Hunting film reviews
There’s nothing like sitting around a campfire telling stories. Some storytellers get on step and tell outrageous stories but they are the type of person who, if something as crazy as that were to happen, it would happen to someone like them. We enjoy the story and they love to tell it. They know that they are on stage, even if stage is just around a campfire, and it just feels and sounds different than someone who launches into a performance.
Visual storytelling is much different but every bit as compelling. The circumstances of how everything went down is why we spend hours on YouTube watching people we don’t know kill the animals we probably saw posted on Instagram. The story matters.
As hunters and content makers, we all know the right things to say in certain moments which is an expected part of storytelling, especially in a film. But sometimes it just looks and sounds like someone said “Okay, I know what I’m going to say, record me” and assume it took three more takes to get it right. It doesn’t land. It’s too contrived. There is no objective measure for this, it’s just a feeling, and not knowing the vast majority of people in the industry, there’s nothing else to go on other than that feeling which can dramatically influence our response.
I don’t know what it is about certain people but it seems like a camera just happened to be there and they aren’t acting. The stage wasn’t the point. The hunt was. Maybe that’s great camera work, maybe it’s that perfect balance of confidence and being yourself on stage rather than being a Mr. Potato Head of outdoor brands who wants to be the next ____ and speaks in pre-recorded sound bites when pressed.
When it comes to telling a story when hunting, it is all reactive to situations and variables rather than written and edited in advance. Fiction writers develop the right conflicts to get a protagonist to move, grow and accomplish a goal. Hunts don’t work like that. The protagonist often loses. Sometimes the protagonist wins, but even an audience of hunters wished he didn’t. It seems the better ending would be humility rather than another head on the wall.
Both success and failure are often met with “it was just nice to be out there” tropes that I try to avoid in my own writing. It's not that it wasn’t nice to be out there, but it’s tempting and convenient to paint myself as someone with such a high moral disposition that I would have paid $5000 to hike this mountain without a rifle or bow outside of hunting season. Which isn’t true. I also haven’t ever paid $5000 for a hunt, but you know what I mean.
At its core, hunting is about getting meat. At its core documenting it is about creating content others want to watch or read. That’s where things get confusing. Especially since someone will inevitably praise a hunting film while someone else could only stomach the first four minutes of airport or gas station B-roll before clicking elsewhere. There are other films the devolve into the manufactured drama or bravado of an episode of Ax Men or Deadliest Catch, two forgettable shows in the eyes of many (most) Alaskans. But people like those too.
Anyway, just because I didn’t really like the film, doesn’t mean that I don’t respect the hunter or that the film wasn’t good. Literary Classics are literary classics not because everyone likes them. I chose Alaska films A) because I live here, though that doesn’t mean I have been on these identical hunts, because B) Alaska is clearly an iconic hunt and creates a tone that reveals a lot about people. Will our protagonists feel awe? Reverence? Or will it seem like an antler grab to further stroke the ego?
Moose & Caribou
Brian Call: Gritty
2 episodes
Episode 1 - 1:06:40 (47:45 of hunt, the rest is commentary)
I like when films get to it, but I do appreciate at least a little exposition. The first ten minutes are an ad fest but they are subtle and the last thing Ryan Lampers is, is a camera hog who can’t wait to give a company a sound bite. If it was planned like that instead of an introduction with music and sponsors then it’s interesting.
I typically don’t like sponsor plugs in the film and I don’t like fresh new gear on a hunt. Wearing what is clearly your go-to, broken in favorites says a lot more than wearing sponsored gear that showed up a week before the hunt. Marketing is a part of creating content but the more brand-new gear is paraded, the less it is like the hunts most hunters are used to. I really don’t know how to fix this (or if it needs fixing) and certainly wouldn’t turn down funding to go on an epic hunt so I am 100% a hypocrite. My podcast starts with ads and twice during an episode, ads disrupt the conversation. It’s either ads, or content behind a pay wall.
That said, I do subscribe to a few writers I really enjoy on Substack because it’s otherwise exploitive to get it all for free. Additionally, the entire point of Substack is to eliminate the infiltration of advertisers which might influence journalists. This is, of course, one of the main reasons there is so little trust in the mainstream media, but I’ll get back to the point. Content creators are making something. Their time, effort and product are worth something. They/we/you should be paid for it. Doing it tactfully or seamlessly is an unsolved dynamic of the outdoor content world. Still, I like watching a hunt in which someone happened to have a camera and am curious what gear they use. I like that feel. I like when it’s edited that way too. It’s a slice of life.
