Hannibal
The Silence of the Lambs, written by Ted Tally and directed by Jonathon Demme (Philadelphia), transcended the horror genre, becoming only the third film to sweep the five top Oscars (picture, director, actor, actress and screenplay). Understated yet terrifying, meditative but heart-pounding, it boasted a strong female lead in the form of Special Agent Clarice Starling (Jodie Foster) and an unforgettable villain in Dr. Hannibal Lecter (Anthony Hopkins).
Nearly a decade later, Thomas Harris, author of the "Lecter" novels Red Dragon and The Silence of the Lambs, penned Hannibal. The book, which continues Starling's pursuit of Lecter, while adding a few other characters such as former Lecter victim Mason Verger and conniving Italian detective Rinaldo Pazzi, received widely mixed reviews, and particularly harsh comments about its ending. Despite its mediocre reception, Hannibal set off an immediate firestorm of speculation about a film version, which industry insiders billed as one of the most anticipated sequels of all-time.
As a hardcore fan of Silence, I eagerly followed this sequel rumor mill. The producers' inability to resign Foster, Demme and Tally wasn't a good sign. But just as I was losing hope, capable hands such as renowned actress Julianne Moore (Boogie Nights), acclaimed director Ridley Scott (Blade Runner, Gladiator) and top-notch writers David Mamet (The Spanish Prisoner) and Stephen Zaillian (Schindler's List) came on board to fill these roles. There was hope after all.
Alas, it was all a tease. Hannibal is a stunningly abysmal film that's often an embarrassing display considering the talent at work. Even stellar cinematography and decent performances by Hopkins and Moore can't offset the woeful directing, writing and supporting acting.
One of the film's biggest flaws is Scott's surprisingly poor direction, which results in a film that is often hammy and campy rather than scary and somber. Scott somehow forgets the most basic lesson of suspense films: less is usually more. For instance, compare the scene in Silence in which Dr. Lecter describe his passion for eating a census taker's liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti, to the scene in Hannibal in which Lecter eats a live man's brains. Which one is more haunting, more terrifying? That's just one of many examples in which Demme's more reserved directing style shames Scott's in-your-face technique.
Scott's direction isn't helped by some terrible decision-making by the film's screenwriters. Reports of the book's lamebrained ending were on target, and while Zaillian and Mamet make some changes in the movie version, it's not enough. The filmmakers' decision to retain Harris' brain-eating dinner scene -- cringeworthy only for it's campyness -- stands out as the most egregious error.
Lest anyone try to criticize Harris alone for the film's writing woes, rest assured that there's plenty of blame to go around. For example, in an early scene in the film, Starling is criticized by her superiors for a drug raid gun awry, and questioned as to why she shot a pregnant woman. The answer is painfully obvious: because the pregnant woman was a dope dealer who was firing at Starling and gunning down her associates. In the book, Starling answers in this fashion and chastises her superiors, but in the movie she offers a meek response that defies logic. Why the change? It's sad and confounding to see the once-strong Starling reduced to a weak-willed lackey.
Another unfortunate lapse by the screenwriters and/or producers is their decision to drop the character of Starling-mentor Jack Crawford from the film. Crawford, played in Silence by Scott Glenn, was a memorable character in that film and has some key scenes in the book version of Hannibal. With the loss of Foster from the project, Glenn's appearance in Hannibal would have been a nice tie to the earlier film. Consider it another opportunity squandered.
Glenn's absence also underscores another of Hannibal's flaws: its cartoonish, over-the-top supporting players. In Silence, Glenn's rock-solid perf was complemented by a range of picture-perfect role players, from Ted "Put The Lotion In The Basket" Levine as serial killer Buffalo Bill; to Brooke Smith as the defiant victim Catherine Martin; to Anthony Heald as the oily, despicable Dr. Frederick Chilton. In Hannibal, by contrast, we get a grotesque, underwritten Mason Verger (an unconvincing Gary Oldman, who demanded top billing and should be glad he didn't get it) and Inspector General Paul Krendler (a truly atrocious Ray Liotta, whose performance here ranks as a career low). Oh, the horror.
Perhaps Hannibal would have seemed a better film if it didn't have the misfortune to follow in the footsteps of The Silence of the Lambs. Somehow, I doubt it. As a follow-up to the landmark The Silence of the Lambs, Hannibal is a colossal failure and a major disappointment.
Send any comments/ feedback to the author.
Bunches of booze will make it easier to giggle rather than cringe during the film's many over-the-top scenes.
There are hints of a twisted attraction between Starling and Dr. Lecter, but the gross-out factor is likely to squelch thoughts of romance.
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