And it is one hell of a grueling, and intensely compelling, debut too. It is the literalization of Carol Clover’s famed essay about horror movies objectifying the female form via visual and eventual dismemberment.īut this is neither exploitation or horror it is the beginning of a pressure cooker set by newcomer director Ben Young. And so the sequence is shot wholly in extreme close-ups of arms, thighs, that blonde, blonde hair, and of carnivorous eyes sitting in a parked car. At least that is what they tell themselves. She is also for all intents and purposes faceless, devoid of an identity because her stalkers, the eponymous hounds, have no concern for the soul within their quarry. The meat before them is young, nubile, and blonde. There is a scene early in Hounds of Love-the first scene, in fact-where two predators watch their prey on a tennis court.
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