Danish director Nicolas Winding Refn’s last film, DRIVE, has seen him reach a new height of critical popularity and audience appeal. With news of a second Ryan Gosling film currently in post-production, and an English language remake of the director’s first film PUSHER hitting cinemas soon, Winding Refn seems insistent on being heard as a distinct voice in cinema.

A common oversight of many abbreviated overviews of Tom Hardy’s career bounded around the internet is the seemingly harmless assertion that the actor first gained critical and public acclaim as a member of Christopher Nolan’s dream-tampering crew in the blockbuster behemoth INCEPTION. It is futile to argue that this film is eclipsed in box office statistics by anything Hardy had ever worked on before, but it is equally as futile to argue that he has ever demanded critical attention more than with his performance in the leading role of Nicolas Winding Refn’s most ambitious film: BRONSON. This breakout performance, filling the shoes of the infamous and enigmatic prisoner, was met with as much controversy and naysaying about its subject as it was with deserving praise of Hardy’s acting talent and Winding Refn’s auteur approach. Comparisons to Kubrick’s A CLOCKWORK ORANGE came thick and fast upon BRONSON’s release as if to neatly categorise the film. These comparisons, however, seem misleading; while the knife-edge balance between horror and humour is present in the form of the sometimes worryingly charismatic Bronson, there are few other similarities, and certainly not enough to call it a carbon-copy or even a homage. Films with the scope and originality of BRONSON are rare, and it was an indication of a filmmaker hitting his stride, discovering what unique worldview he could impart to the audience.

Films with the scope and originality of BRONSON are rare, and it was an indication of a filmmaker hitting his stride, discovering what unique worldview he could impart to the audience.

What made BRONSON markedly stand out, not just in the film community but also against Winding Refn’s own filmography, was the madcap filmic world it presented; eclectic cinematic patronage that could hardly call itself a typical genre of any sort, let alone a biopic. It was a bold departure from the director’s reputation for producing genre films with a difference – a reputation it is hard to disassociate from fellow director Quentin Tarantino. Reinvigoration of genre film is done with no more recognition of critics and university freshers’ living room walls alike than Tarantino, and attempting to best him in movie-going eyes is a bold gambit. It’s a battle Winding Refn is in even if he doesn’t want to be (although the many nods of BLEEDER towards RESERVOIR DOGS would suggest otherwise) purely by association; the signature take on portraying violence for effect; the voyeuristic perspective of misadventures in the crime underworld; the soundtracks compiled by a keen and attentive pop culture ear; the use of unpredictable sociopathic male characters; as many references to other films as there are frames. These are all surface aesthetics that the two directors’ oeuvres share as a rule of thumb. What sets Winding Refn apart, and what Tarantino lacks in some of his less engaging offerings, is an understanding of what how much an audience needs to know. To clarify, this is not in the post-Shyamalan, post-FIGHT CLUB sense of veiling a cheap thrill narrative ‘surprise’. Dialogue is withheld, letting introspective characters breathe and express a wealth of narrative constructed subjectively in silence by the audience. Time is dedicated to notably extended shots of characters, often in close up profile, studiously scrutinising them in order to eke out inner monologues and undisclosed backstories.

Dialogue is withheld, letting introspective characters breathe and express a wealth of narrative constructed subjectively in silence by the audience.

While it is a small disappointment, at least for me, to see a director return to indulging what he describes as his ‘fetish’ for genre-film after a more personal and distinctive piece of work like BRONSON, DRIVE is no step backwards and Winding Refn’s cinematic output is gaining quality with momentum. Such technique and care is to be expected of European cinema on low-risk, low-budget auteur film where Winding Refn has his roots, and indeed this is where he first exhibited his penchant for lengthy character-exploring shots. However, it takes a truly admirable director to overcome the odds in Hollywood and continue to be such an insightful and refreshing filmmaker using potentially risky techniques perfected through experience. Both DRIVE and VALHALLA RISING maintain this aesthetic to what must be a truly worrying extent for his investors.

Over the course of Winding Refn’s career thus far, the most studied character actors have doubtlessly been Kim Bodnia, Mads Mikkelsen and Zlatko Burić – the respective leading actors of the PUSHER trilogy. By watching these films in sequence, the evolution of Winding Refn as a filmmaker quickly becomes apparent, and the trilogy can proudly count itself among the unusual exceptions in the ever-widening sea of subpar film sequels. PUSHER is a more than commendable debut feature, albeit one that appears somewhat dated to the viewer of today, given the popularity gangland films enjoyed to the point of oversaturation since its release (particularly in British cinema, the films of Guy Richie immediately spring to mind). Having said this, the profoundly unglamourised depiction of the crime lifestyle is enough to warrant merit. The sequel (PUSHER II) runs with the potential depth of the previous instalment and explores the upbringing that sculpted a criminal by expanding on a peripheral character from PUSHER, Tonny. Lessening the reliance on the world of Copenhagen crime as a character in favour of exploring a character from the ground up ultimately makes the sequel a much more human drama with a more relatable character. With PUSHER III, even though there hasn’t been as much time between films for the director to hone his approach, there is evident growth and and even further emphasis on introspective exploration of a single character. A character who has appeared in each of the films prior to this as a cold and villainous individual is masterfully shown in a way that sees him dripping with pathos.

By watching [the PUSHER trilogy] in sequence, the evolution of Winding Refn as a filmmaker quickly becomes apparent, and the trilogy can proudly count itself among the unusual exceptions in the ever-widening sea of subpar film sequels.

In terms of the English language version of PUSHER having any credibility, it seems essential to take into account the growth of the director. It either needs the lingering eye that is pervasive in Winding Refn’s trilogy, or some sort of equivalent that demands characters explain their inner dialogue without verbalisation. It should not be a straight-up mimicry of PUSHER, but should show the developing interest in the motives of its central character has. The film will not come with the same inherent context of fresh air Refn’s original had in Danish cinema – it is far cry from being the first English language gangster film. It is hard to see where a sense of a remake being worthwhile is going to come from if it doesn’t show consideration for the more contemplative edge of the sequels and Refn himself.