director
Ridley
Scott
screenwriters
David Mamet
Steven Zaillian
based on
the novel by
Thomas Harris
producers
Dino De Laurentiis
Martha De Laurentiis
Ridley Scott
cinematographer
John Mathieson
music
Hans Zimmer
editor
Pietro Scalia
cast
Anthony Hopkins (Hannibal Lecter)
Julianne Moore (Clarice Starling)
Gary Oldman (Mason Verger)
Ray Liotta (Paul Krendler)
Frankie Faison (Barney)
Giancarlo Giannini (Inspector Pazzi)
Francesca Neri (Allegra Pazzi)
Zeljko Ivanek (Dr. Cordell Doemling)
Hazelle Goodman (Evelda Drumgo)
mpaa rating: R
running
time: 131m
u.s.
release: 2/9/01
video
availability: VHS -
DVD
official
website
other ridley
scott films
reviewed on this website:
- black
hawk down
- blade
runner
- g.i.
jane
- gladiator
see also:
- manhunter
- red
dragon
- the
silence of the lambs
- hannibal
(Thomas Harris book)
|
To
get the obvious out of the way quickly: Hannibal is not
The
Silence of the Lambs. By the same token, Silence of
the Lambs was not Hannibal -- and neither film is
Manhunter,
the 1986 film in which Dr. Hannibal Lecter debuted. All three
are very different movies by three very different directors,
all of whom bring their own style and tone to the work of Thomas
Harris (who wrote the three novels known as "the Lecter
books"). To compare Hannibal to its Oscar-winning
predecessor is senseless: It's really the final movement of a
trilogy, a fond farewell to a fellow Stephen King has dubbed
the greatest character in 20th-century horror fiction.
Following Harris' 1999 bestseller fairly closely, the drum-tight
screenplay (credited to David Mamet and Steven Zaillian) departs
from the police-procedural narrative of the first two Lecter
outings. This trip is more of a Jacobean revenge play, each character
motivated by wrath, pride, greed, envy, unrequited love or lust,
and, in the obvious case of Lecter, gluttony -- most of the deadly
sins seem well-represented in Hannibal. The sole exception
is FBI Agent Clarice Starling (Julianne Moore, in for Jodie Foster),
whose motives are purer; still haunted by the screaming of the
lambs, she is ironically driven to save another sacrificial lamb
-- Lecter himself.
Lecter has been targeted by former victim Mason Verger (an uncredited,
unrecognizable Gary Oldman, caressing each syllable with a decadent
drawl never heard on this planet before), now horribly mutilated
after a particularly ghastly encounter with his erstwhile therapist.
Verger plans to capture Lecter and offer him, feet first, to
a pack of ravenous boars, a diabolical irony even Lecter would
appreciate. The recently disgraced Starling (suspended after
a botched drug bust that wasn't her fault) must find Lecter before
Verger's minions do; time is of the essence, though, because
Verger's men are closing in on Lecter in Florence, where he has
assumed the identity of an art curator, and a decent but desperate-for-cash
Italian detective (Giancarlo Giannini) is likewise on his trail,
mainly for the reward money. This detective has the dual misfortune
of being the descendant of a famously executed murderer and being
up against a scholar of Italian history.
There is not one inessential scene in Hannibal -- it's
extremely plot-centered, and those who treasured the quiet pockets
of dread and sadness in Silence will miss those things
here. (I would've liked a little more competitive scenery-chewing
between Verger and Lecter, for instance.) Hannibal hits
the ground running and sprints for more than two hours towards
its grisly, by-now-infamous climax. What the movie lacks in emotional
tonality, though, it more than makes up for in operatic Grand
Guignol and dark comedy, as well as a ghoulish parody of a tragic
love story. Lecter, it seems, is mesmerized by Clarice -- her
pain, her strength, but mainly her force of will. In the movie's
major departure from the book, the feeling is not mutual; Clarice
wants to save Lecter, but only to bring him back to a cell. The
choice he eventually gives Clarice -- and himself -- in a key
moment defines both their characters superbly.
It won't be long before you fully accept Julianne Moore as the
older but wiser Clarice, with nary a backward glance at Jodie
Foster's interpretation. Without giving a better or worse performance,
Moore simply makes Clarice her own, giving her the weight of
ten years of defeat and frustration at the hands of FBI he-man
woman-haters like Paul Krendler (Ray Liotta), who takes every
opportunity to halt her advancement when he isn't crudely hitting
on her. And she more than holds her own in her few scenes opposite
the man of the hour, Anthony Hopkins, who could have slummed
his way through Lecter this time, but doesn't. Hopkins strolls
through Hannibal like a man enjoying an intensely amusing
private joke, which he shares with us alone. At times he's so
suave he could almost be the intellectual-savage version of James
Bond, with Verger as his Blofeld-type nemesis. But towards the
end, when Lecter tips his hand and shows the repulsed Clarice
exactly what his true nature is (in a hilariously literal pun
on his former profession), Hopkins shows us something new: regret
and mourning for what could have been (and once was, in the book)
and now can never be. He could devour her heart but will never
win it.
Hannibal is a dark and complexly entertaining ride, highly
generous to multiple viewings (I liked it even more the second
time), but many critics, eager to express their official disapproval
of matinee gross-outs, have weighed in with disproportionate
venom -- one viciously insulting pan, by Charles Taylor of salon.com, went so far as to compare
those who enjoy Hannibal with Verger's man-eating swine.
Not everyone will be ready for this ride; the easily nauseated
should probably stay home. But director Ridley Scott (redeeming
himself after his oafish G.I.
Jane and Gladiator)
approaches Hannibal as a gruesome beauty-and-the-beast
tale, in which the noble heroine keeps her virtue and her soul,
while the monster battles his appetites and finds his own soul,
single-handedly. |
