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Fear X by Nicolas Winding Refn
Fear X is probably the most surprising Nicolas Winding Refn film for me today. Totally unexpected. Damn, I first watched it over 20 years ago, when it was released, back when I didn’t even know who Refn was. Just another dark arthouse flick.
Now, two decades later, I’m a die-hard Refn fan. I love his Danish period - almost “Dogme 95 before Dogme 95 was even proclaimed” - the gore and brutality of Pusher and Bleeder, all that Copenhagen street crime and suffering. And yet, even more than that, I adore Refn’s cinema of the last decade and a half: a true visionary, the cursed poet behind Drive and Only God Forgives, the auteur who created the stylistically and visually impeccable The Neon Demon. Yeah, I’m a fan.
So this Sunday afternoon I decided to return to Fear X - and oh boy, was I surprised. This is more Lynchian than Lynch himself: a dark, slow-burning surreal crime drama set in small-town USA. Low on plot, high on the unknown. And full of red-walled, dimly lit hotel corridors.
Un hommage à David Lynch, and it should be perceived and valued as such. Not a copycat, but part of the movement. Not a doppelgänger, but an apprentice. A stepping stone toward the great Refn cinema of today.
I repeat: I’m a groupie.
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