Walk into any room full of cinephiles and mention the only god forgives movie, and you’ll basically see a fistfight break out. It’s been years since Nicolas Winding Refn released this neon-soaked nightmare in Bangkok, and honestly, the dust hasn't settled one bit. Some people think it's a masterpiece of silent storytelling. Others? They think it’s a pretentious, slow-motion disaster that tried way too hard to be Drive and failed miserably.
But here is the thing. It was never trying to be Drive.
If you went into the theater in 2013 expecting Ryan Gosling to be a cool, getaway-driving hero again, you probably felt cheated. Instead of a leather jacket and a cool soundtrack, we got Julian—a broken, impotent drug smuggler who spends most of the movie getting his face kicked in. It’s brutal. It’s gorgeous. It’s weirdly obsessed with hands. And even now, people are still trying to figure out what the hell it all meant.
The Most Misunderstood Protagonist in Recent Memory
Let’s talk about Julian. Ryan Gosling has maybe twenty lines of dialogue in the entire film. It’s a bold choice, especially when you have one of the biggest stars in the world at your disposal. Most critics at the time complained that he was "wooden" or "boring."
They missed the point entirely.
Julian isn't a hero. He’s a guy trapped in a Freudian nightmare. His mother, Crystal—played with terrifying, scenery-chewing energy by Kristin Scott Thomas—is the real villain here. She’s Lady Macbeth if she ran a drug empire in Thailand. She belittles Julian, compares him unfavorably to his dead brother, and basically demands he avenge a sibling who was, frankly, a monster.
You’ve probably noticed the way Refn films Julian’s hands. He’s always looking at them, clenching them, or hiding them. It’s a visual shorthand for his inability to act. He’s paralyzed by guilt and his mother’s influence. When he finally does try to fight, he gets absolutely destroyed by Chang, the "Angel of Vengeance."
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Meet Chang: The God Who Doesn't Forgive
If Julian is the protagonist, Chang is the literal force of nature he’s up against. Vithaya Pansringarm plays this character with a terrifying stillness. He’s a police lieutenant who doubles as a judge, jury, and executioner.
The only god forgives movie centers its entire moral universe around this man.
He doesn't use a gun. He uses a sword that he pulls from thin air (or at least, from behind his back in a way that feels supernatural). When he’s not dismembering criminals, he’s at a karaoke bar singing sentimental Thai ballads. It’s surreal. It’s also incredibly purposeful. Chang represents a divine, unshakeable justice. He isn't "good" in a traditional sense, but he is consistent. He is the "God" the title refers to, and as the movie shows us, his brand of forgiveness is usually delivered through a blade.
Why the Visuals Matter More Than the Plot
If you try to follow the plot of this movie like a standard thriller, you’re going to get a headache. The narrative is thin. It’s basically: Brother dies, Mom wants revenge, Son fails, God wins.
The real story is told through the color palette.
Cinematographer Larry Smith, who also worked with Refn on Bronson, saturated the screen with deep reds and sickly yellows. Red isn't just a stylistic choice here; it represents the womb, the blood of the family, and the hell Julian is living in. The movie feels like a dream—or a fever dream—because it’s meant to be experienced emotionally rather than logically.
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Think about the lighting in the hallways. It’s impossible. No building is lit like that. The long, tracking shots through the corridors of the Thai boxing club or the brothels aren't just for show. They create a sense of inevitable doom. You’re walking down a path you can't turn back from.
The Controversy at Cannes and Beyond
When the film premiered at the Cannes Film Festival, the reaction was legendary. It was booed. Loudly.
But it also received a standing ovation from a different part of the crowd.
That’s the legacy of the only god forgives movie. It sits in that uncomfortable space between high art and exploitation cinema. It’s incredibly violent—the scene with the needles is still hard to watch even for seasoned horror fans—but it’s filmed with the grace of an opera.
Critics like Peter Bradshaw of The Guardian gave it five stars, calling it "pure, nihilistic, and terrifying." Meanwhile, others called it the worst film of the year. This divide usually happens when a director refuses to give the audience what they want. Refn knew people wanted Drive 2. He gave them a slow-motion descent into a Thai hellscape instead. That takes guts.
Breaking Down the Symbolic Ending
The ending is where most people check out, but it's actually the most "honest" part of the script. Julian offers his hands to Chang.
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Why?
Throughout the film, Julian’s hands represent his sin and his connection to his mother’s criminal world. By letting Chang take them (metaphorically or literally, depending on how you read the final frames), Julian is seeking a weird kind of redemption. He’s admitting he can't win. He’s submitting to the "God" of the story.
It’s a bleak ending. But in Refn’s world, it’s the only way Julian could ever find peace. He had to be stripped of his ability to do harm.
How to Watch It Today
If you’re going to watch it for the first time, or maybe give it a second chance, you need to change your mindset.
- Turn off your phone. This isn't a "background noise" movie. If you miss the visual cues, the whole thing falls apart.
- Forget Drive. Seriously. If you’re looking for the "Driver," he isn't here. Julian is a completely different creature.
- Watch the background. A lot of the story is happening in the shadows and the statues. Pay attention to the way Chang is framed compared to the other characters.
- Listen to the score. Cliff Martinez’s music is doing about 70% of the emotional heavy lifting. It’s synth-heavy, haunting, and beautiful.
The only god forgives movie isn't interested in being liked. It’s interested in being felt. It’s a polarizing, stubborn, and visually stunning piece of work that reminds us that cinema doesn't always have to be "fun" to be valuable. Sometimes, it just needs to leave a scar.
To truly appreciate the film's place in modern cinema, compare it to Refn's later work like The Neon Demon or Too Old to Die Young. You'll see a clear evolution of a director who is more interested in the "vibe" and the internal psychology of his characters than in a traditional three-act structure. Whether that’s a good thing is up to you, but you can't deny it's unique.
The next time you're scrolling through a streaming service and see that red-tinted poster of Ryan Gosling's bruised face, remember that you aren't clicking on an action movie. You’re clicking on a 90-minute experimental art piece about guilt, mothers, and a singing cop with a sword. Brace yourself.