Regrettably faithful adaptation of Thomas Harris' horror novel (up until the end) is little more than glossy, well-acted torture porn, and as such set the tone for later films like Saw and Hostel. After a drug bust goes sour, FBI Agent Clarice Starling (here played by Julianne Moore -- both director Jonathan Demme and actress Jodie Foster begged off this sequel to The Silence of the Lambs) is relegated to working the dormant Hannibal "The Cannibal" Lecter case, but catches a break when a severely disfigured Lecter survivor's offer of a reward for information on Lecter's whereabouts rousts him out of hiding in Florence. Which is too bad, really, as the film's most engaging performance is given by Giancarlo Giannini as an Italian cop who just can't say no to three million dollars. Starling comes off slightly better here than in the novel, though that isn't saying much: with her bizarre little-girl attraction to Lecter, she still makes sexist hiring practices seem like a good idea. (Where's Will Graham when you need him?) Both gross and grotesque, with face-eating dogs, flesh-eating pigs, and a brain-eating cannibal -- and "humor" that equates Lecter's enemies with Judas and Lecter himself with Christ.
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Regrettably faithful adaptation of Thomas Harris' horror novel (up until the end) is little more than glossy, well-acted torture porn, and as such set the tone for later films like Saw and Hostel. After a drug bust goes sour, FBI Agent Clarice Starling (here played by Julianne Moore -- both director Jonathan Demme and actress Jodie Foster begged off this sequel to The Silence of the Lambs) is relegated to working the dormant Hannibal "The Cannibal" Lecter case, but catches a break when a severely disfigured Lecter survivor's offer of a reward for information on Lecter's whereabouts rousts him out of hiding in Florence. Which is too bad, really, as the film's most engaging performance is given by Giancarlo Giannini as an Italian cop who just can't say no to three million dollars. Starling comes off slightly better here than in the novel, though that isn't saying much: with her bizarre little-girl attraction to Lecter, she still makes sexist hiring practices seem like a good idea. (Where's Will Graham when you need him?) Both gross and grotesque, with face-eating dogs, flesh-eating pigs, and a brain-eating cannibal -- and "humor" that equates Lecter's enemies with Judas and Lecter himself with Christ.
2 Comments
+++ Based on the non-fiction book by Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward, then of The Washington Post, whose investigative reporting was instrumental in bringing the Watergate scandal of President Richard Nixon's administration into public view. Significantly, Jason Robards, playing the Post's executive editor, won an Academy Award (for Best Supporting Actor), while neither Robert Redford (Woodward) nor Dustin Hoffman (Bernstein) was even nominated. This is because this film is strictly a reportorial yarn -- a very well made one, to be sure -- in which the two stars might as well be playing Reporter #1 and Reporter #2. It is so laser focused on uncovering the conspiracy that the conspiracy itself fails to thrill. It's a wonderful advertisement for journalism, but much less successful as a human drama. Yet on its own terms -- that is, as fodder for political and journalism junkies -- it works. ++++ The first suspense novel in Woolrich's "Black Series" is a cunningly conceived tale of revenge and rough justice. The opening quotation from Guy de Maupassant has us rooting for the murderess before we've even met her. Then we meet her, and she's so beautiful, so clever and efficient -- so deliciously dark -- that our admiration and affection for her grow, even as she takes out one seemingly average man after another. We trust her. Julie Bailey is one of the great women of suspense fiction, a woman who has only one thing for the five men who killed her husband and got away with it: a violent death. It all works so well because Woolrich takes the time to introduce us to each of the victims, while showing us how Julie gets close enough to them to make the killings personal. Superior noir, but not without a touch of levity: Woolrich closes out each section with the poor cop who's going nuts trying to figure out what's happening and why. Adapted for film in 1968 by French director François Truffaut. |
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