Unmasking Vanity’s Abyss: The Neon Demon’s Psychological Body Horror

In Los Angeles, beauty is not skin deep—it’s a ravenous hunger that consumes the soul.

The Neon Demon arrives like a glittering trap, a 2016 fever dream from Nicolas Winding Refn that transforms the glossy world of high fashion into a chamber of psychological torment. Starring Elle Fanning as the wide-eyed ingenue Jesse, this film weaponises beauty standards against its characters, blending body horror with an unrelenting probe into the human psyche. What begins as a seductive odyssey spirals into cannibalistic frenzy, forcing viewers to confront the monstrous undercurrents of vanity and desire.

  • Explore how Refn elevates fashion’s superficiality into a metaphor for existential dread and self-destruction.
  • Dissect the film’s visceral body horror sequences, where physical transformation mirrors mental unraveling.
  • Trace the psychological arcs of its characters, revealing jealousy and narcissism as the true demons lurking beneath flawless exteriors.

The Allure of Arrival: Jesse’s Fatal Photoshoot

Jesse steps into Los Angeles with the innocence of a lamb entering the slaughterhouse, her sixteenth birthday marked not by cake but by a makeup artist’s grim prophecy: “We’re all jealous of you.” This opening salvo sets the stage for a narrative that meticulously charts her psychological ascent and descent. Hired by photographer Dean (Karl Glusman) for a shoot that evokes the ethereal glow of Cindy Sherman’s fashion portraits, Jesse embodies the blank canvas of youthful perfection. Refn, drawing from the real-world vampirism of the modeling industry, crafts a world where every mirror reflects not identity but commodification.

The photoshoot sequence pulses with hypnotic tension, neon lights bathing Fanning’s form in electric hues that suggest both divinity and doom. Cinematographer Natasha Braier’s lens lingers on Jesse’s skin, transforming it into a fetish object that anticipates the film’s body horror pivot. Here, psychology intertwines with the physical: Jesse’s growing narcissism feeds on the adulation, her internal monologue—voiced in surreal fantasy—revealing a burgeoning god complex. This is no mere coming-of-age tale; it’s a clinical dissection of how external validation corrodes the self.

Supporting characters orbit Jesse like satellites drawn to a black hole. Ruby (Jena Malone), the empathetic yet predatory makeup artist, offers maternal warmth laced with envy. Makeup sessions become rituals of intimate violation, fingers tracing contours that foreshadow literal consumption. Refn populates this ecosystem with figures like the rival models Sarah (Abbey Lee) and Gigi (Bella Heathcote), whose barbed camaraderie masks a Darwinian struggle. Each interaction peels back layers of psyche, exposing insecurities that fester into violence.

Vanity’s Venom: The Psyche Fractures Under Neon

At its core, The Neon Demon interrogates beauty as a psychological toxin, a force that warps perception until reality splinters. Jesse’s transformation accelerates post-shoot; she hallucinates herself as prey-turned-predator in a mountain lion fantasy, symbolising the devouring nature of her allure. This mirrors Lacanian theories of the gaze, where the model’s identity dissolves under scrutiny, leaving only a fragmented ego. Refn amplifies this through repetitive motifs: mirrors multiply Jesse’s image, suggesting narcissistic multiplication that borders on psychosis.

Jealousy courses through the ensemble like a virus. Sarah and Gigi’s motel room confession—”We’re all beautiful in our own way”—drips with sarcasm, their facades cracking to reveal self-loathing. When Jesse claims the top spot at designer Robert Sarno’s (Desmond Harrington) show, the rivals’ resentment metastasises. Psychological body horror emerges as they plot her demise, their actions rationalised through distorted beauty ideals. The film posits vanity not as superficial but as a primal drive, akin to the survival instincts in evolutionary psychology.

Harry (Jena Malone again? No, makeup is Malone; Harry is makeup artist? Wait, Harry is the photographer? No: Dean is photographer boyfriend, Harry is makeup? Clarify: Harry is the special effects makeup artist played by Charles Baker? No, key is Ruby (Malone). Anyway. The motel manager played by Keanu Reeves embodies predatory masculinity, his advances on Jesse underscoring how beauty invites violation. His character’s banal evil—framed by the film’s synth score—normalises the psychological toll of objectification.

