Sex and Violence Combined: Nicolas Winding Refn Discusses Her Private Hell

      The decade that has passed since Nicolas Winding Refn's last theatrical film was just enough time to invoke a sense of déjà vu as Her Private Hell premiered at Cannes to a mixed and somewhat hostile reception. Although some of the reactions (including ours) are articulated well and presented eloquently, much of the feedback feels routine, especially considering how few directors can still attract stars and funding while remaining true to their unique vision. Even as he brings innovation and surprise, the key elements in Refn's work remain unchanged: stunning actors deliver intense performances while an ethereal score (typically by Cliff Martinez, but this time by Pino Donaggio) underscores a persistent sense of dread. If you ask his supporters, you might even find that there's an overarching theme regarding the aestheticization of rage, particularly as it pertains to genre conventions.

      As Her Private Hell gears up for its theatrical release, Winding Refn has been discussing the film in ways that far exceed what its elusive, initially parallel narrative structures might suggest. He is both an entertaining and direct interviewee—most notably starting our conversation with an apology for having just begun lunch.

      The Film Stage: If you had low blood sugar and were in a bad mood, this whole thing would just…

      Nicolas Winding Refn: Trust me, eating well helps everything. You are what you eat.

      What do you eat during those long days on set to keep your energy up?

      A lot of water and a lot of coffee. And I make sure there are plenty of cakes for the crew at lunch.

      Cakes?

      Yes.

      Because that makes people happy?

      Every day feels like a birthday.

      Okay, good to know. I don't usually connect your films with the sweet nature of cake; they often come off more like bloody steaks. But perhaps that reflects their complexity.

      I love candy. And sugar. And everything pink and fluffy.

      Yes, and cake encompasses all of that.

      But I also ensure we have plenty of ice cream breaks on set.

      Your sets sound fantastic. It’s no wonder you have so many regular collaborators.

      It’s all about keeping the crew happy.

      Well, the movie brought me joy. I had my expectations, yet it still surprised and confounded me. I don’t think it's inappropriate to suggest that you're part of the lineage of great giallo filmmakers, and something I’ve always admired is how your work operates on two levels—appreciating and appropriating iconography while also subverting it. The Leather Man strikes a remarkable balance between revering and playing with giallo elements. How do you strike this balance?

      I think the Italians excel in attention to detail and the fetishization of objects, whether they’re body parts, tools, or fashion and design. There’s also this almost supernatural aspect. The Leather Man was in my archives of ideas, and for this film, I continued to develop him as a glam icon—similar to glam rock, a part of a world of crystals, jewelry, and design. Visually, that was his essence. Then there’s the leather—the sound and fetish of leather—while still preserving his human dignity as a father lost in the underworld searching for his daughter, whom he will never find. He becomes a killing machine, embodying pure emotion.

      Not knowing the plot of Her Private Hell, I was surprised at how much I had to grapple with the shifting perspectives between Sophie and Charles. You and Esti Giordani crafted a very elusive script that frequently shifts POVs. How did you both navigate towards a rhythmic flow?

      It developed in stages. I started with two foundational ideas: one was Private K descending into hell, and the other was a young woman arriving in a non-existent city. This meant I wanted to create an artificial world, which was a departure for me since I usually work with urban settings. These concepts were at opposite ends, so I needed to find a connection. One was fleeing something, the other moving towards something. I drew on the Leather Man and placed him at the center of the triangle. [Draws triangle with hands] Esti and I then worked on how the narratives of Private K and the girl could intersect.

      However, when I began shooting, I realized that these two parallel stories had more in common than I had initially thought. They weren’t isolated but related. Editorially, it became clear that Private K was Elle’s alter ego, representing the father she wished she had. He’s unattainable, while her real father is abandoning her to marry her lover, who becomes her stepmother. During the script phase, we constructed intricate narratives detailing how these characters, particularly the women, would interact. Private K embarked on his own journey, and as I saw everything come together, I could reshuffle the structure, allowing the narratives to intertwine more than run parallel.

      That’s impressive, especially because the film feels meticulously planned. I was surprised to learn that you originally had a different ending but changed it