Her Private Hell

You'd never – truly, not ever – guess that Her Private Hell was crafted by the same director who once made the cultishly revered Pusher or Drive. But it definitely comes from the guy who gave us polarising follow-ups Only God Forgives and The Neon Demon. Chances are, unless you're a Nicolas Winding Refn completist you've never even heard of those. But the threads are similar: a stubborn focus on style over substance, and a conviction that any personal obsession deserves its time onscreen.

This is one of those movies so dependent on vibes that the plot itself feels like an afterthought. But here's the idea: Young actress Elle (Yellowjackets' Sophie Thatcher) is living in an eerie hotel suite with her weirdo father Johnny (Dougray Scott), until he abandons her the night before she starts filming a new movie. Then she’s stuck there with her co-stars, the empty-headed Hunter (Kristine Froseth) and the wiser Dominique (standout Havana Rose Liu) – who also happens to be both her girlfriend and her stepmother.  

Before he goes, Johnny tells them a ghost story about Leather Man, an enigmatic villain who wears diamonds on his gloves and hunts pretty girls until he can tear their hearts out. Why? Why not? Anyway, one of his victims was the daughter of a young GI (May December’s Charles Melton) many decades ago, and now he's hunting Leather Man through time. Also, Leather Man arrives with the mist, and there’s been an awful lot of mist building around Elle’s hotel lately.

It’s so dependent on vibes, the plot feels like an afterthought

Or something. Trust me, this makes no more sense to watch than to read about. And we haven't even gotten to the movie Elle and her roommates are making, which features neither crew nor concept, and looks like an Austin Powers fever dream. As, come to think of it, does this entire project, in which Winding Refn moves his cast around like toys, requiring them to deliver each lifeless line reading with thudding monotony. 

He's called the movie ‘the future of cinema’. In fact, Her Private Hell consistently looks backwards. Back to the opacity of David Lynch, the erotic violence of Italian giallo horror, and – especially – the solemn inanity of ’60s exploitation films like Barbarella.

Fans can, of course, find copious reasons to embrace any of the above. In contrast, this indulgent provocation is so empty, there are no layers to explore. The fervently operatic score and cheap-looking design suggest a level of camp that might have been amusing had the rest of the movie followed suit. But there are precious few indications that anyone is meant to be having fun. Instead, Winding Refn seems to believe that he's sharing a meaningful vision, though what that might actually be is anyone’s guess.

What he is right about is the fact that horror is being rewritten right now, with generational shifts like Backrooms and urgent cris de coeur like Leviticus (whose vulnerable sincerity puts this movie's cynical posturing to shame). There is not much future at all, one hopes, in movies so passionately determined to disregard both characters and audience alike.

In US theaters Fri Jul 24. In UK and Ireland cinemas Sep 25.