foundation for Scooby Doo, which is something I loved watching. I read Famous Five to my kids. So when the opportunity came, it was not so much about wanting to do the Famous Five but more about creating my version of the Famous Five. We don’t stick much to the books, we invented new storylines, new adventures for the Famous Five. Obviously, there were challenges with both the financing and the estate, but they weren’t trying to stop things. We just needed to open their eyes to what was possible. Obviously, making a show for younger kids, where a whole family can gather around the TV screen to watch it, is also exciting, because I’ve never done that before.
One of the dangers in any creative process is you start repeating yourself or start feeling comfortable. You find a formula you think works and you start repeating it. My thrill comes from not knowing what I’m doing and stepping into something I’m not familiar with. It’s almost like you have to erase your memory on how to make a movie in order to make a new movie, and then you have to make it with the arrogance of: Well, if this is going to be my last movie, at least I’ll make it my movie. Going back to when you were asking about watching Pusher, again, the experience reminded me that when I made it, I thought: ‘If I make it exactly how I want to make it, then I’ll be free.’ Because it’s 100 percent itself. Isn’t that what the world is craving more than anything else, authenticity, real emotions? Life is so short and we spend so much time looking the other way, and this is where art can, hopefully, remind us that the human heart can be the most beautiful thing in the world. When all the politicians create wars and conflict, the artist can come in and remind everyone why life is worth living. That is why all of us who are part of this art ecosystem, that includes you, have a mission to keep it alive.
Famous Five was your first “IP adaptation” but you’ve been connected throughout your career to bigger Hollywood projects: Planned remakes of Barbarella, and Logan’s Run, for example. You were even once mentioned as a director for James Bond, for Spectre, before turning it down, if I recall. Are you still interested in doing something like that, a big Hollywood tentpole movie?
Well, let me put it like this: Sometimes the idea is more interesting than the reality. Sitting around the table talking about remaking Logan’s Run is probably more fun than remaking it or Barbarella, for that matter. But I think I never turned down anything. I just had meetings with everyone but never really materialized, none of these projects became a real reality. But the illusion is always more exciting than the actual bones of it and, at the end of the day, I’ve always found if I can make my own projects that define myself, that is more satisfying. But that’s maybe because I haven’t found the right project. I mean, sure I’ll make Batwoman, or Batgirl, whatever it’s called, if it came my way. I love Hollywood, I love the machinery, I love the the campiness of it, the iconography and the excitement around it. I guess I’m still waiting for the right moment, but until that comes, I do very much prefer my freedom. Being free to do what I want to do every day is, for me, a very essential, very pleasurable experience.
I’ve never let a lack of opportunity stop me. Maybe I’ll take up painting. Even though I’m colorblind [which is why Refn favors high-contrast images in his films] and don’t know a thing about painting. If someone comes to me and says, “We have this thing and want you to help us make it,” I’m always open. But I don’t sit around and wait for the heavens to fall. I just do it myself.
Does your future include a return to film, as you hinted at your masterclass in Venice last year?
Yes, I think it’ll be fun to make a movie again at this moment, because the industry is in such turmoil that, in a way, now is the time to make a movie, because everything is free fall, and no one knows anything. Everything is unpredictable. There’s an opportunity to look at the medium through a fresh pair of eyes. To take this medium, make it your own and run with it. That’s the greatest drug you’ll ever take.
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