Copenhagen Cowboy

Miu’s supernatural origin story really only solidifies in the final episode, by which time some viewers will have lost patience with the narrative’s glacial tread and aura of self-love. If you stick with it, consenting to be mesmerised if also baffled, be warned that Copenhagen Cowboy is like many other supernatural odysseys which get lost in their own maze.

Refn’s active disdain for the rhythms of serial television comes across in the loose string of actions that could be liberally defined as a plot, engrossing on paper and near-interminable in practice.

Refn spreads out his sensory overload, giving all the brooding and brashness ample space to breathe. It can be repetitive, yes, but never monotonous. ... But, at the end of the day, this is NWR for NWR-heads.

Not only does Refn’s new Netflix series check all the auteur’s signature boxes — searing neon light, near-silent protagonist, synth-heavy Cliff Martinez score — while revisiting plots, scenes, and even shots from his feature films (“Only God Forgives” and “The Neon Demon” feel particularly consequential), but it’s so slow to develop, so obtuse, and so open-ended, the first season doesn’t feel like a season at all; it feels like a pilot.

Miu feels very much an extension of NWR’s plagued hero, with the director himself labeling her a “female evolution” of his until then very male archetype. And if one is ever so inclined to indulge the filmmaker’s predilection for the self-congratulatory, then “Copenhagen Cowboy” will work a treat. If the opposite is true, then buckle up, as this is about to be one wild yet extremely unpleasant ride.