“Her Private Hell” Begs for a Sense of Direction
Her Private Hell marks Nicolas Winding Refn’s return to the big screen for the first time in ten years. In the decade since The Neon Demon, a lot has changed in the filmmaking landscape and the world at large, but it’s not like Refn has been sitting around doing nothing. He created two limited series, one for Prime Video and another for Netflix. It’s safe to say that Refn is a divisive filmmaker, and he, perhaps, makes a joke of that reputation in Her Private Hell. Even so, the movie tests the limits of what his supporters and detractors can endure.
Like some of Refn’s other offerings, Her Private Hell is not a film defined by its plot. The story strands are thin enough that they may as well be translucent. The most basic scaffolding of the story centers on Elle (Sophie Thatcher), a famous actor. She has returned home under the impression that she’s to star in a new movie with her father (Dougray Scott). In this unnamed Blade Runner-esque city she’s come to, a fog has descended and brought with it a violent entity that wears diamond-studded leather gloves. Elle’s story of father/daughter strife is mirrored with that of an American GI (Charles Melton) who is searching Hell for his missing daughter.
Elle, referring to the film within Her Private Hell, says that “this movie’s gonna be hell.” Many viewers would likely describe their Her Private Hell viewing experience as such. Plenty of walkouts were noted during its Cannes premiere. The movie is a mess in its story and its pacing. There’s a longstanding joke in the film circles of social media that Refn makes feature-length perfume commercials, and there’s some truth to that jab. He often values style over substance, and it's no surprise that the film that broke him into the mainstream, Drive, is his most narratively cohesive.
Courtesy of Neon
There are singular shots in Her Private Hell that will stick with the viewer. Melton has a face built for the big screen and the acting prowess to make good use of his time there. The ever-present sheen of sweat shines under the pink and blue lights that flash across his skin. Refn has constructed a neon noir giallo, and in the moments when all these forces come together, Her Private Hell is mesmerizing. The issue is that those moments are scarce and far between, asking the audience for more patience than the story deserves. There are building blocks of something captivating here, but nothing comes together. There are ideas of depth – some rickety contemplation about American soldiers in foreign countries, parental loss, and the film industry – but Refn never ties any of these themes together.
Her Private Hell is a tough film to watch. Even the most ponderous of slow-burn films often rewards the viewer when the time comes. If an audience member is looking to be rewarded in the form of free-flowing bloodshed, Her Private Hell has them covered. If someone wants more, something that makes sense of the disconnected imagery of the past two hours, Her Private Hell can’t offer it. That’s frustrating, no doubt, but there is something hopeful about a surreal film like this being available at your local AMC, playing in a theater next to some kids watching Minions vs. Monsters. If nothing else, Her Private Hell gives the gift of big screens still taking a chance on something weird.
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