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After two truly excellent films and a somewhat passable prequel, we come to the fourth and final installment in our look at Hannibal Lecter. Like the other movies based on the novels of Thomas Harris, we’re presented with a charismatic and compelling villainous protagonist, shown dark recesses of the human condition and are at least somewhat creeped out by the goings-on. But Hannibal, to be blunt, doesn’t measure up to the truly excellent Silence of the Lambs and the very good Red Dragon. Let’s peel it apart and find out why, shall we?

At the core of any decent film should be a decent story, right? I mean, fun films can get by with gaping plot holes and one-note characters – a common criticism of most superhero flicks, even decent ones – but to make a film with something approaching meaning the story has to be solid. And while the story in Hannibal never really smacks of total implausability, every once in an while a moment comes where you feel like Thomas Harris either chuckled at the thought of skeeving his audience or dialed up a bit of lurid absurdity to underscore the fact that a novel like Silence of the Lambs adapated into a film that wins five Oscars doesn’t really need a sequel. But getting paid is nice, I guess.

So, the premise: Hannibal’s absconded to Europe and tries to get a steady job as curator at a museum. Special Agent Clarice Starling is struggling to coordinate operations but keeps getting the short end of the stick on account of having boobs. A faceless man – literally, this man has no face – is on the revenge warpath for Doctor Lecter and a Florentine police officer who has yet to notice the oddly-dressed gentleman free-running on the rooftops is beginning to suspect that his erudite, polite American is more than he seems. Seriously, when are Americans erudite and polite? There’s gotta be something up with the guy.

His leering is nowhere near as creepy as Hannibal’s default state, so Starling is completely unphased.

If there’s one thing that approaches salvaging the film, it’s Sir Anthony Hopkins. His portrayal of Hannibal remains pitch-perfect, equal parts cold menace and disarming charisma, and he’s always fun to watch. What made Silence of the Lambs so great and Red Dragon a success, however, was that he was supported by excellent material and a talented cast that kept up with him. This is not to say that Julianne Moore, Ray Liotta and Gary Oldman (face or no face) aren’t talented, but Anthony just leaves them in his dust here. I don’t think it’s the fault of the cast, honestly, nor of Ridley Scott the director. The writing is where this one falls short, and while there are glimmers of truly interesting conversation thanks to David Mamet, the big weakness that causes people to assault this film for massive damage is its focus.

In the other two films I keep raving about, the focus is on character development and interpersonal drama. They’re deeply psychological films, every bit as much explorations of the darker corners of the human mind as they are tense murder thrillers. Hannibal, on the other hand, is a gorefest. As it’s wearing the dressings of Florence and the mannerisms of Hannibal Lecter, it doesn’t have the naked self-indulgent gore of Saw or any other current horror flick you’d care to name, but it certainly likes to slice and dice its way through its running time. It takes no time to develop the new characters that are introduced other than one-note traits that verge on stereotyping, and the established characters unfortunate enough to not be Hannibal Lecter are left flat and uninteresting, mere passengers on the Cannibal Express. I say this is the writing’s fault because Julianne Moore has been in several fantastic films carrying more than her own weight, Ray Liotta was stellar in GoodFellas and Gary Oldman is one of the most talented character actors I’ve ever seen. I don’t think they were intending to play characters who are so completely flat, but that’s what they were handed.

Hannibal is considering eating her raw. …Um.

There were warning signs from the beginning that this would not end well. Both Jodie Foster and Jonathan Demme, originally foregone conclusions in the continuation of Hannibal’s story, walked away from the project due to the direction it takes and the proposed changes to Clarice’s character. The funny thing is, Ridley Scott asked Harris if he was married to his original ending, and Harris really wasn’t. In fact, the impression one gets is that Harris has little to nothing to do with this project at all. It’s unlike Silence of the Lambs and Red Dragon to such a degree that if you change the names of the characters, it doesn’t lose a thing, and neither do those other stories.

There’s an underlying cynicism to the whole affair of Hannibal that makes me wonder what Harris’ real motivation was in writing the novel. Was he prompted to do it due to Hannibal being so interesting, or did the studio hound him for another story, driven by the success of Silence of the Lambs? Whichever’s the case, the feeling one gets upon examining this odd and disappointing specimen is that it was completely unnecessary – unnecessary to write, unnecessary to make, and unnecessary to watch. Save yourself some time, and read the excellent and hysterical Hannibal in 15 Minutes by Cleolinda Jones. She even lifts lines and moments directly out of the film. Things like Gary Oldman not having a face and Starling’s disturbingly funny lines and Hannibal carefully preparing bits of brain in a saute pan. I swear, she is not making that stuff up.