Anyway, the cool thing about hunting films is they don’t work on any predicable arc, so there is no need to fast forward. When Lampers lines up his shot just under 15 minutes into the film, he does so with the confident evenness that makes him so good and so popular. He seems like the kind of guy whom people ask to follow around, not the one begging for gear. As is the case with this level of filmmaking the clarity is professional grade but for over two minutes we watch the caribou Lampers will shoot walk right to left which seems a little long. Lampers has all the time he needs and the perfect rest. Twenty seconds is plenty to build suspense. Then it’s Call’s turn at 17:24.
This is a masterfully done, beautifully crafted misrepresentation of how easy hunting is. But it happens. Sometimes it is just that easy. No need to manufacture drama. Row the raft, find a spot, get it done. But that’s not the end. Caribou continue to die, there’s a mention of someone else who probably killed one, we have no idea if there is a camp, where camp is, we just get multiple replays of the kill shot. It takes them only one hour to break down two bulls, then they make it to the other ones, then it’s dark, then it’s time for giveaways at the 47-minute mark. We get trivia and a ton of information about brands being used, but I hardly know much about the hunt.
There is some remarkable footage from a remarkable hunt, but it felt more like a video than a film. That’s a slight distinction, but I like stories that have anticipated elements to provide a necessary setting, even in the ambiguity of hunting content. A clear sense of time and place helps tell a story. It seems like they rowed casually into caribou country and shot five or six caribou and then went home to record the giveaway. I wanted more footage of packing out four caribou in a day – that is something I don’t think I have ever seen in a film, or video. Adding a few shots of camp would also provide depth the setting. This could all have been done without even adding to the overall length.
It took Solo Hntr 8 and a half minutes to tell an absolutely beautiful story without words in their 2021 film No Words, because the story is still clearly told. I use that example not as a comparison of right and wrong, it’s the matter of executing a story. This was an awesome video of a crazy afternoon of killing caribou. Maybe that was the simple purpose. If so, it was perfectly done and I should take my own advice and cut out my wordy overthinking.
Nothing But Daylight
GoHunt
1 Episode - 40:59
I love 40-45 minute films. It’s long enough to tell a good story, but doesn’t include a lot of extras. It’s tight and clean. This is a testament to good editing, not a result of poor attention span. The writing process often includes understanding the value of cutting. Writing 1000 words then cutting to 600 consolidates meaning and adds clarity. However, that doesn’t mean a film has to be 40 minutes.
If there was any indication I was going to enjoy the film it was because there wasn’t a shot of the moose in the Anchorage Airport, however it is a little sad that the Kotzebue hunt is no longer open to non-federally qualified hunters. The dark humor of being eaten by a bear comes off as a little more honest than showy. It openly confronts something that hunters in high population areas have to prepare for at least and likely ponder more than they let on.
This really does feel like some dudes on a hunt with a camera man, rather than an advertisement, set on a hunt with a couple of hosts. Confident guys on the tundra looking for “a good representation of the species” as Trail says. Unlike the Gritty film in which there are shooters right off the bat, this remote location offers the almost immediate conflict regarding an early move. Do you take the first decent bull, or be selective. That creates an interesting subplot going forward and you wonder who might regret passing.
I like the layered storytelling, so as the action is happening, there’s also narration when needed to fill in gaps. Sometimes clips in the field meant to fill in the view ends up being confusing or choppy. It also takes away from the experience when you’re being talked to as a viewer. When one hunter explains something to another hunter, that’s one thing. When a hunter breaks from reality to explain something for the show it becomes more of a show. This is personal preference, but I like it when it seems the hunter needs to be focused on the hunt rather than the show. This is probably because the second I attempt to complicate things, I screw up. It creates a feeling of priorities.
After the initial success the film drags on in a way that tells the story. This is where reality splits from fiction. Conflict has to drive plot and something has to happen to keep people interested. But anyone who has hunted knows there comes a lull. Maybe it’s waiting a few hours for the evening pop or a day for the rain to stop. This is a difficult thin for a hunting film because it has to provide enough to tell the story that is relatable without sucking the energy from the film. Too much tent talk or inside jokes and it drags. This film doesn’t drag.
The footage of Trail’s stalk and shot with his bow are sweet, same with Chris’s. It ends up being a perfect example of how a hunt can go – get caribou down with the rifle, then work hard to finish off the trip. They don’t always work out like this film doesn’t reinforce unreasonable expectations. Everything worked out because the hunters played things out as they should have. They stayed at it, didn’t cheat the experience, endured some misery but ultimately were there to make it happen and did.
