At 89 minutes long, I can't help but wonder what or if the film was sliced, diced, and trimmed for both length and potentially inflammatory content.
As it stands now, The Hunt is much ado about nothing at all.
It's fun in a Smokey and the Bandit/Cannonball Run sorta way, which is to say, loud, proud, and unabashedly redneck.
For the record, I've never quite met a liberal as presented here, but, okay, we're trading in hyperbole and stereotypes, so, whatever, I'll play along and bite my tongue.
As for the Deplorables, I'm starting to wonder if Sturgill Simpson has lost his guitar and dumped country music altogether for acting (as he's now been in seven productions, Queen & Slim and The Hunt among them and just a couple months apart). All his roles are so brief and vaporous, though, that I keep asking myself what's the point?
Hilary Swank is the equivalent of Charlie's Angels' Charlie, meaning, primarily just a directive voice on the other end of the line. And hateable. Oh, so hateable.
This leaves us with real-life Manhattanite and Fordham graduate, Betty Gilpin, doing her very best impression of a Mississippian. Her impression sucks, of course, but her character, "Crystal May," sure can fist-fight. She's the equivalent of Miley Cyrus's wrecking ball, and it's fun to watch her kick butt, take names, storm the castle, crack open a $250k bottle of champagne, and eat caviar as if it were queso.
Go get 'em, Crystal May, go get 'em!
