Her Private Hell

you would think a film consisting of an insanely hot cast, pretty flashing lights, cyberpunk set designs, thirsty bloodlust, and a hypnotic score, would be able to muster up even a modicum of eroticism, tension, intensity, depth, or interesting ideas anywhere within its runtime, but it fails to do so. the awkward pairing of its extravagant style and score only occasionally distracts you from that fact. I get what it's trying to do/say, I guess, (cyclical patriarchal violence? daddy issues? mommy issues?) but man is the execution so, so poor. I'm sure this will be enjoyed by some, either now, or retroactively later, simply due to its sheer weirdness, but as much as I adore weird shit in my movies, there was nothing stopping this from existing as anything more than a boring, neon, light-show, for me. it genuinely seemed like it was making fun of itself, at times, despite possessing little-to-no self awareness. at least, not any self awareness that came across in its writing. the cast and the trailers intrigued me, so greatly. I was surprised with how much I didn't enjoy this. Melton, Thatcher, Liu, and Calva all deserve better scripts. (Leatherman or Leatherface or whatever tf his name was looked like The Vulture from Spider-Man: Homecoming at times)