Her Private Hell (2026)

The critic describes Refn’s film as a bizarre, shapeshifting fantasia and midnight movie of dreamy disquiet that eludes definition as it moves between doomy reality and strange dream worlds. They single out its hypnotic strangeness and slow, sepulchral pace executed with quasi-Lynchian characters in neon-lit settings.

The critic describes it as an expressionistic sci-fi fantasy with cryptic babes, stagy fables of lust and rivalry, and hazy plotting that defies logic. Refn's commitment to his style is admired, with Kristine Froseth singled out as the scene-stealing comic sexpot.

The critic calls the film a moody, messy dud that favors style over substance and fails to be either exceptional or truly egregious. The score stands out as the one element providing some romantic and chromatic relief amid the artificiality and meandering plot.

The critic calls it an endurance test and Marmite movie that is sexy and stylish in its hellscape textures and violent set pieces but ultimately pretentious, laborious and lacking plot or tension.

The critic finds the film intermittently enrapturing in its sensual visuals, sex and violence but largely frustrating, with stilted dialogue and a vacuousness that becomes its principal feature.

The critic describes Refn returning with a fantastical metropolis story heavy on violent eye-gouging, neon visuals and orchestral score, but hampered by wafer-thin characterisation and an emphasis on style over substance.

The critic finds the film a ponderous, neon-soaked fairy tale with a laughable plot and stylized performances, best appreciated as a surreal spoof of Refn himself. The lush score by Pino Donaggio serves as the movie's lifeline amid mannered and phlegmatic direction.

The review praises the film as a hypnotic, neon-tinged sci-fi thriller that suggests Inland Empire for the influencer set, with strong filmmaking and overripe dialogue in its wild climax. It singles out the transcendental method in Refn’s trashy madness as potentially moving for some viewers.

The critic calls the film a David Lynch-on-bad-acid disaster with no coherent story, just models posing and snarling amid lavish sets and a gorgeous score. Refn is faulted for recycling motifs into pretentious art-trash that announces itself as too cool to cohere.

The review describes the film as a ghastly, miserable endurance test that despises its audience, with actors delivering lines at a glacial pace in a neon-drowned setting. It singles out the overall theatrical viewing experience as one of the most unpleasant in years.

The critic finds the film numbing and self-indulgent, calling it an agonizing return marked by excessive style over substance. The futuristic, neon-drenched setting and horror-thriller elements are singled out as overly fetishistic and dull.

The critic finds it a bold, trippy return to feature filmmaking that divides viewers and demands they take a side. He singles out Pino Donaggio’s phenomenal score as the secret sauce that guides the film and gives it emotional context.

The critic embraces the film's full-throttle, unhinged Refn style—its fetishistic visuals, score, lighting, and genre signifiers—as a hypnotic, self-indulgent spectacle worth experiencing even without narrative coherence. He singles out the atmospheric, tactile interiors and structural parallels among father figures for praise amid the camp miasma.

The critic finds the film a hollow, derivative imitation of Refn's previous work, lacking energy and emotional depth despite its neon visuals and stylistic nods. They single out Charles Melton's performance as the film's only saving grace amid otherwise listless acting and aimless storytelling.

The critic finds the film visually gorgeous in its cyberpunk aesthetic but ultimately empty and lifeless, with stilted dialogue and mechanical storytelling. She singles out the misogynistic male gaze, shallow female characters reduced to daddy issues and sexual exploitation, and lack of substance or horror-thriller elements despite the talent involved.