The Empty Glamour of 'Her Private Hell': A Reflection on Style Over Substance
There’s something almost hypnotic about Nicolas Winding Refn’s latest film, Her Private Hell. It’s the kind of movie that feels like it was designed to be experienced rather than understood, a neon-drenched fever dream that lingers in your mind long after the credits roll. But here’s the catch: it’s also deeply frustrating. Personally, I think Refn has always walked a fine line between genius and self-indulgence, and with this film, he’s tipped dangerously into the latter. What makes this particularly fascinating is how Her Private Hell manages to be both visually stunning and utterly hollow, leaving viewers with little more than a series of stylish images and a lingering sense of 'What was the point?'
A Plot That’s Barely There
Let’s start with the story—or rather, the lack thereof. Set in a mist-covered future, the film follows a young actress, Elle (Sophie Thatcher), who’s pulled into a bizarre sci-fi production by her enigmatic father (Dougray Scott). Along the way, we’re introduced to a web of characters, including a former lover-turned-stepmother (Havana Rose Liu), a vacuous hanger-on (Kristine Froseth), and a soldier (Charles Melton) hunting a serial killer known as the Leather Man. On paper, it sounds intriguing. In execution, it’s a mess.
What many people don’t realize is that Refn seems to have abandoned any pretense of narrative coherence here. The plot feels secondary to the film’s aesthetic, which is a shame because there are glimpses of something compelling buried beneath the surface. The relationship between Elle and her stepmother, for instance, could have been a rich exploration of jealousy and desire, but it’s reduced to a series of stylized poses and cryptic dialogue. If you take a step back and think about it, this isn’t just a failure of storytelling—it’s a missed opportunity to say something meaningful about human connection in a disconnected world.
Style as Substance
One thing that immediately stands out is Refn’s visual prowess. The film is undeniably beautiful, with its neon-lit streets, surreal set pieces, and a score by Pino Donaggio that does most of the heavy lifting. But here’s the problem: style without substance is just decoration. Her Private Hell feels like a pastiche of influences—think Blade Runner meets Suspiria with a dash of early Brian De Palma—but it never coalesces into something original.
From my perspective, this is where Refn’s approach becomes problematic. He’s so focused on creating a mood, a vibe, that he forgets to give the audience anything to latch onto. The characters are more like mannequins than people, their motivations vague and their arcs nonexistent. Even the action sequences, which should be thrilling, feel perfunctory, as if they were included solely to break up the monotony. This raises a deeper question: Is cinema just about creating pretty pictures, or does it need to engage us on a deeper level?
The Stoner Classic Argument
Now, I’ve heard the argument that Her Private Hell is best enjoyed in an altered state of mind. And honestly? I can see the appeal. The film’s dreamlike quality, its emphasis on atmosphere over narrative, could make it a perfect stoner flick. In my twenties, I might have embraced it as a late-night, mind-bending experience. But as someone who’s grown to value storytelling and character development, I find it hard to get behind that idea.
What this really suggests is that Refn is catering to a very specific audience—one that’s willing to prioritize aesthetics over everything else. And while there’s nothing wrong with that, it limits the film’s appeal. Cinema, at its best, should be inclusive, inviting viewers from all walks of life to engage with it. Her Private Hell, on the other hand, feels exclusionary, like a private club where only the most devoted fans are welcome.
The Broader Implications
This film isn’t just a one-off experiment; it’s part of a larger trend in modern cinema. As streaming platforms dominate the industry, filmmakers like Refn are increasingly free to indulge their most esoteric impulses. And while that can lead to bold, innovative work, it can also result in self-indulgent messes like Her Private Hell.
A detail that I find especially interesting is how this film reflects our cultural moment. In an age of endless scrolling and short attention spans, maybe we’ve become so accustomed to visual stimulation that we no longer demand substance. Refn seems to be betting on that, delivering a film that’s all surface and no depth. But I can’t help but wonder: Is this the future of cinema? If so, it’s a future I’m not entirely comfortable with.
Final Thoughts
Her Private Hell is a film that will divide audiences. For some, it will be a mesmerizing experience, a visual feast that transcends traditional storytelling. For others, like me, it will be a frustrating exercise in style over substance. Personally, I think Refn is a talented filmmaker, but this feels like a misstep—a film that’s more interested in looking cool than saying anything meaningful.
If you’re a die-hard Refn fan, you might find something to love here. But if you’re looking for a film that engages your mind as well as your eyes, you’re better off looking elsewhere. In the end, Her Private Hell is a beautiful bore—a reminder that even the most stunning visuals can’t mask a lack of soul.
