A hypnotic, unhinged thriller with an original story promising plenty of glamour, sex, and violence.
Chuck says:
One of my favorite movies from the last 20 years, is Nicolas Winding Refn’s “Drive.” This western masquerading as a neo-noir set in seamy LA is a glorious exercise in retro 1980’s style, a slow burn that periodically erupts into shocking violence, its flawed hero driven by a fatalistic attempt at redemption. A box office hit and critical darling, the film is the most accessible of Refn’s works, a story set in Hollywood that simultaneously skewers and exploits many Tinsel Town tropes, in the process getting the director cache within the mainstream.
However, becoming a Hollywood auteur was not what the filmmaker had in mind for himself, each of his subsequent movies contributing to a cumulative act of self-immolation. “Only God Forgives” (2013) was an oh-so-slow burn featuring a glorious over-the-top performance from Kristin Scott Thomas who demands her son (Ryan Gosling) avenge his brother’s death. Suggestions of incest and bursts of graphic violence were the rewards for those that endured that particular 90 minutes of “cinema.” His follow-up,
“The Neon Demon” (2016) also taxed its viewers patience with its lugubrious pacing and at times, confounding plot. Cannibalism was the taboo subject Refn so daringly addressed in this cult darling.
I would suggest that his latest, “Her Private Hell,” is his most personal work as he is surely the only one who understands it. This pastiche of hackneyed plot points, set against an overly-stylized sci-fi setting is unendurable, a film awash in artifice, narrative substance just so much collateral damage in the quest to say something “deep.”
Set somewhere, somewhen in a world suffused with neon pink and blue hues, the film opens in the Tower Hotel, a building, like many others, that soars so tall it pierces the clouds. Elle (Sophie Thatcher) has returned home to find Hunter (Kristine Forseth) waiting for her in the lobby. Seems they are about to start filming a cheesy sci-fi movie together so she takes the ingenue by the hand and leads her to the penthouse where she meets Dominique (Havana Rose Liu). She happens to be Elle’s ex, but is now married to her father Johnny Thunders (Dougray Scott), who keeps a stable of models who refer to him as “Daddy.”
We’re told by Mr. Thunders that the mist that surrounds the city brings a serial killer/demon into their midst called The Leather Man. Seems he has gloves festooned with diamonds and possesses incredible strength as his M.O. is tearing his victim’s, always young women, chest cavities open. In a separate storyline, Private K (Charles Melton) is hunting the killer, his daughter having fallen victim to him. He believes that were he to kill him, he will be reunited with her.
Other than the action scenes that show K on the hunt, much of the film is executed with a kind of stylized lethargy, the overwrought score by Pino Donaggio underscoring how dreamy it all is. So many of the scenes are staged as if they’re ripped from fashion magazines, these overtly artificial settings meant to create an alternate reality. While this sort of purposeful aesthetic may appeal to some, its obvious nature undercuts Refn’s attempt to create something distinctive. It’s as if we’re seeing a teenage boy trying far too hard to impress with his first movie.
Defenders of this work are drawing comparisons to this with the films of David Lynch. While there are some surface similarities, the difference lies in the intelligence and craftsmanship Lynch employed. His movies prompted curiosity, enticing us to follow him through his sometime labyrinthine plots, his fully-drawn characters relatable and sympathetic. Nothing of that sort exists in “Private.”
The director claims to have been inspired to make this film after having been dead for 25 minutes after a near-fatal cardiac incident. Whatever…His reputation as a provocateur casts doubt on all he says. A test of one’s endurance and willingness to put up with the pretentiousness of the “artist,” “Private” is nothing more than a middle finger to the audience, an exercise that purposely confounds and insults, Refn’s hubris on full display.
1 Star
