Only God Forgives demands a lot of its audience -- patience, attention, acceptance -- but never seems to return anything for such obedience. It doesn’t reward with emotion, mystery, action, or fun. This unilateral relationship ultimately sinks this eerily lifeless waif of a film. It’s almost unfair to expect director Nicholas Winding Refn to duplicate the lurid, seductive world from Drive. And perhaps I should be faulted for expecting as much. But something is strangely askew in this film, feeling both underbaked and overcooked. As David Edelstein so subtly stated, “I thought [Only God Forgives] was just about the worst fucking thing I’ve ever seen. In fact, I was depressed it wasn’t laughed off the screen.” This movie isn’t necessarily the worst fucking thing I’ve ever seen (have you seen The Room? Come on!). However, I can understand why he would say such a thing, and almost defend his strongly worded sentiment. Forgives is something of an enigma -- it’s detached, elliptical, and oddly abstract. Refn attempts to create a world in which sin and violence permeate all shadowy crevices, a world in which the omnipresent red neon glow of Bangkok only further mimics the irrefutable fires of hell. But as great as Refn’s intentions may have been, the film simply doesn't come across as accessible. Part of this stoicism is surely Julian’s lack of dialogue -- he probably has 10 lines in the entirety of the film. What we’re left with instead are vacant stares and impenetrable gazes, blotches of perplexingly bland storytelling that begs for something, anything, to invigorate it. Julian’s Lady Macbeth-esque mother, Crystal, comes close to entertaining, but her devilish callousness is a one-trick pony. She threatens and coaxes and lies but never truly frightens. It’s a pity to waste a talent like Kristin Scott Thomas on such an underwhelming role. But beyond its impersonal violence and strangely detached mood, Only God Forgives is simply, utterly, completely boring. It’s lifeless. It has no verve, no bounce in its step, no blood in its veins. Perhaps Refn was indeed aiming for a cold, steely examination of a son with mommy issues. Maybe he wanted to weave a hypnotic trance dream set against the slums of Thailand. But really, this film is just a hodge podge of images -- some of which are indeed irrefutably memorable -- but whose overall lack of purpose or fun can’t even merit thought, let alone criticism.
