Instead, there’s just more surface – layer upon layer of it, like the pages of a glossy magazine, each one lacquered to a blinding shine. Refn isn’t setting out to satirise the fashion industry so much as colonise it, then deploy its substantial visual arsenal to his own nefarious ends.

When Jesse arrives at her first professional shoot and the photographer ‘clears the set’ and asks her to undress – quadruply sinister, since we’re aware she’s just 16 years old - we brace for something sickening. But instead the photographer turns off the lights, brings out a pot of golden paint, and anoints Jesse with it before getting to work. She’s not exploited, she’s exalted.

Fanning gets all this exactly right, pushing Jesse’s terror down into her wriggling fingers when she realises she’s alone and helpless, before somehow transforming into something bigger and more glamorous than herself when the shoot goes very right.