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Indeed, the notion is distasteful, if you'll excuse the expression. But like almost all taboos that have developed along the way of human evolution, each is a watershed statement about the progress of our socialisation. Hence the tantalising aura of approach-avoidance which made the magnificently horrible Silence of The Lambs both a box office and critical success. Hannibal attempts to tap that same verboten vein in our psyche.
But while the first film was dark and boldly authentic, over the last decade it has been lampooned ad nauseam. We've had time to digest and file its inherent obscenity. Its catch phrases have become a part of our pop culture. And so, ten years later, this sequel surfaces as no more than a very well made caricature.
Such is often the unfortunate fate of Part #2s in general, no matter how competent the effort. We anticipate a certain something. Hollywood tries to please. And whether or not we know what to expect, we certainly know what we are expecting. Thus halfway through Hannibal, a disgruntled gourmand in the audience opined that Dr. Lecter had not yet eaten anyone. Granted, this is very soon rectified. However, what we are served up is hardly the smorgasbord of suspense and horror that fans of the first issue will be looking forward to.
Nonetheless, director Scott must be credited with giving it the old college try. He handsomely sets the first portions of the tale in Florence, where the good doctor has taken it on the lam and assumed the identity of lecturer at a library. The stunning scenery and resultant milieu created will have you scampering to the travel agent. But the real purpose of this stimulating backdrop is to provide an environment for Sir Anthony Hopkins to strut his stuff in the face of a weak script.
Exhibiting the enigmatic but entirely entertaining duality of Dr. Hannibal Lecter, Hopkins quotes from Dante out of one corner of his mouth while salivating for gosh knows who out of the other. His tongue-in-cheek handling of the assignment manages to evince a wonderfully devilish sense of whimsy while never letting us forget that this is indeed a very dangerous monster. The operative word here is smooth. Very smooth.
Playing beauty to his beast, and they hype that angle plenty this go-round, is Julianne Moore as F.B.I. special agent Clarice Starling. It's the role previously portrayed by Jodie Foster. And while the very talented Miss Moore is not quite the world class actor that Miss Foster is, her assumption of the little lost Southern girl trying to find identity and vindication within the F.B.I. picks up right where her predecessor left off. Leastwise, Doc Lecter is convinced. For without skipping a beat after meeting up again with his comely pursuer, Hopkins's psychopathic muncher launches right into his second favourite hobby: The belittling of others by virtue of their social class.
In his best Dixie affectation, the madman playfully revels in reminding Clarice that she is "poor white trash," which in his warped estimation is apparently much worse than being a murderous cannibal. In any case, it's another way of getting under her skin, so to speak.
For want of a truly absorbing plot line, filmmaker Scott allows their relationship to take precedence over all other story aspects. The irony foisted upon us is that while Clarice is Lecter's indefatigable Inspector Javaert, she is also his dutiful Antigone. When a revengeful millionaire eccentric (Gary Oldman) deformed by Lecter in one of his more illustrious moments seeks revenge, Clarice takes more than a law officer's interest in protecting him. Likewise, learning that F.B.I. muckamucks are using Clarice as a scapegoat, Lecter takes the matter to heart.
Instead of seat-edged suspense and terrifying thrills, it's sheer melodrama with horror around the edges and a dollop of self-parody to season the pot. A scene wherein the title character and Clarice's chief nemesis, Ray Liotta as evil Justice Dept. bigwig Paul Krendler, go head-to-head is the kind of movie moment that stays with you long after other images fade. Another great malign instance features Giancarlo Giannini as a Florence detective turned bounty hunter. Don't even ask.
This is a case of the whole being less than the sum of its clever little parts. In fact, the picture is a veritable buffet of sinister moments, many of them well done and memorable. But if it's a full-course entertainment you're in search of, Hannibal just isn't your dish.
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