If you’re looking for a hagiography, the last person to ask is a spouse.
Liv Corfixen’s slim but interesting documentary details husband Nicolas Winding Refn’s stress and self-doubt as he mounts his first film since his breakthrough Drive. As shooting nears, the family (including two young daughters) moves on location to Bangkok to prep for Only God Forgives.
Corfixen’s camera trails Refn as he second-guesses his script (you can almost hear a nation of critics nag “told ya so”), worries over the impossibly high expectations set by Drive, and scrambles to find more money. (Star Ryan Gosling cheerfully agrees to be pimped out for a public appearance that nets a pretty penny swiftly injected into the budget.) Corfixen coaxes one plainspoken moment after another from her husband, capturing him at his most peevish and creatively stumped, although Refn has his limits. (After a challenging day on set, Corfixen protests, “You won’t let me film whenever there’s a crisis.”)
Curiously, the Fantastic Fest program book description, while not inaccurate, skates over what makes My Life Directed By… so fascinating – the title’s first person, and the subtle accusation in the title’s wording. Mostly manning the camera herself, Corfixen isn’t on screen all that much, but her presence is certainly felt, along with her exasperation and her exhaustion. At film’s beginning, the director Alejandro Jodorowsky reads Refn’s tarot cards (which plays just as kooky and charming as it sounds). When the “Helper” card is revealed, it’s universally accepted that the card represents Corfixen. Her camera doesn’t flinch, but you’d forgive her if her jaw clenched – who wants to be reduced to helpmeet in someone else’s life? Later, Corfixen plainly voices her frustrations to Refn – that only one person in their (clearly loving) partnership is allowed a creatively rich life.
Running only 60 minutes and unmistakably DIY, what distinguishes My Life Directed By… from a generic, behind-the-scenes supplemental isn’t its unique access to its subject, because Refn ultimately isn’t the subject; the marriage is.
The film is short enough that its anecdotal quality could be forgiven as informal rather than unformed. Still, My Life Directed By… peters out inconclusively. (When the final shot clumsily finds then holds on a framed photo of their eldest daughter, I wondered if Corfixen meant this to communicate that she’s made her choices and is content with them?) Then again, that My Life Directed By… stops well short of catharsis feels true enough. Sometimes you go to bed in the middle of an argument. That doesn’t mean there won’t still be a marriage there when you wake up in the morning.
This article appears in September 19 • 2014.
