Season of the Hunted
Written by Phil Faicco
Directed by Ron Sperling
Al...Lou Martini, Jr.
This poorly shot, poorly executed, and poorly acted film bills itself as “Wrong Turn meets Cabin Fever,” but plays out more like Surviving the Game meets a train wreck, or perhaps The Deer Hunter meets an ‘Out of Order’ sign.
Five New York buddies—Frank, a Vietnam veteran; Steve, a heroic fire fighter; and three other full-grown men who do their best to act infantile at all times—head out of the city and into the wilderness for a hunter’s resort in the woods, where they’re guaranteed to score a kill. That, at least, is no lie.
After a night of beer drinking, poker playing, and watching the moronic Charlie come off like an even more obnoxious version of Joey Pants, the friends head into the woods for some nice relaxing deer killin’. There isn’t a deer in sight, however, only their redneck guides with shotguns, eying them hungrily and looking to hunt them instead.
If it sounds like you’ve seen it before, you’re right. And believe me, you’ve seen it better. Granted, the excitement does pick up an iota once hunting season begins, but not nearly enough to overcome the grating characters, amateur action sequences, and predictable source material: A secret stew recipe? What could it be? A barn that visitors are forbidden to enter? What could be in it? I’ll give you a hint. You’re not a traveling salesman, there is no farmer’s daughter, and nobody’s getting off or laughing in the end.
We should be so lucky.
And what, by the way, was up with the seemingly tasteless dedication to the victims of September 11th? I'm sure the filmmakers meant no disrespect, but dedicating an exploitation movie about murder to the victims of a terrorist attack falls just a little short of appropriate in my eyes.
A stinker from end to end.