Josh Loomis can’t always make it to the local megaplex, and thus must turn to alternative forms of cinematic entertainment. There might not be overpriced soda pop & over-buttered popcorn, and it’s unclear if this week’s film came in the mail or was delivered via the dark & mysterious tubes of the Internet. Only one thing is certain… IT CAME FROM NETFLIX.

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At the conclusion of the career of the serial killer known as the Tooth Fairy, Doctor Hannibal Lecter was languishing in Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. It looked for all the world that he was destined to return to his quiet incarceration, sketching and reading while infurating his smarmy overseeing psychiatrist, Dr. Chilton. But then another dark soul emerges to claim innocent lives, and the unique insight of the good doctor is once again required. This time, the FBI has sent a trainee. They’ve sent one of their best and brightest, untarnished by the greater evils of the world. They’ve sent a young woman named Clarice Starling.

Starling’s quarry is dubbed “Buffalo Bill,” from his peculiar calling card of skinning his victims. They’re all young women but seem to have nothing else in common. After playing a game or two with Starling, Lecter offers to profile the killer in exchange for being allowed to leave Chilton’s care. The deal is considered skeptically until Buffalo Bill abducts the daughter of a US Senator. But when Lecter if offered a deal, he opts instead to work with Clarice directly, exchanging information on the killer for secrets of Starling’s past. Quid pro quo – after all, how can Lecter trust Clarice to keep her word if he doesn’t know the deepest corners of her soul?

Silence of the Lambs was shot in 1991 and has some of the vestigial trappings of the 80s that are also present in TV shows of the time such as The X-Files. I can think of at least one scene where Jodie Foster is nearly swallowed by the shoulder pads of her jacket. But there’s only so much criticism I can level at this film, considering that the writing is extremely solid, the acting is superb and the directing is taut and intimate.

Always so polite.

The book, written by Thomas Harris, was the third he wrote featuring Doctor Lecter. As I mentioned previously, his second book was adapated to film in 1986 under the title Manhunter, and while the debate as to which between it and Red Dragon is the superior film contiues to this day, the first film was successful enough to warrant a sequel. This one was adapted by Ted Tally, a relatively unknown screenwriter who only had a TV movie and a romantic comedy to his name. And yet, when it came to Silence of the Lambs, he walked away with the Academy Award for Best Adapted Screenplay.

Jodie Foster really came out of nowhere for this. I mean, child stars transitioning into adult works have never had an easy time of it. Add to the fact that Jodie was the sole obsession of John Hinkley – the guy who shot President of the United States Ronald Reagan in 1981 – and she had quite a bit of notoriety to shake off. However, she’d proven her acting chops in The Accused, and she was paired up with Sir Anthony Hopkins, who took over the role (and the original spelling) of Hannibal Lecter from Brian Cox. Oddly enough, both of them began acting in 1968. Both of them stepped in after other actors had left the roles. And both would, like the writers, walk away with Academy Awards.

THIS is girl power, you ignorant douchebuckets.

The film was directed by Jonathan Demme. He’d been struggling to break through into the mainstream after finding critical acclaim with his earlier films, trouble with some big studio projects and a few documentaries and comedies. Silence of the Lambs was a bold turn for him, and he directed it much like Lecter directed the development of Starling. We as the audience, like Starling, are not only shown evil; we are sat in its presence and made to stare. It blended procedural crimesolving with chill-inducing horror so perfectly that it’s been the template upon which many subsequent films in the genre have been based. Not only did Demme win the Best Director Academy Award for his work, the entire film was honored with the coveted Oscar for Best Picture.

That’s five, if you’re keeping track. Five Oscars, all in major categories, and Silence of the Lambs is one of only three films to boast that accomplishment. What more can I say about it? How much longer would I need to sit here trying to convince you to see it, if you haven’t already? It’s quality cinematic entertainment, packed from start to finish with fine performances and keen artisic sense. It will enthrall you and immerse you as well as making you think, and the novels and movies that can truly do that are growing more few and far between every passing day. To neglect The Silence of the Lambs would be, in my humble opinion, extremely rude.

And we all know how Doctor Lecter feels about rudeness.

Josh Loomis can’t always make it to the local megaplex, and thus must turn to alternative forms of cinematic entertainment. There might not be overpriced soda pop & over-buttered popcorn, and it’s unclear if this week’s film came in the mail or was delivered via the dark & mysterious tubes of the Internet. Only one thing is certain… IT CAME FROM NETFLIX.