The Hunting Wives is this summer's guiltiest TV pleasure

The experience of watching certain shows during the summer-TV doldrums—think 2010s series such as ABC’s Mistresses, Lifetime’s Devious Maids, and CBS/Paramount+’s Why Women Kill—feels like escaping into a frothy, frivolous beach read on a long, hot day. Chock-full of suspense, family turmoil, betrayals, trauma, and sex (traits that are usually in, say, HBO prestige dramas), they carry an unserious tone and purpose because these programs exist solely to entertain. They’re amusing but not entirely mindless—and The Hunting Wives, which Netflix acquired from Starz earlier this year, is a promising new addition to this kind of series. An adaptation of May Cobb’s novel, this show screams guilty pleasure with its ludicrous characters and situations. 

A common factor in such sudsy thrillers is female protagonists (as opposed to only men) engaging in reckless, dangerous behavior. The eponymous wives here pass their time shooting guns, getting high, and partying into the late hours of the night, complete with body shots and flirting with dudes (or, perhaps, entangling in an affair or two). Consequences are the last thing on anyone’s mind—until a brutal killing that could bring their shenanigans into the limelight. The show’s breeziness stems from not imparting morality lessons along the way, unlike a few other TV offerings this year. In three of the eight hourlong episodes screened for critics, THW indulges in its characters’ bad habits and lets viewers get lured into their extravagance.

We’re introduced to this world through the lens of the soft-spoken Sophie O’Neill (Brittany Snow). She moves to a suburban East Texas town when her husband gets a job working for wealthy oil businessman, Jed Banks (Dermot Mulroney, who enjoys doling out a Southern twang, like most of the ensemble). Sophie, a liberal from Cambridge who used to work in political PR, is unsure of her place in this deep-red state. A speech she hears from Jed has MAGA vibes that send shudders down her spine. She refers to the neighborhood women as “little Marjorie Taylor Greenes.” Yet, she’s drawn into a clique after forming an instant connection with affable queen bee/Jed’s wife, Margo (Malin Akerman). 

Different as they may be—Margo seeks pleasure and luxury, while Sophie’s quiet existence revolves around her family—the two women find common ground by opening up about their anxieties. Oh, and there is crackling sexual tension between them, with every interaction laced with longing. Snow and Ackerman delicately develop the chemistry between their characters, letting their eyes linger or arms graze each other for just a little longer than needed. So it’s not a surprise when the light stares and physical touches evolve into something more in a way that jolts Sophie out of her reality. (That’s not the case with Margo, though. Horny for her new pal, she plots her way into Sophie’s heart with the support of Jed, who has philandering issues of his own.)