'Copenhagen Cowboy' is Another Iteration of Nicolas Winding Refn’s Gorgeously Neon-Soaked Yet Listless World
I got off the Nicolas Winding Refn train at station Only God Forgives in 2013 because I wasn’t interested in the pseudo-intellectual circle jerk the Danish auteur tried to pass off as highbrow entertainment. As I sparingly followed his career afterward, I felt more and more assured about my decision. Don’t get me wrong, when I discovered Refn’s work in the late aughts, I was so fascinated by his distinctive storytelling style that I chose his filmography (up to Drive) as the subject of my dissertation. There was a time when the Neon World Rockstar™ actually told intriguing stories about ultraviolent people. Through his neon and blood-soaked visuals, he gave viewers food for thought instead of soulless protagonists whose biggest skill was staring into nothing with dead eyes.
His latest TV series, Copenhagen Cowboy, drew me in because it was the first time (since 2005) Refn decided to return to his native roots he abandoned after gaining entry into Hollywood. To this day, his best work remains his rawest: The Pusher trilogy. Back then, he didn't have the budget to mess around and had to get creative to hook viewers with minimalistic style and realistic characters entrapped in their toxic and dysfunctional surroundings.
After Hollywood embraced him, Bronson and Drive were different types of movies altogether. Those films thematically took the auteur further away from his usual subjects. They felt like steps toward a natural evolution that allowed Refn to hone his voice as a filmmaker. Yet those features also made him inescapably fall in love with his stylistic obsessions that turned the Dane into a poster boy for style-over-substance — not necessarily in a good way.
Copenhagen Cowboy (although a descent back to the underworld of Denmark) is another pretentious and absurd iteration of artistic debauchery. Refn explained in an interview that the show is his take on the superhero genre (which sounds quite alluring if you apply it to the ruthless world of Pusher). Picture a reunion of Kim Bodnia, Mads Mikkelsen, and Zlatko Buric as burnout gangsters still crawling around in the underground drug scene of Copenhagen, trying to keep up with a new order they barely understand. The thought of that idea is arousing — but it couldn’t be farther from Copenhagen Cowboy. But rest assured, we return to the bleak atmosphere of Balkanic pimps and Asian mobsters (the gutter of Denmark). However, this is an entirely different version than the one we remember. It’s a surreal, lucid, dream-like world where men literally oink like pigs and prostitutes talk like failed poets in-between 8-minute-long pauses where the camera is more alive than any of the people it records.
Our listless protagonist, Miu (Angela Bundalovic), has less life in her eyes than a roadkill cat and speaks fewer words than Ryan Gosling in Only God Forgives (which I didn’t think was possible). She has no presence or charisma (by design) and functions merely as a spectator in the different underbellies of the city. Apparently, she has supernatural powers, but the script makes sure we never really see them to avoid any excitement we could gain from watching her travel from one place to another. Refn stylizes and reduces her (and every other character) to the point of dumbness. They all come from and head to nowhere, literally and figuratively. There's no story to follow, no rhythm to get comfortable with, and no characters to root for or against.
In an interview at the Stockholm International Film Festival, when he was asked about the script, NWR joked about having one at all. He said every day he'd change something in the plot and compared the whole writing and filming process to painting — which is what Copenhagen Cowboy truly feels like. The Dane is a master of painting scenes by using colors and shades in inimitably unique ways, bringing a vision alive that only he can see. And that's where his series excels the most. On the other hand, he seems to have forgotten how to tell stories and create compelling characters. To express something meaningful and complex through the excessive symbolism that often takes over his pictures by repressing the initial narrative he wanted to deliver in the first place.
Copenhagen Cowboy is imposing as a cinematic mural, but as a television show, it’s a complete waste of great potential. Unbearably dull and unenjoyable. Refn still doesn’t understand (or care) how serial television works and has no intention to conform to its rules. Thanks to the liberties of streaming services like Netflix and Amazon Prime Video, he simply moved to a different medium to continue making movies with nearly limitless creative freedom. And it seems the fandom he gained will follow him anywhere with no reservations as long as he keeps delivering the ominous red and blue neon aesthetics he became a champion of. It's just a shame that’s the only incentive he seems to care about now.