It takes a unique mind to make a psychosexual fairytale featuring a leather-clad serial killer, futuristic vistas, and Tom of Finland levels of homoeroticism and make it boring. But Nicolas Winding Refn has achieved just that.
Ten years since his last feature (The Neon Demon), the director of Drive and Only God Forgives has indulged in some of his worst tendencies by making Her Private Hell a very public one.
You've been warned.
It opens promisingly enough, with mist engulfing a neon-soaked metropolis. A young woman, Elle (Sophie Thatcher), meets blushing ingénue Hunter (Kristine Froseth) in the lobby of the hotel she's staying in. The two are meant to collaborate on a film adaptation of a sci-fi comic book called "Candy Floss", set to be directed by Elle's father, Johnny Thunders (Dougray Scott).
Little does Hunter realize that she's entering into a world of pain... Elle is having to grapple with the reality of her greasy pops (who's constantly surrounded by a hareem of models who call him "daddy") shacking up with her former friend / lover Dominique (Havana Rose Liu), who is now her stepmother.
