Her Private Hell (dir. Nicolas Winding Refn)

by Jack Martin | Sep 24, 2026

Certificate: 18

Running Time: 110 mins

UK Distributor: MUBI

UK Release Date: 25 September 2026

WHO’S IN HER PRIVATE HELL?

Sophie Thatcher, Charles Melton, Havana Rose Liu, Kristine Froseth, Shioli Kutsuna, Aoi Yamada, Dougray Scott, Diego Calva, Hidetoshi Nishijima, Parker Sawyers

WHO’S BEHIND THE CAMERA?

Nicolas Winding Refn (director, writer, producer), Esti Giordani (writer), Pino Donaggio (composer), Magnus Nordenhof Jønck (cinematographer), Matthew Newman (editor)

WHAT’S IT ABOUT?

In a futuristic city engulfed by mist, an actor (Thatcher) and a soldier (Melton) search for their loved ones…

WHAT ARE MY THOUGHTS ON HER PRIVATE HELL?

Three years ago, we almost lost Nicolas Winding Refn. The Danish auteur has spoken very candidly about how, after being diagnosed with a leaking heart valve (which causes the blood to flow backwards and fill up the lungs), an operation left him clinically dead for almost half an hour before being miraculously revived. If it weren’t for divine intervention in that moment, we probably would have woken up one morning in 2023 to the deeply upsetting news that the filmmaker behind Drive, The Neon Demon, Bronson, Only God Forgives, the Pusher trilogy and numerous other neon-drenched outings was sadly no longer with us. Of course, such a thing didn’t come to pass, and now Refn has regained his energy enough to make his first feature in ten years with Her Private Hell, a film that is the most Refn movie to ever Refn (take that however you will).

Regardless of one’s thoughts on the actual movie, it’s great to see a filmmaker like him regain his creative mojo in such a fashion, especially after a genuine health scare that could have robbed such a unique visionary talent from us. All of that said, Her Private Hell is a terrible movie. Like, holy crap, this movie is awful. Lethargic, confusing, and worst of all boring as sin, it is the kind of film that you’re constantly wanting to get on board with but keeps pushing you further and further away with creative and directorial choices that range from baffling to just plain alien.

Set in an unnamed city that’s become almost entirely engulfed in mist, we primarily follow Elle (Sophie Thatcher), an actor and the daughter of influential filmmaker Johnny Thunders (Dougray Scott) who’s recently gotten hitched to Elle’s best friend Dominique (Havana Rose Liu), making the young woman her new stepmother. Elle’s biggest concern is that her father has suddenly left her alone to work out her issues with Dominique, as well as deal with her vapid new co-star and influencer Hunter (Kristine Froseth), but not before he tells them about a mythical being known as “the Leatherman” who shows up every now and then to murder people by ripping their chests open with his diamond-encrusted gloves. The myth, along with her unresolved daddy issues, soon leads Elle to learn about another lost soul: Private K (Charles Melton), an American G.I. stationed in Japan who’s desperately searching for his missing daughter, said to have been abducted by the Leatherman and taken to his hellish realm.

All of that, at least on paper, sounds like it’d be one hell of a bonkers ride. Throw in a sequence set on a spaceship with Star Trek-adjacent uniforms and production values, as well as one or two physical showdowns with members of the yakuza, and you would seemingly have a recipe for a campy cult classic. Unfortunately, Refn’s execution of his and Esti Giordani’s script makes the whole thing interminably dull, with a pace that can only be described as too slow for even an asthmatic ant carrying some heavy shopping, and performances by good actors that seem intentionally wooden. I guarantee that the only reason this movie is approaching a two-hour length – and not 80 or so minutes, which is more than suitable for a narrative where very little actually happens – is because every single actor appears to have been instructed to draw out their dialogue for as long as possible, which makes the film feel so much more intolerable because they’re taking way too much time saying practically nothing.

There is never a point in this movie where you care about any of these characters, or the neo-noirish world they live in, because they all feel so empty beyond just the stilted performances. Refn and Giordani’s script keeps an arm’s distance away from anything resembling a human emotion, saddling characters with long and meaningless dialogue that is difficult to make heads or tails of, while also giving them nary a hint of personality outside of being vessels for Refn’s odd fetish for pseudo-philosophical musings amidst some admittedly pretty neon-lit backdrops. The overall plot and its deeper messages are hard to ascertain since, again, nothing really happens for much of the movie outside of the exceptionally unengaging life that Thatcher’s Elle leads, and the few instances where it appears as though it’s finally starting to do something interesting, it bombards you with abstract imagery that ends up making things even more confusing. You will seriously get more narrative weight out of just reading the plot summary on the film’s Wikipedia page than you will from experiencing the film itself.

Mostly, though, it is just a plain old bore. Because it moves at such a sluggish pace, with no characters to get on board with or even a sense of what the story is meant to be about, Her Private Hell can be extremely challenging to sit through, and I say that as one of the few people who defended Refn’s similarly out-there Only God Forgives. Like in that movie, there are times when the camp factor begs to take over, which might not have made it good but perhaps more entertaining, but those instincts are shoved much deeper down in favour of indulging the filmmaker’s overbearing pretension and overly vague visuals. It is deeply frustrating, because you desperately want to be on the same wavelength as Refn but there’s nothing that is strong enough to pull you in to his orbit, where characters will suddenly start barking like wolves or shove semen-stained panties into another person’s mouth, all with the driest deliveries and static facial expressions imaginable.

Mr. Refn, if you’ve somehow made it this far in (let alone are reading this review at all), I want you to know that it’s wonderful that you’re still with us, and are still able to share your unique vision with the world. But Her Private Hell is not the ideal movie to showcase your talents with. In fact, it may genuinely be your worst film to date, and one of the year’s worst at that. I’m sorry to be so blunt, but it’s better you be told that rather than remain in whatever neon bubble you’ve got yourself trapped within.

SO, TO SUM UP…

Her Private Hell is a confounding bore by filmmaker Nicolas Winding Refn, one that features such little depth in its characters, narrative and visually striking world-building, along with its lethargic pace and stilted performances, that it becomes increasingly difficult to sit through, even if you’re a fan of Refn’s oeuvre.