After the Hunt

Luca Guadagnino's latest is a beguiling campus drama that sort of leads to nowhere 

If there's anyone who can push the envelope with considered confidence, it's Luca Guadagnino. Although the Italian filmmaker's work has garnered some criticism over the past few years (cannibal lovers and questionable age gaps spring to mind), even his most provocative fables show visceral complexity and affection towards their subjects. So it seems rather strange that After the Hunt - a film so self-conscious of its own provocation - prove to be nothing more than white noise. 

Julia Roberts plays Alma - a Yale philosophy professor who's competing for tenure against her suspiciously close colleague Hank (Andrew Garfield). Roberts is an understated sensation - she has an air of snow queen about her but never shows signs of thawing. We've seen Roberts thrive in larger than life personalities before - such as the iconic Erin Brockovich. Yet it's to her credit (and more pointedly her range) how she commands the screen here with unshakeable stoicism. 

Alma's frostiness repels the buoyancy of husband Fredrick (Michael Stuhlbarg) but charms the likes of Hank and Maggie (Ayo Edebiri) - a mediocre student with very rich parents. However, when Maggie appears at Alma's doorstep one evening claiming that Hank "crossed the line" with her - Alma is forced to reckon with not just her present relationships but the demons of her past as well. 

The current social landscape is more politically weaponised than ever. Screenwriting newcomer Nora Garrett makes an unreliable narrator the focal point of this accusation drama and though the film's moral ambiguity has recently been put under fire - what's most frustrating about Garrett's script is its total inability to commit to any of its ideas at all. There are fragmented moments that reveal a more perceptive film about systemic abuse and those who unwillingly become a part of it. But the film is convinced that the shear allusion to these ideas is enough to form a fully fledged story. It seems to think that its thematic vagueness keeps the audience wrapped around its finger; instead we're continually unravelling further from any sense of satisfaction. Perhaps we've just been spoilt by back-to-back collaborations with Challengers writer Justin Kuritzkes, but the discordance between page and screen hasn't felt as apparent in a Guadagnino flick as it does here. 

Even composers Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross - frequent collaborators of Guadagnino - are off their game here. Disparate segments of clock ticking falsely suggest time plays an important role in the story - but in actuality it feels like a last minute attempt to salvage tension in a film where there is a decided lack thereof.

In defence of Guadagnino, he's trying and somewhat succeeding in elevating an underworked script. The film exists in a weird genre limbo, never really certain of its own intentions or tone. In a way, it sort feels like it's in a game of chess with itself. But thankfully that which could be totally mundane, is occasionally salvaged by Guadagnino's rich visual flair.