Nicolas Winding Refn returns to the big screen with Her Private Hell, a surreal, neon-soaked nightmare that premiered at Cannes and has since received a surprisingly divided response. While some audiences have walked away frustrated—or even walked out entirely—I found considerably more to appreciate than the film’s reception might suggest.
Her Private Hell drops us into a surreal, fog-covered city where retrofuturism, decay and dystopia collide beneath neon lights and towering architecture. The city itself feels almost alive—beautiful, mysterious and constantly threatening.
At the center is Elle (Sophie Thatcher), a young actress and daughter of a powerful, wealthy filmmaker who returns home to begin working on her father’s latest production. She soon becomes entangled with Hunter (Kristine Froseth), an actress and influencer who ends up sharing her apartment, and Dominique (Havana Rose Liu), Elle’s much younger stepmother.
As these relationships unfold, it becomes clear that Elle’s privileged life hides a deeply fractured relationship with her father. Beneath the film’s surreal imagery and unsettling atmosphere lies a story about family, resentment, control and buried trauma.
The film’s greatest horror element is The Leatherman, a mysterious supernatural serial killer who emerges from the fog and hunts vulnerable women. Visually, he is one of the film’s highlights: diamond-covered leather gloves, glowing eyes and a brutal method of killing that allows Refn to deliver some genuinely memorable imagery.
But Her Private Hell isn’t really interested in being a conventional slasher.
The film constantly shifts between reality, fantasy, memory and the movie-within-the-movie, introducing a second narrative involving Charles Melton’s Private K, a father searching for his missing daughter while leaving a trail of violence across the city. At times, these two stories feel almost completely disconnected.
That is also where the film becomes its most frustrating.
Refn prioritizes atmosphere and visual storytelling over exposition, and there were moments when I genuinely had no idea what I was watching. The film demands that you stop trying to solve every detail and simply surrender to its dream logic.
Once I did that, the second half became considerably more rewarding.
Because beneath all the surrealism, violence and supernatural imagery lies a much more personal story about Elle’s relationship with her father and stepmother. Private K functions as an extension of Elle’s subconscious desire to confront the powerful paternal figure controlling her life, while The Leatherman becomes a symbolic representation of that same authority.
When Elle ultimately confronts The Leatherman, she isn’t simply defeating a monster. She is confronting the shadow of her father.
And that is where Her Private Hell becomes far more interesting than its surface-level horror premise suggests.
Visually, the film is extraordinary. The neon colors, monumental architecture, fog-filled city and surreal crystalline dimension feel like moving editorial photography. Refn creates a world that is simultaneously beautiful, decadent and deeply unsettling.
And then there is the score, which may be my favorite of the year. Its peaceful, almost meditative quality creates a fascinating contrast with the violence unfolding on screen.
Her Private Hell is undoubtedly messy, confusing and occasionally infuriating. But it is also hypnotic, ambitious and unmistakably Refn.
This is not a horror film for viewers looking for straightforward answers. It is a dream—or perhaps a nightmare—that asks you to stop looking for logic and simply experience it.
You may not completely understand Her Private Hell. But you certainly won’t forget it.
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