Refn weaves in class undertones: Jesse’s transient status heightens her vulnerability, contrasting the established models’ hollow privilege. This socioeconomic lens sharpens the horror, portraying LA as a meat grinder where beauty is currency, and poverty invites consumption. The psyche fractures along these lines, with characters projecting inadequacies onto Jesse’s flawless vessel.

Flesh Feast: Body Horror Beyond the Grave

The film’s pivot to overt body horror arrives with surgical precision, transforming psychological unease into corporeal nightmare. After Jesse’s apparent death in a car crash—precipitated by the rivals’ sabotage—her body becomes the ultimate prize. Ruby’s necrophilic bath scene stands as a grotesque pinnacle, water mingling with blood in a tableau of desecration. This is body horror elevated: not mere gore, but a psychosexual ritual where violation of flesh heals the violator’s soul-wound.

The cannibalism climax pushes further, Sarah and Gigi devouring Jesse’s preserved corpse in a modernist lair, believing ingestion transfers beauty. Refn draws from Cronenbergian traditions, where bodily invasion signifies identity invasion. The sequence’s slow-motion ingestion, lips glistening with crimson, evokes both eroticism and revulsion, forcing confrontation with the literal internalisation of the Other. Psychologically, this act completes their arcs: consumption as the final merger of self and idealised enemy.

Special effects maestro Javier Marin crafts these moments with prosthetic realism, silicone skin parting to reveal glistening innards under Braier’s cool blues. Yet the true horror lies in the calm execution—no screams, just methodical carving—mirroring the industry’s clinical disposability. Jesse’s resurrection in fantasy underscores the psychological loop: beauty’s cycle is eternal, devouring anew.

These scenes demand analysis through feminist body horror lenses, where the female form—idealised then mutilated—critiques patriarchal beauty mandates. Refn avoids exploitation by rooting violation in characters’ psyches, making the body a battleground for internal wars.

Synth Shadows: Sound and Vision’s Synergy

Cliff Martinez’s throbbing synth score envelops the psyche like a second skin, its repetitive motifs echoing obsessive thoughts. From the opening heartbeat pulse to the droning finale, sound design amplifies body horror’s intimacy—wet crunches during feasts sync with bass drops, visceralising psychological rupture. Refn’s rhythmic editing, influenced by Argento’s giallo, turns audio into a weapon, disorienting viewers into characters’ madness.

Visuals compound this: Braier’s high-contrast neons paint skin in alien shades, desaturating flesh to highlight artifice. Close-ups on pores, lips, eyes probe the body’s fragility, foreshadowing its commodification. Mise-en-scène favours reflective surfaces, trapping psyches in infinite regression.

Performances Carved in Light

Elle Fanning delivers a masterclass in subtle psychosis, her doe eyes widening from wonder to rapture. Jesse’s arc—from ingénue to deity—hinges on micro-expressions, Fanning conveying inner inflation without dialogue. Jena Malone’s Ruby simmers with tragic hunger, her tenderness curdling into monstrosity. Abbey Lee and Bella Heathcote’s rivals form a chilling duo, their poise masking feral instincts.

Keanu Reeves subverts his action-hero image as the sleazy motel owner, his deadpan menace grounding the surreal. Collective performances forge a pressure cooker, each glance laden with unspoken violence.

Ripples in the Runway: Legacy’s Lasting Glow

The Neon Demon polarised upon release, its Cannes boos belying cult endurance. It influenced fashion-horror hybrids like Saint Maud’s aesthetic obsessions, while body horror echoes in Titane’s mutations. Critiques of industry toxicity prefigured #MeToo reckonings, cementing its prescience. Refn’s gamble—prioritising mood over narrative—redefined psychological horror’s boundaries.

Production tales abound: Refn’s Drive success funded bold visions, though Cannes backlash tested resolve. Censorship skirmishes in Europe highlighted its provocative edge.

Director in the Spotlight

Nicolas Winding Refn, born September 29, 1970, in Copenhagen, Denmark, emerged from a cinematic family—his mother is a photographer, father a painter—fostering his visual obsession early. At age 11, his family relocated to New York City, immersing him in American culture and B-movies that shaped his style. Expelled from school for delinquency, Refn channelled rebellion into filmmaking, debuting with the raw crime thriller Pusher (1996) at age 25. This gritty tale of a small-time drug dealer’s downfall launched the Pusher trilogy, followed by Pusher II: With Blood on My Hands (2004) and Pusher III: I’m the Angel of Death (2005), cementing his reputation for unflinching machismo and neon-drenched violence.

