It’s difficult to say exactly what is going on at any given point in Nicholas Winding Refn’s Her Private Hell except that it is quite intoxicating to look at but also quite slow and obtuse. It is Refn’s first movie in ten years, his last being the equally strange arthouse horror film The Neon Demon , yet this film seems even less attached to narrative, character, or context, motivated almost entirely by mood, vibes, messy themes and messier sexuality. As a result it feels to me like a less coherent, less entertaining Lost Highway -which is not a favourite David Lynch of mine but I do have a respect for its metaphors and how it comes together. Her Private Hell does not really -I wonder how much Refn himself can make of its fragments of unfiltered psychology. But it can be called a unique and fascinating film -the preferable form of disappointing movie, for its conceptions and pretentious eccentricities. The title in any case is quite accurate, as Sophie Thatcher’s Elle seems relative...
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