HINDSIGHT IS 20/21: HANNIBAL

For this instalment of Hindsight is 20/21, I revisited the most controversial film of the Hannibal Lecter saga, simply titled Hannibal. Released in February 2001 and set ten years after The Silence of the Lambs (1991), it broke the record for the largest opening weekend for an R-rated film by more than $15 million; safe to say, audiences were highly excited for the continuing adventures of everyone’s favourite cannibalistic serial killer. Anthony Hopkins, who had won an Oscar in 1992 for the role, returned to his most famous character, yet Hannibal was rather a critical disappointment upon its release, receiving mixed-to-negative reviews and dissatisfying plenty of casual fans with its gruesome violence, grotesque imagery, and gross distortion of the characters. Much of the criticism for the film originated with Thomas Harris’ source novel, published in 1999 to controversy and discontent, and having read it just prior to rewatching the film, it’s easy to see why: not only does the plot, involving disfigured Lecter victim Mason Verger seeking vengeance, tend toward the ghastly and grisly, but the character assassination done unto the ostensible heroine, FBI special agent Clarice Starling, is borderline blasphemous.

It’s therefore unsurprising that the original Starling portrayer, Jodie Foster, declined to return for the sequel, along with The Silence of the Lambs director Jonathan Demme and screenwriter Ted Tally. Replacing them were acclaimed actress Julianne Moore, versatile filmmaker Ridley Scott, and the ostensible scriptwriting dream team of David Mamet and Steven Zaillian. The film adaptation of Hannibal is largely faithful to the novel – save for some drastic changes made to the ending – which is probably why the film was just as controversial when it was released. It’s important to also note that Harris wrote Hannibal after The Silence of the Lambs was adapted on-screen and Hopkins’ performance turned Lecter into an iconic cinematic villain. Despite the character’s horrific actions, Hopkins’ charming and cultured depiction of a different type of evil couldn’t help but appeal to audiences. Harris clearly recognized this and his narrative in Hannibal reflects this, turning its eponymous character into more of an antihero than an antagonist and fashioning an even more horrible adversary to oppose him: Mason Verger is an abusive bully and convicted child rapist, and Gary Oldman plays him (under heavy prosthetics) as a spoiled rich brat with a grand sense of entitlement.

Despite the ten-year gap since its predecessor and the loss of its Oscar-winning lead actress, director, and screenwriter, Hannibal was still hotly anticipated and became a huge success largely due to Hopkins returning as Dr. Lecter. Yet turning the psychopathic psychiatrist into the protagonist skews the audience identification – he was not the lead of The Silence of the Lambs (despite winning Best Actor, Hopkins’ performance is supporting, as Lecter is a foil) and attempting to recast him as such here can’t help but damage the arc of the actual hero, Clarice Starling. While Hannibal largely continues the depiction of bureaucratic misogyny – even doubling down by having Starling suspended from the FBI for, essentially, refusing the advances of chauvinistic Justice Department official Paul Krendler (Ray Liotta) – it counterbalances by giving Starling much less to do and even reducing her to a damsel in distress by the film’s climax. After Foster’s strong performance establishing Starling as a feminist icon capable of much more than just being rescued, this is lazy writing for such a strong female character and does her a great disservice. The much-promoted image of Hopkins sporting his infamous mask and carrying Moore in his arms is an effective one, and yet it mostly serves to underline just how lessened Starling’s character is in this film.

The film also differs greatly from The Silence of the Lambs aesthetically, owing to the distinct approaches of their respective directors. Demme, largely known for comedies previously, favours a direct, almost confrontational approach, having every character (save Starling) stare and speak directly to the camera, in order to truly put us in the mind of the female FBI agent and see how men observe and ogle her. Scott, a far more stylized filmmaker, prefers to indulge in the lurid and ludicrous aspects of the story, exaggerating the most operatic moments and turning the film into more of a typical horror. To wit: while Demme largely shied away from showing too much gore and violence, save when absolutely necessary, Scott has no such predilections, even going as far as to show Lecter’s heinous attack on an unsuspecting nurse some years before – the aftermath of which had been implied in The Silence of the Lambs but never explicitly shown.

Hannibal also distinguishes itself from its precursor in the embellished depiction of its eponymous doctor. The iconic poster for the film highlighted Lecter’s glowing red eye, making him look demonic and otherworldly, and Scott emphasizes this notion, accentuating the horror-movie iconography of Lecter with a deviously cockeyed Panama hat and a swooping vampiric cape (a notable line in The Silence of the Lambs had a rookie cop asking Starling if Lecter was “some kinda vampire”). It’s also interesting to note that Hopkins and Oldman previously faced off in Francis Ford Coppola’s Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992), only with Oldman playing the bloodsucker; here, Hopkins fills the role of supernatural monster, with his diabolical facial expressions and peculiar appetites making the comparison to Count Dracula entirely valid. Scott can’t help but romanticize Hannibal the Cannibal, indulging the pop culture icon he became in the wake of The Silence of the Lambs.

Only two years after Hannibal‘s release, Hannibal Lecter would be named the greatest screen villain in American cinema by the American Film Institute, besting Norman Bates and Darth Vader. Though the list specifically identifies Hopkins’ performance in The Silence of the Lambs, it’s likely that the record-breaking success of Hannibal contributed greatly to his placement. And yet the film’s idealized depiction of Lecter turns him into a romantic hero at the expense of its feminist icon – certainly a troubling thought. Although the film thankfully avoids faithfully adapting the book’s inexplicable ending of (spoiler alert) Starling and Lecter becoming lovers and fleeing to Argentina together, it still highlights the romantic tension between the two characters in their climactic face-off, even if it is largely left unresolved. Still, the damage is done, as reducing Starling to just another woman to be rescued by the heroic leading man ultimately dooms the film – especially when the leading man is a psychotic cannibal.