*Note – I have written a few articles for GoHunt but this is not a paid piece and was done without consent, permission or compensation.
Southeast Alaska Blacktail Deer
Meateater
1 Episode 23:59
There seems to be an interesting phenomenon in the outdoor world. People love Meateater the show, but not so much the Meateater behemoth. I heard the growth of the Meateater brand described like this: It’s like Zac Brown Band turned into Luke Bryan. Hits, but different. I don’t think that’s fair to the talented, creative people behind Meateater and I don’t think that applies to the show. But the brand is a beast and has ceased to be what it was. It has entered a different stratosphere and it’s nearly impossible to watch any new episode and not know that money and opportunity is no object.
I say nearly, because the show was always really good and the show does not flaunt the wild success of the brand. It reflects work, not luck. Rinella never pretends to have POW figured out and doesn’t act or look like a pampered, pretentious, bestselling author who slums it at a shack just to remember how regular hunters live. It’s still a really good show.
Of course Meateater is going to attract the best who have ever filmed, edited and produced hunts. But quality isn’t just a simple product of gear x opportunity. Steve Rinella’s book American Buffalo is a great read and showed he is clearly an intelligent, articulate, capable writer who also tells stories in his films. There is a subtle but important difference between a hunter who starts writing and a writer who hunts. This has a profound impact in the depth of storytelling and in many cases, the quality of storytelling.
This is a great episode that illustrates the difficulty of hunting blacktail deer in the rut. The days are short and it is not a matter of glassing. It’s patience and a non-stop exercise in second-guessing which way you should go and which tactic you should use. The weather changes and you think that’s the key, then it isn’t. It changes again, still not. Then you find a nice little cleared lane in deer habitat and one happens to come in. The thick terrain constantly has you wondering if you didn’t stay long enough or you simply missed one that approached, but hung up.
The show epitomizes cutting fat because there is no doubt there was a ton of footage from the first few days so it could have been an hour-long episode with a kill shot at the end. However, precision cutting allows the story to be told in just over twenty minutes. There were likely a bunch of good shots, but rather than include all of them, only the ones that contributed to the story were used and this lack of redundancy keeps the story moving. This is a prime example of the difference between a film and an episode. The GoHunt film was excellent at 40 minutes, and this episode was excellent at 23.
Alaska Elk
Elk 101
1 Episode 1:25:36
There’s a temptation early on in this film to say “Alaska isn’t like that.” It’s true, but the more you watch, the more it is exactly like Southeast Alaska. The weather looks good. You make a decision, then as the weather unravels and the window closes, the consequences of every decision is amplified.
While I am a big fan of cutting the fat, the length of the kill sequence doesn’t drag on which conveys the time it takes to have success with a bow. The viewer gets the delicacy of the situation. There isn’t a huge herd or a few bulls in the area. It really seems like this might be the one shot they get, and knowing where they hunted, it may very well have been. So you can’t cheat that by cutting to the shot and making it seem as though the master simply went to Alaska, arrowed a bull and came home. Corey draws and holds and you can hear the elk coming. It sounds like it’s just right there, but still the steps get loud, then finally there are antlers. But it’s not over. Did the thing come in, provide an excellent shot, then fall off a cliff on the other side? This is not elk footage anyone is used to. It’s dad joke time if Corey gets that shot in Wyoming or Idaho. It’s panic time in Alaska.
While most hunts are concluded with the kill and the falling action is sometimes slow and drawn out, an entire new storyline emerge between 49:00 when Corey reaches the bull and the end. It is difficult to convey the level of isolation or potential danger because everyone has seen a film in which caribou hunters have to wait a couple extra days to get picked up. There is a difference when you add getting stuck to the extreme terrain, wet hunters and an inability to get warm.
When it’s all said and done, there can be a temptation to brush off potential danger or hype it up once crippling fear has left the hunter. It can be difficult to admit you were given all that you could handle, especially in a realm such as this. “I took all Alaska could throw at me.”
Sure buddy…
Maybe it’s the calm, humble attitude, but Jacobsen doesn’t come off as the type of person who believes he conquers Alaska, Donne certainly doesn’t. There is a feeling about him that while he is very confident and prepared, he knows he is a guest and appreciates the gravity of how quickly things can turn.
The shots convey the beauty of the landscape and all the elements of a brutal story. The severity comes out too without being manufactured and this is what allows this film to be so long. It is technically part of their Destination Elk season, but it was published as a stand-alone which it had to be.
