In a city engulfed by mist, an actress and a soldier become entangled in the story of a serial killer.
Review by Eric Hillis
Directed by: Nicolas Winding Refn
Starring: Sophie Thatcher, Charles Melton, Havana Rose Liu, Kristine Froseth, Dougray Scott, Diego Calva, Shioli Kutsuna, Aoi Yamada, Hidetoshi Nishijima
There are three Nicolas Winding Refns. There is the Refn who makes gritty Scandinavian movies (the Pusher trilogy; Bleeder; Valhalla Rising). There is the Refn who occasionally flirts with the mainstream (Fear X; Bronson; Drive). And there is the self-indulgent Refn (Only God Forgives; The Neon Demon; his TV shows Too Old to Die Young and Copenhagen Cowboy). Her Private Hell, Refn's first movie in a decade, is very much a product of the third Refn. This is a film Refn has made for himself, and I doubt he cares whether anyone else appreciates it. I appreciate its existence, as it's always heartening to know someone is willing to throw cash at a filmmaker who wants to make a movie that doesn't have an obvious audience, but I can't say I like it.
Her Private Hell isn't a remake of the Norman J. Warren sexploitation flick whose title Refn has co-opted. Rather it's a sci-fi fantasy that might generously be described as dreamlike, though its lack of momentum might put some viewers to sleep.
Perhaps imagining she might follow in the footsteps of Nicole Kidman and Emma Stone in becoming an unlikely muse of a distinctive European arthouse auteur, Sophie Thatcher plays the lead role of Elle, a disillusioned actress with daddy issues. The setting is a futuristic metropolis not unlike Judge Dredd's stomping ground of Mega City One, but the city is enshrouded in a mist that keeps the citizens off the streets (and keeps the budget down).
The main narrative is a sort of half-assed surreal riff on Vincente Minnelli's Two Weeks in Another Town, a melodrama set around a film shoot. While playing the lead in a Barbarella knockoff (Refn had previously been linked with a remake of that camp classic) Elle bickers with her stepmother Dominique (Havana Rose Liu), who was once her best friend and possibly lover, while mentoring a starry-eyed ingenue (Kristine Froseth). Watching this play out is like tuning into a long-running soap opera that you've never previously watched. Character definition is practically non-existent, the dialogue is laughably stilted, and everyone speaks in an affected drawl, much like how Refn himself speaks in interviews.
A second subplot sees a jacked Charles Melton play Private K, an American soldier wandering a part of the city that looks a lot like Tokyo. Private K's daughter went missing, and he fears she became a victim of The Leatherman, the mysterious killer who likes to sneak up on young women and tear their rib cages open like an over-enthusiastic Red Lobster diner (The Leatherman's look seems inspired by Blake, the undead leper from John Carpenter's The Fog). This subplot, which could be playing out in some other realm, is simply an excuse for Refn to homage the Yakuza thrillers of Kinji Fukasaku, as Private K takes on armies of stereotypical Japanese mobsters.
The two subplots will eventually collide, but not in any way that enlightens audiences regarding the point of all this. With a near absence of plot and no interesting characters, we're left to admire the cinematography of Magnus Nordenhof Jønck, whose purple and blue chiaroscuro dances off the cast's immaculate cheekbones, and the Jodorowsky's Blade Runner set design. It's all very pretty, but none of it serves much purpose, and after a while we find ourselves wondering why every location looks like Prince's bedroom. Refn has enlisted the legendary Italian composer Pino Donaggio, who provides a lush and beautiful score that rarely matches the action on screen.
Credit to the cast for their commitment to the bit. Thatcher and Liu are such a watchable duo that they almost sell the nonsensical scenarios their characters find themselves in. It's not a surprise that there aren't great female roles in a Refn film (women tend to adorn his movies rather than appear in them), but the young stars make some sugary lemonade with the bitter lemons they've been dealt, and you'll be wishing Thatcher and Liu could have teamed up for a movie with an actual script. Melton isn't given much to do beyond flex his biceps and scowl, but he's surprisingly convincing as an action star.
Your level of tolerance for Refn's self-indulgence will ultimately decide whether you stick out Her Private Hell. There's always something interesting to look at on screen, which is a boast a lot of far better movies can't make, and its young cast throw themselves into this nonsense with the zeal of brainwashed cult members. I can't say I'm excited for Refn's next movie, but I'm glad someone is still willing to indulge the excesses of such filmmakers.
Her Private Hell is in UK/ROI cinemas from September 25th.
