After a lengthy hiatus from feature filmmaking, director Nicolas Winding Refn (Drive) returns with his latest feature, Her Private Hell. Starring genre favourite Sophie Thatcher (Companion) alongside Charles Melton (Beef) and Havana Rose Liu (Tuner), the film unfolds within a futuristic metropolis that bears the visual fingerprints of Refn’s previous work. When a mysterious mist engulfs the city and unleashes a deadly, elusive entity, a troubled young woman (Thatcher) searches for her father, whilst an American GI (Melton) embarks on his own harrowing odyssey to rescue his daughter from hell. All style and very little substance, Her Private Hell may be a striking visual experience, but almost everything beyond its aesthetics proves disappointingly lacklustre.
Visually, Her Private Hell is utterly stunning. Refn creates a futuristic metropolis that feels both unique and immersive, with the mysterious mist enveloping the city adding an eerie, almost dreamlike quality to its already otherworldly surroundings. Neon has long been a key part of the director’s visual language, and he once again embraces it wholeheartedly, filling the screen with vivid colors, flashing lights and trippy imagery that make even the simplest moments pop. That commitment to style extends beyond the sets, with the makeup and costuming taking an equally futuristic and artistic approach that gives each character a distinctive appearance. Pino Donaggio’s sweeping orchestral score complements the imagery beautifully, adding another layer of grandeur and strangeness to the world Refn has created. If Her Private Hell were judged purely on its look, atmosphere and overall vibe, Refn would have very little to worry about; unfortunately, there’s considerably less going on beneath all that visual flair.
Unfortunately, the biggest problem with Her Private Hell is its painstakingly slow pace. Running at almost two hours, every minute can be felt as the film drags along at a snail’s pace, with even basic conversations between characters unfolding at a strangely sombre speed. There are occasional flashes of excitement, from sporadic gory kills to glimpses of Thatcher’s troubled relationship with her father and the young stepmother who is barely any older than she is, but the film rarely gives these more intriguing elements the attention they deserve. Instead, potentially entertaining plot developments are rushed through whilst the slower material is allowed to linger, creating an increasingly frustrating imbalance. By the time something interesting finally happens, the painstaking journey to get there has already drained much of the intrigue, leaving a confusing and unfortunately rather boring story buried beneath all the stylish presentation.
The cast is another area where Her Private Hell has considerably more potential than its screenplay allows. Sophie Thatcher has quickly established herself as a genre favorite, Havana Rose Liu has delivered likeable turns in a string of strong films, while Charles Melton has spent the past few years demonstrating an impressive range and commitment. The problem isn’t the talent on screen; it’s what they’re actually given to work with. Outside of perhaps one or two scenes, none of the three are afforded much opportunity to sink their teeth into their characters, instead spending much of the runtime skulking through the mist, slowly delivering dull dialogue and looking as though they would rather be anywhere else. To be fair, that detached quality is clearly part of what Refn is aiming for, and the actors oddly suit the film’s somber, dreamlike tone. Unfortunately, deliberately subdued performances don’t necessarily make for an engaging watch, particularly when the material beneath them is already so thin. Thatcher, Liu and Melton are all capable of considerably more than Her Private Hell allows them to show.
Her Private Hell is a frustrating return for Nicolas Winding Refn, pairing a striking futuristic world with a story that struggles to justify its runtime. There’s no denying the craft behind its neon-soaked imagery, eerie atmosphere and ambitious production design, but none of that can compensate for a painfully sluggish pace, thin storytelling and a talented cast given frustratingly little to work with. Thatcher, Melton and Liu all deserve considerably better material, while Refn’s commitment to his distinctive aesthetic ultimately proves more interesting than the film itself. Stylish to a fault but desperately lacking in substance, Her Private Hell is a disappointing comeback that looks considerably better than it plays.
