“The Hunting Wives” Review: Netflix’s Steamy Southern Thriller Delivers Trash TV at Its Finest

“As it turns out, you can’t outrun who you are.”

That line sums up Netflix’s latest drama, The Hunting Wives, which dropped at the end of July and quickly became one of summer’s most addictive binges. Adapted from May Cobb’s 2021 novel, the series is unapologetically soapy—trash TV firing on all cylinders—yet clever enough to stand alongside prestige dramas like Big Little Lies.

Part murder mystery, part sapphic love story, part suburban soap opera, The Hunting Wives peels back the polished veneer of Bible Belt domesticity to reveal a world of desire, betrayal, and dangerous secrets.

Originally developed for Starz before moving to Netflix at the eleventh hour, the show is better off for it. Say what you will about the streaming giant, but its massive reach will give this scandalous drama a far larger audience than it ever would’ve found on a struggling cable network.

The story follows Sophie O’Neil (Brittany Snow), a Massachusetts transplant with a checkered past who moves to the wealthy small town of Maple Brook, Texas, alongside her sleazy, clout-chasing husband Graham (Evan Jonigkeit). At a party hosted by Graham’s new boss—oil tycoon Jed Banks (Dermot Mulroney, reliably great)—Sophie meets Jed’s wife, the intoxicatingly seductive Margo (Malin Akerman).

Through Margo, Sophie is introduced to a circle of glamorous, wine-soaked housewives: Callie (Jaime Ray Newman), wife of the sheriff; Jill (Katie Lowes), wife of a mega-church pastor; and others who seem to embody small-town affluence. But beneath the glittering surface, Sophie is pulled into an intoxicating—and dangerous—world of ambition, desire, and deception.

At just eight episodes, The Hunting Wives is the definition of bingeable. I tore through it in two nights and was left fuming at the infuriating cliffhanger, which, of course, only proves how effectively the series hooked me.

The cast is uniformly strong, but two performances stand out. Malin Akerman is a revelation as Margo, balancing campy villainy with flashes of genuine vulnerability. She’s both dangerous and magnetic, drawing in the audience just as she ensnares Sophie. Katie Lowes also shines as Jill, transforming what could’ve been a tired archetype—the conservative, boy-obsessed pastor’s wife—into a layered, unsettlingly fascinating character.

What sets the series apart from Netflix’s endless parade of talky dramas is its bold embrace of messy, complicated lesbian and bisexual relationships. While heterosexual affairs are present, the emotional core of the show lies in its exploration of suppressed feminine desire—desire that has long simmered beneath conservative, patriarchal expectations. Sophie’s journey, in particular, is less about scandal and more about self-discovery, lending the series a surprising layer of resonance.

That said, the show isn’t flawless. Its biggest weakness is a lack of visual identity. For all its juicy storytelling, there’s little artistry in the way it’s shot—no memorable imagery or standout moments of cinematography across its eight-hour runtime.

Still, The Hunting Wives succeeds where it matters most: it’s entertaining, addictive, and surprisingly insightful beneath its glossy, scandalous surface. Think Dallas for the Netflix generation, with shades of Yellowstone back when it was a cultural juggernaut.

Now streaming, The Hunting Wives is proof that sometimes, the juiciest television doesn’t need prestige polish—just the right mix of camp, sex, and danger.