Hobo with a Shotgun

Rutger Hauer is twitchy and itchy. Pulling faces, scowling, chuckling. Mouthing off a mumbled string of impenetrable homilies, with a pretty young hooker in tow. The effects are practical, the bloodshed laced with meaty chunks, and every single frame saturated with rapidly shifting primary colours. The central city in Hobo with a Shotgun isn't just corrupt, it's insane. Presided over by a squat, pinch-faced lunatic and his Tom Cruise twins, with local law enforcement deep deep in their pockets. Hauer's Hobo stumbles from indignity to indignity, finally taking a stand against the citywide madness by pumping slugs into the populace. The Hobo's shotgun is absurdly fetishised, at once a grindhouse pulveriser and a magical justice totem, its cocking clack mixed high and loud like a sleazepit applause prompt. Hobo with a Shotgun takes no ironic stance, it isn't a parody of gauche gutter cinema. Likewise, it isn't employing recognisably trashy tropes to cash in on some perceived market attention. Instead, it's the real deal. A grimey sprint through the fevered imaginations of children raised on videogames and selfish cinema.