The Cinema of Self-Indulgence: Nicolas Winding Refn’s Her Private Hell and the Art of Losing the Audience
There’s something almost admirable about a filmmaker who doubles down on their own obsessions, even if it means alienating everyone else. Nicolas Winding Refn has become the poster child for this kind of cinematic self-indulgence, and Her Private Hell is his latest manifesto—or, depending on your perspective, his most defiant middle finger to mainstream expectations. Personally, I think what makes this particularly fascinating is how Refn seems to have evolved from a director who once electrified audiences with Drive into someone who now makes films primarily for himself. It’s a bold move, but one that raises a deeper question: At what point does artistic freedom become solipsism?
The Refn Brand: A Double-Edged Sword
Let’s start with the obvious: Refn has become a brand. His production banner, byNWR, isn’t just a label—it’s a statement. From my perspective, this branding is both a triumph and a trap. On one hand, it’s a testament to his unique vision; on the other, it’s a warning sign. When a filmmaker becomes a brand, the line between innovation and repetition blurs. What many people don’t realize is that Refn’s early works, like the Pusher trilogy or Bronson, thrived on their raw energy and unpredictability. Now, his films feel more like curated museum pieces, meticulously crafted but emotionally distant.
Her Private Hell is no exception. Set in a CGI-drenched, neon-soaked netherworld, the film is a visual feast—but one that leaves you feeling oddly empty. One thing that immediately stands out is the sheer excess of it all. The glitter, the tinfoil, the strobes—it’s as if Refn raided a 1980s MTV studio and decided to make a horror-thriller out of the leftovers. What this really suggests is that Refn is less interested in storytelling and more in creating a mood, a vibe. But here’s the problem: Mood alone can’t sustain a film, especially when the narrative is as disjointed as this one.
A Plot That Defies Logic—and Patience
The story, if you can call it that, revolves around Elle (Sophie Thatcher), a famous actress holed up in a luxury hotel, grappling with her stepmother, Dominique (Havana Rose Liu), and a mythical demon called the Leather Man. Midway through, we’re inexplicably transported to postwar Japan, where a GI named Kay (Charles Melton) takes on the demon in a bid to save his daughter. If you take a step back and think about it, the plot feels like a fever dream—one that Refn seems to have had after binge-watching Dario Argento and Brian De Palma films.
What makes this particularly frustrating is how Refn seems to revel in the chaos. The dialogue is deliberately absurd (“I am the victim of mist,” “I am made of stardust”), and the pacing is glacial. In my opinion, this isn’t avant-garde—it’s just tedious. Refn’s early films were punishing, but they were also propulsive. Her Private Hell feels like it’s punishing the audience for no reason other than to prove a point: that Refn can make a film this self-indulgent and still call it art.
The Nostalgia Trap
A detail that I find especially interesting is how Refn leans into nostalgia for 1970s and 1980s genre films. The homage to giallo and slasher movies is undeniable, from the operatic synth score by Pino Donaggio to the stylized violence. But here’s the thing: Homage, when overdone, can feel like a crutch. Refn isn’t just paying tribute to these films—he’s embalming them, preserving them in a jewel box that’s as beautiful as it is lifeless.
This raises a deeper question: Is Refn trapped in the past? His obsession with recreating the aesthetics of his youth feels less like a celebration and more like a refusal to move forward. What many people don’t realize is that the best homages don’t just replicate—they reinterpret. Refn, however, seems content to recreate, and the result is a film that feels more like a museum exhibit than a living, breathing work of art.
The Audience Left Behind
If there’s one thing Her Private Hell makes clear, it’s that Refn no longer cares about his audience. The film is a midnight screening at Cannes, not a competition entry, and that’s telling. It’s as if Refn knows this isn’t a film for everyone—or even most people. But what this really suggests is a larger trend in modern cinema: the rise of the auteur as a brand, at the expense of accessibility.
From my perspective, this is a dangerous path. Cinema, at its best, is a communal experience. It’s about connecting with others through shared emotions and ideas. Refn’s films, increasingly, feel like private conversations he’s having with himself. While there’s value in artistic purity, there’s also a risk of becoming irrelevant. If Refn continues down this path, he might find himself making films for an audience of one—himself.
The Future of Refn’s Cinema
So, where does this leave us? Personally, I think Refn is at a crossroads. He could double down on his self-indulgence, further alienating audiences but cementing his status as a cult figure. Or, he could take a step back, reconnect with the energy and accessibility of his early works, and find a balance between his obsessions and the needs of his audience.
One thing is certain: Her Private Hell is a film that will divide opinions. For diehard Refn fans, it’s a masterpiece of style and vision. For everyone else, it’s a slog—a beautifully crafted but ultimately empty exercise in self-indulgence. What makes this particularly fascinating is that Refn seems unconcerned with which camp you fall into. In a way, that’s admirable. But it’s also a reminder that art, without an audience, is just a mirror reflecting the artist’s own obsessions.
Final Thoughts
If you take a step back and think about it, Her Private Hell is a perfect metaphor for Refn’s career at this point. It’s lavish, it’s ambitious, and it’s utterly self-absorbed. Whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing depends on your tolerance for cinematic navel-gazing. Personally, I find it both mesmerizing and exhausting—a film that’s as much a warning as it is a work of art. Refn has always been a provocateur, but with Her Private Hell, he’s gone further than ever before. The question is: How much further can he go before he loses us all?
