Her Private Hell marks 10 years since Nicolas Winding Refn has made a feature film. With the exception of a couple of television side quests in the Prime Video miniseries Too Old To Die Young and Netflix’s Copenhagen Cowboy, as well as the use of his likeness in Hideo Kojima’s Death Stranding video games, 2016’s The Neon Demon marked the last true showing for the polarizing auteur.> With the backing of independent film powerhouse NEON, Refn finally makes the return to the silver screen. The resulting film, Her Private Hell, shows that Nicolas Winding Refn hasn’t let time dull his idiosyncratic artistry one bit.
You’re not going to see another film like Her Private Hell this year, the next, or perhaps until Refn makes another, if even then. Packed with surreal, stylish imagery, a befuddling screenplay, and characters that feel like they dropped in from another planet, here we have a film so uninterested in playing by the rules of conventional cinema that it’ll send a good chunk of audiences running for the exits.
Yet, that’s not a bad thing. For those willing to meet Refn’s esoteric dark fairy tale on its own terms, Her Private Hell is an overwhelmingly beautiful experience that is peerless in its ability to curate a vibe. Ask anyone to explain the plot of Her Private Hell, and they’ll laugh in your face. Here’s what I managed to gather, at least: In a neo-futuristic city, a mysterious fog threatens to swallow the city whole.
Actress Elle (Sophie Thatcher) is forced to work on a film with her former best friend turned mother-in-law Dominique (Havana Rose Liu), along with the ditzy ingénue Hunter (Kristine Froseth). All the while, the mythical threat of a man-turned-creature known simply as The Leather Man, a man who lost his daughter and thus kills young women who remind him of her, is said to come with the encroaching fog. Meanwhile, military man Private K (Charles Melton) searches the fog for his own daughter.
Even in that messy attempt to relay the plot, it likely comes across more streamlined than it feels in execution. Nicolas Winding Refn and co-screenwriter Esti Giordani refuse to play by conventional rules of screenwriting. This leads to a first 40 minutes that will absolutely weed out who will be along for the ride and who won’t.
Her Private Hell is consistently beyond visually impressive.
Sophie Thatcher and Havana Rose Liu give dead stares and deliver lines that may as well be non-sequiturs while Kristine Froseth has the time of her life. At one point, Havana Rose Liu starts barking like a dog, and we spend what feels like an eternity watching a scene from the in-universe film the characters are making play out.
This is real patience-testing stuff for those who require a grounded narrative. Admittedly, I was amused but skeptical of the severe avant-garde approach Refn and co. were taking here, with few constants to cling onto other than Elle having father issues and the looming threat of The Leather Man. Well, there’s one other constant: Her Private Hell is consistently beyond visually impressive.
Skyscrapers adorned in pink neon, the persistent fog, the opulent glow and decorations of the suite where Elle and her fellow actresses stay; cinematographer Magnus Nordenhof Jønck is constantly conjuring the most sumptuous images put to screen in 2026.
Top-to-bottom, in production design, costuming, and an opera meets noir meets giallo and then fairy tale (hardly the last time you’ll be hearing that comparison) score from Pino Donaggio, there is nothing audiovisually this year that will beat out Her Private Hell. The image of a man/monster clad in leather with diamond-encrusted gloves exploding his victim in a window, reflecting the fog and neon of the city below, earns that distinction.
Her Private Hell uses the cinematic language of genre, the surreal, and the avant-garde in unique ways.
With the introduction of Private K, the narrative begins to catch up to the aesthetics. Charles Melton (May December) effortlessly slots into the “quiet, dutiful man capable of extreme violence” role that Ryan Gosling and Mads Mikkelsen often occupy in Refn’s work. Bathed in saturated hues of blue and red, this propulsive arc of a father willing to do anything to get back to his daughter feels like coming home to the now iconic energy and filmmaking of Drive and Only God Forgives, with a taste of Hong Kong cinema-style action that made me grin from ear to ear.
Now that Private K is in the mix, Her Private Hell starts to parallel this storyline with that of Elle’s. That’s where things really begin to open up for the film. For those looking for wild, provocative moments indicative of Refn’s body of work, fear not. Sophie Thatcher and Havana Rose Liu get to really cut their teeth on some high camp material as their dynamic gains, or perhaps reveals, a new psychosexual dimension. Thatcher in particular shows a new side of herself, going full The Shining Jack Nicholson in a third-act sequence that feels like a shot of adrenaline.
Of course, more bloodletting happens as The Leather Man continues his very giallo meets Hideo Kojima antagonist rampage. A visit to a nightclub run by Babylon’s Diego Calva in a short but memorable turn takes the proceedings to sleazy, very aesthetically new depths, whereas the screenplay’s constant use of the word “daddy” seems to be there simply to make audiences squirm in their seats. The stilted, almost sterile beginning reveals itself merely as a foundation for Refn’s classic provocation.
Yet, as it nears a conclusion, the true intent and form of Her Private Hell reveals itself. The repeated symbol of leather becomes important as it becomes clear that Refn is telling a story of how we’re all one step away from giving in to our own anger and becoming another Leather Man.
He’s pleading for fathers to protect their daughters; more broadly, that we must protect each other, a message I think few would object to. What Her Private Hell is using the cinematic language of genre, the surreal, and the avant-garde to relay a simple, potent message, almost like, well, a fairy tale.
You may not “get” Her Private Hell, but open yourself up and you just may feel it.
Or, perhaps, that isn’t the intent at all. Does it change how I feel about Her Private Hell? No. By the end of the indulgent, strange, and audiovisually immaculate journey that Nicolas Winding Refn has crafted for us, I felt the totality of the experience. Whereas any individual moment plucked out from the movie could raise an eyebrow or harbor a scoff, as the sum of its parts it feels immense. Few films feel this transportive. The places we visit may not be pleasant. Nevertheless, I can’t for the life of me stop thinking about them.
At my screening of the film, I was treated to a Q&A at Houston’s historic River Oaks Theater. During the Q&A, Nicolas Winding Refn discussed that he came to a point where he had done everything he wanted to do in his career. Then, due to an unforeseen heart condition, he medically died for around 25 minutes before being brought back to life. After he awoke, he felt a new creative vigor, having tons of new ideas.
Instead of simply doing one idea, he decided to combine them together, having multiple genres, tones, and characters flow from one to the next as if like a social media “scroll”, as Refn described it. That feeling transfers into Her Private Hell. Whether or not one ultimately connects with the film, the feeling of pure creativity, of throwing the entirety of one’s entire self at a project, just radiates off the project. There may be better films in 2026, but few will come from such a pure artistic place. You may not “get” Her Private Hell, but open yourself up and you just may feel it.
Her Private Hell is in theaters July 25.
Her Private Hell
8/10
TL;DR
You may not “get” Her Private Hell, but open yourself up and you just may feel it.