The Hunter Review

• 22nd Feb 2011

Rafi Pitts’ The Hunter opens with a series of short, well shot scenes of inner city Tehran, which silently build up a sense of urban alienation. We’re introduced to our anti-hero Ali, played with brooding gusto by the director, as he takes a graveyard-shift security job. It’s evident from the outset that Ali is going to crack, it’s only a matter of time. We see him wordlessly work his shift and walk the streets of the Iranian capital. He’s in his element hunting alone in the woods in his spare time but cuts a forlorn, lonely figure in the city, where his only pleasure lies with his spending time with his wife and young daughter.

The failed Iranian revolution of 2009 provides a dramatic backdrop to the main narrative. When Ali’s wife is killed in the crossfire between insurgents and police and his daughter goes missing, the protagonist, aggrieved by the reluctance of the police to help with his search, finally snaps, shooting two policemen with his hunting rifle. This event, almost exactly halfway through the film, sees the primary setting shifting from the city to the wooded hills outside, as Ali flees from the law.

The premise would be an intriguing one for a fast-moving thriller, but that’s clearly not what Pitts wanted, aiming for something much more sombre. The plot moves at a glacial pace, there are long scenes where not much happens and the dialogue is sparse throughout. From the outset, it’s clear this film belongs to the arthouse and not the cineplex and that there will be no pleasant denouement for its deeply flawed central character, who is increasingly resemblent of De Niro’s Travis Bickle as the film progresses.

Full marks are due to Pitts’ direction, his show-don’t-tell approach manifests itself in scenes where meaning is conveyed subtly and without words if possible. Ali is driven to the morgue to identify his wife’s body, and is shown walking home alone along the central reservation; the callousness and uncaring attitude of the police evident in their neglect to drive him back.

The slow burn of the film, coupled with a naturalistic approach avoids extracting any Hollywood thrills from the rare action scenes – the killing is instant and unbloody, there’s a refreshingly realistic car chase followed by a pursuit on foot that’s over pathetically quickly – instead going for sobering realism in the vein of Michael Haneke. This means The Hunter feels longer than it’s slender 90 minute run-time. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, it just isn’t a film built for pure entertainment, instead, like much of Haneke’s work, it’s a solemn, brooding offering that provokes thought more than it does repeat viewings.

Adam Richardson