Nicolas Winding Refn is a vibrant filmmaker who, at his best (Bronson), uses his flamboyant style to brilliantly complement his narrative and, at his worst (Only God Forgives), is hindered by his slavish devotion to formalism which eclipses anything of substance. But all of his films have a common thread: they’re fixated on the most primal urges of masculinity. My assumption of Refn, the man–a chest-puffed, TAPOUT shirt-wearing macho man’s man–is entirely influenced by his work as a director. The new documentary My Life Directed By Nicolas Winding Refn, directed by Refn’s wife Liv Corfixen, shows that the director is not at all like the emotionally-stunted brutes he puts forth in his films. His celluloid masculine ideals are not reflections of himself, but are the hyper-masculinized fantasies of a sensitive man.