Refn’s World: Where Style Meets the Surreal
Anyone who’s kept up with Nicolas Winding Refn over the past thirty years knows his work is something of an acquired taste. The Danish director’s style is unmistakable, ranging from straightforward crime thrillers like the Pusher trilogy and Drive, to genre-bending experiments that move at a glacial pace. (His 13-hour miniseries Too Old to Die Young, for instance, is incredible if you have the patience.)
For viewers wanting something that falls between Refn’s conventional side and his most experimental, his 2023 Netflix series Copenhagen Cowboy hits that sweet spot.
Meet Miu: Mystery at the Center
Refn returns to Denmark for the first time since the Pusher trilogy but now tells the story of Miu (Angela Bundalovic), an enigmatic loner in Copenhagen’s criminal underworld. Treated as a “lucky coin,” she is passed between various criminal organizations. Miu’s vaguely defined psychic abilities seem to bring good fortune to those around her—unless you end up on her bad side, in which case your luck disappears. Over six mesmerizing episodes, Miu finds herself in increasingly surreal situations: a brothel overseen by Albanian gangsters, a Chinese restaurant participating in organized crime, and a wealthy family rumored to have supernatural roots.
Another director might turn this into an action-heavy John Wick with a paranormal spin, but Refn is far more interested in creating an atmosphere than in high-paced action.
A Dream Logic Experience
Copenhagen Cowboy operates on “dream logic.” Expect cryptic conversations at a crawl, painstakingly slow 360-degree camera pans that pull you into every corner of the frame, and a synth-heavy score by Cliff Martinez that wouldn’t sound out of place in a nightclub. The result, paired with Refn’s neon-soaked neo-noir visuals, is like being trapped in a trance at 3 a.m.—with a sleep paralysis demon as your designer.
For some, these quirks can be too much. But for those who enjoy Refn at his most self-indulgent, it’s a rabbit hole worth descending. Miu, nearly as silent as Ryan Gosling’s character in Drive, is what Refn has described as a “female evolution” of his signature brooding protagonists: defined more by her impact on the world than by psychological depth. How did Miu get her powers? Is she human? Why does she resemble Agnes Varda? Don’t expect straightforward answers—plot and character development take a back seat in Refn’s universe.
Refn’s Style, Unfiltered
Copenhagen Cowboy is pure, undiluted Refn. The saturated colors, almost wordless performances, and hypnotic camerawork all mark the continuation of a style he has refined since Only God Forgives, his divisive follow-up to Drive. Reports around his latest film, Her Private Hell, suggested it would uphold these tendencies. Early word at the time indicated that Her Private Hell, which was set to premiere out of competition at Cannes, could have been Refn’s first slasher, built around the making of a Barbarella-like movie with a serial killer known as the Leather Man on the loose.
Since Drive, Refn has moved away from mainstream expectations, embracing his role as a cult auteur. Copenhagen Cowboy is where his most distinctive impulses come to life on television. The end product: one of Netflix’s strangest and most overlooked originals—a spellbinding supernatural crime saga that defies formula. The show requires patience, and a willingness to surrender to its ambiguous, trippy rhythm. But if you meet it halfway, Copenhagen Cowboy rewards you with a viewing experience that only Refn could conjure.