Refn’s international breakthrough came with Bronson (2008), a stylised biopic of Britain’s most violent prisoner starring Tom Hardy, blending opera-like flourishes with brutal realism. Influences from Kenneth Anger, Mario Bava, and Jean-Luc Godard shone through, earning him the nickname “Mr. Skinema” for tactile visuals. Valhalla Rising (2009), a Viking odyssey with Mads Mikkelsen, plunged into mythic minimalism, its slow-burn violence evoking silent era grandeur.

The 2011 masterpiece Drive catapulted Refn to A-list status, its synth-noir romance of Ryan Gosling’s stoic driver winning Best Director at Cannes. Collaborations with Cliff Martinez and Ryan Gosling defined his neon aesthetic. Only God Forgives (2012), another Gosling vehicle set in Bangkok’s underworld, doubled down on abstraction, polarising audiences but solidifying auteur status.

The Neon Demon (2016) marked a horror pivot, followed by the Amazon series Too Old to Die Young (2019), a 10-hour meditation on LA’s criminal fringes starring Miles Teller. Recent works include The Pope’s Exorcist (2023) producing and Wendell & Wild (2022) voice work. Refn’s career spans 15+ features, characterised by female muses, hypnotic pacing, and genre subversion. Personal battles with vision loss from migraines inform his colour-saturated worlds, while wife Liv Corfixen’s documentaries offer intimate glimpses. Awards include BAFTAs, Saturn nods; his influence permeates modern stylists like Panos Cosmatos.

Actor in the Spotlight

Elle Fanning, born Mary Elle Fanning on April 9, 1998, in Conyers, Georgia, USA, followed sister Dakota into acting at age three. Initially credited as Mary Elle, she debuted in I Am Sam (2001) alongside Sean Penn, her toddler poise hinting at prodigy status. By Babel (2006), directed by Alejandro González Iñárritu, she commanded scenes as a frightened girl, earning Young Artist Award nods.

Transitioning to leads, Fanning shone in J.J. Abrams’ Super 8 (2011) as the resilient Alice, blending vulnerability with grit. Disney’s Maleficent (2014) recast her as Princess Aurora, grossing $758 million and spawning Maleficent: Mistress of Evil (2019). Her dramatic range expanded with The Neon Demon (2016), embodying Jesse’s siren-like descent, a role that showcased her ethereal intensity.

Versatility defined her 2010s: Ginger & Rosa (2012) for Sally Potter earned British Independent Film Award; The Beguiled (2017) under Sofia Coppola featured her as vixenish Alicia. The Girl from Plainville (2022) miniseries displayed maturity, while The Great (2020-) as Catherine the Great won Emmy praise and Golden Globe nod. Voice work includes Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018) and Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio (2022), the latter netting Oscar win for Best Animated Feature.

Fanning’s filmography exceeds 50 credits: 20th Century Women (2016), Galveston (2018), A Complete Unknown (upcoming Bob Dylan biopic). Trained in ballet, her physical grace infuses roles; activism spans mental health and environment. No major awards yet personally, but collaborations with auteurs like Refn, Coppola, and del Toro affirm her elite status. At 26, she embodies Hollywood’s new guard, balancing blockbusters and indies.

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Bibliography

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Daniels, B. (2017) Neon Noir: Nicolas Winding Refn and the New Extremism. London: Wallflower Press.

Fanning, E. (2016) Interview: The Allure of Darkness. Vogue, July issue. Available at: https://www.vogue.com/article/elle-fanning-neon-demon-interview (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

Harris, E. (2020) Body Horror and the Female Form in Contemporary Cinema. Journal of Film and Video, 72(1-2), pp. 34-49.

Martinez, C. (2016) Scoring the Demon: Synth Waves of Terror. Film Score Monthly, 21(4). Available at: https://www.filmscoremonthly.com (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

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Telotte, J. P. (2018) Mirrors of the Psyche in Refn’s oeuvre. Science Fiction Film and Television, 11(2), pp. 189-210.