Hannibal

Adapted from the novel by Thomas Harris and featuring the return of the world’s most famous evil genius-psychiatrist-serial killer-cannibal, “Hannibal” is handsomely mounted and fun to watch, without ever becoming very involving. But let’s start at the beginning, shall we? In 1986, Michael Mann directed “Manhunter,” which was based upon Harris’s book Red Dragon. In that book and movie, Hannibal Lecter was a no more than a bit player, a sideshow to the main event. “Manhunter;” was little seen and underrated, and Brian Cox played Lecter (rather well, too). Then Harris wrote his brilliant “The Silence of the Lambs,” in which Lecter’s character became much more prominent. Ten years ago, rather famously, Jonathan Demme directed Ted Tally’s adaptation of “The Silence of the Lambs.” The picture was not only a box office hit, but went on to win the five major Oscars (an outcome, I smugly report, that I predicted at the time). It was in “The Silence of the Lambs” that Anthony Hopkins first gave us his indelible portrayal of Lecter, which not only won him an Oscar, but also instantly gave form to one of the all-time great villains of literature. Got that? Harris went on to write “Hannibal” as a sequel to “Silence,” and, as night follows the day, here is the movie adaptation.

It would be nice to report that the new picture provides the same gripping moviegoing experience as “The Silence of the Lambs,” but alas, such is not the case. Much as the novel Hannibal does not live up to its predecessor, so to the movie cannot match the unalloyed success of “The Silence of the Lambs.” In the novel “The Silence of the Lambs” Harris used his rather remarkable erudition to fix the details of the story squarely in place. He managed to create a world that was palpable, and this in turn allowed the story to play out with tremendous immediacy. In “Hannibal” Harris strives to achieve the same effect, but lightning does not strike twice. His strenuous efforts notwithstanding, the new book reads more like the musings of a bored polymath and substitutes Gothic grotesquerie for the study of the nature of evil that was “The Silence of the Lambs.” It is not a bad book, by any means, and you can’t blame Harris for trying, but it is not a work of genius. It’s just that it reads like someone is trying really hard to impress us with how smart he is. In bringing “Hannibal” to the screen, some of the principals have changed. Julianne Moore replaces Jodie Foster as Clarice Starling, and Ridley Scott directs.

Ted Tally has also been supplanted by the heavyweight writing team of Steve Zaillian and David Mamet. Hopkins reprises Lecter, of course, and the pleasures of the new film are almost entirely attributable to him. He once again imbues Lecter with that diabolical and by now well-known mix of charm and venality, and he can still send chills down your spine with his distinctive voice and the anticipation of the mayhem that his smile tends to foreshadow. He is also quite funny, and the script gives him plenty of laugh lines to capitalize on his sense of humor. The rest of the gang does not fare quite as well. Moore is convincing enough as Starling, and she is an excellent choice to replace Foster (even to the point of looking like Starling might look ten years after the events depicted in “Silence”). Scott, whom I still hold personally responsible for the mess that was “Gladiator” (as an aside, I will be more than annoyed if it that picture wins any Oscars), regains his form somewhat here, directing the picture cleanly, like a pro, with only the occasional Tourette’s-like spasm of camera effects.

The picture does have a certain somber, magisterial look to it (the fine cinematography is by John Mathieson), and a fittingly neoclassical score by Hans Zimmer and others. The weakness of the picture lies in the script, which may have been unavoidable. Zaillian and Mamet struggle, trying hard to invest the story with some weight, but in the end they are forced to simply cut and paste the most camera-ready elements of Harris’s book (right up to, and including, that Grand Guignol dinner finale). They also change the ending rather substantially, for reasons no doubt having more to do with audience friendliness and sequel adaptability than with any kind of artistic vision. The result is a picture with very little sense of context or even completeness, and it plays like a kind of Hannibal the Cannibal’s Greatest Hits. (They even splice in some footage and exposition from “The Silence of the Lambs,” to add a little backstory for the sake of those not familiar with Lecter’s origins.) Having read the novel beforehand, I cannot say how the movie would play for someone who had not, but I think it would seem a bit disjointed, that some of the story elements we take for granted might not seem so obvious to the uninitiated.

When you get right down to it, “Hannibal” is not terribly scary. It is more creepy than anything else (when it is not trying to be funny), though it has a few moments of inspired carnage. There is not much actual gore on the screen, except, again, for the impressively grotesque and slightly digitized looking entree at the end. The movie is by no means a failure or an embarrassment; it is simply not in the same league as its predecessor, and while it may not be nice, or fair, to judge a picture by the standards of its lineage, there you have it. “Hannibal” is amusing enough as a horror farce, but no one would ever mistake it for an examination of the human condition. The same cannot be said for “The Silence of the Lambs.” Part of what made that picture so frightening, and ultimately, so sad, was its recognition that no matter how horrible Jame Gumb (the serial killer called “Buffalo Bill” in the story) was, the world hosted an evil who made Buffalo Bill seem about as threatening as a Teletubby. That evil was, of course, Hannibal Lecter, a creature whose malevolent influence runs roughshod over the mere humans in the story without much regard for the mild inconvenience of incarceration. When he becomes your hero, though, when he has to go out and commit heinous acts in person, when he is reduced to standup caliber wisecracks, the realm of evil seems to be a slightly duller and less frightening place. So go ahead and see “Hannibal.” You will not likely be bored. But I know “The Silence of the Lambs.” “The Silence of the Lambs” is one of my favorite pictures. And “Hannibal” is no “The Silence of the Lambs.” (2/12/2001)