Film Review: HANNIBAL (2001, Ridley Scott)

Stars: 1.7 of 5.
Running Time: 131 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Anthony Hopkins (THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS, TITUS), Julianne Moore (JURASSIC PARK 2, TALES FROM THE DARKSIDE: THE MOVIE), Ray Liotta (COP LAND, GOODFELLAS), Gary Oldman (SID & NANCY, JFK), Frankie Faison (MANHUNTER, EXTERMINATOR 2), Giancarlo Giannini (SEVEN BEAUTIES, SWEPT AWAY...), Francesca Neri (LIVE FLESH, COLLATERAL DAMAGE), Zeljko Ivanek (MANDERLAY, BIG LOVE). Music by Hans Zimmer (TRUE ROMANCE, GLADIATOR). Cinematography by John Mathieson (GLADIATOR, ROBIN HOOD). Directed by Ridley Scott (BLADE RUNNER, GLADIATOR). Co-written (kind of) by David Mamet (GLENGARRY GLEN ROSS, HOUSE OF GAMES, STATE AND MAIN).
Tag-line: "His genius... UNDENIABLE - His evil... UNSPEAKABLE - His name... UNFORGETTABLE"
Best one-liner: "Bowels in or bowels out?"

Rising above its occasionally silly, lurid subject matter, Jonathan Demme crafted THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS into an uncommonly emotive and well-made thriller. While not an all-time favorite, I enjoy it quite a bit, particularly the magnificent character actor performances contained within, from Scott Glenn to Anthony Heald to Ted Levine to, of course, the two leads. (It even gets bonus points for having a ginormous-eyeglasses-free George A. Romero cameo.) Conversely, HANNIBAL is... garbage. And it's not the sort of trash that excites me on a level like MUNCHIE STRIKES BACK or HELL COMES TO FROGTOWN or THE GARBAGE PAIL KIDS: THE MOVIE; it's the sort of trash that can only be bought for $87 million.

Where to begin? Stylistically, it's as if Tony Scott (Ridley's brother) and latter-day Danny Boyle held an arm-wrestling match atop a camera, their pivot points being the shutter-speed control and the exposure button.

Slowed-frame-rate slow-motion (aka bad slow motion, which should never be used by anybody except David Lynch) is employed on a near-constant basis, whereupon my spit-takes gave way to groans of desperation.

THE HOGS WILL EAT YOU IN BAD SLO MO


Julianne Moore descends the stairs as the shutter speed shifts and we dissolve from one image to another while overlapping a third.

The Florence locations are beautiful, but I can't help but think of the United Nations allowing THE INTERPRETER within their hallowed walls, when they had rejected decades-earlier bids by NORTH BY NORTHWEST and THE DAY THE EARTH STOOD STILL.

At least they don't use historical Tuscan city for product placement and self-aggrandiz–

Oh. Well, nice to see you Mr. Crowe. But none of this would be a problem if the movie wasn't so sure of its own brilliance. "Oh boy..." this movie says with flared nostrils and shit-eating grin, "we are delivering you all the thrills of THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS... and more!– Aren't you grateful?"

I don't want to get too far ahead of myself– let's tackle the plot. Supposedly co-adapted from the Thomas Harris novel by David Mamet, I was initially excited, but eventually found myself imagining three scenarios: A. Mamet was involved, but they didn't use his stuff, B. Mamet was involved, and he completely phoned it in, or C. Mamet lent his name only so that the film would gain prestige and he would gain bags of money. Cursory research shows it to be mostly A., with a likely smattering of C.

Regardless, it's sort of like a buddy cop movie. (A buddy cop cannibal movie? Don't ask me, because I don't know.) So we catch up with Clarice Starling a decade after the events of the first film, and now she's played by a sullen Julianne Moore. Julianne honestly tries her best, but I couldn't help but wish I was watching her instead in TALES FROM THE DARKSIDE: THE MOVIE. Hell, I was even looking fondly back on JURASSIC PARK 2. Anyway, she's a baby-washin' action-luvin' FBI agent who gets involved in a shootout with a baby-carrying woman and subsequently has to wash blood off of an animatronic baby, in a scene fraught with baby-washing emotion.


It takes a while to get there, but eventually we get to that ubiquitous buddy-cop scene where she has to turn in her badge and gun while some stiff-upper lip higher-up jerk-off is saying

"you destroyed half the city you action-luvin' loose cannon cop, you're a liability!"

and then our spunky hero says something like "you're making a big mistake, I'm the only one who can crack this case, and with all due respect, 'fuck you, sir!'" And Ray Liotta's in there, too

occasionally getting the chance to giggle like a little girl on coke, which is all we really wanted to see in this movie anyway.

Then there's Gary Oldman as a disfigured former victim of Hannibal Lector (Hannibal coerced him into cutting off his own face and feeding it to dogs after feeding him one popper, which I don't think is scientifically accurate unless they meant this kind of popper). His makeup is really quite impressive, but once I came to the internal decision that it resembled a cross between The Cryptkeeper and The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, there was really no turning back.

He's got a convoluted plan to bring Hannibal to justice via some flesh-eating hogs he's been raising for the occasion, but because the filmmakers want Hannibal to be our cannibal anti-hero, they stack the deck ridiculously so against Oldman, making him a child molesting, bible-thumping, ultra-rich asshole. Who is also disfigured. And before you think about that too hard, I mean, look at his face, don't you see the face of... A MONSTER???

Which leads us to the film's secondary hypothesis, which is that Hannibal is some kind of Christ-figure, meting out harsh justice to deserving rude people. All I can say is that Hannibal is far more interesting behind bars as a source of brooding, intellectual menace, because as soon as he's out, he turns into a combo of Freddy Kruger and John McClane which might even be okay in a different series, but this film follows MANHUNTER and THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS fer God's sake! (Also see: my hatred for RED DRAGON.)

We're treated to a bad-slomo/shutter speed flashback of Hannibal attacking a nurse, a flashback scene referenced in THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS. In that film, we heard the incident described in ominous detail, and it built a terrifying picture (in our minds) of what this Hannibal fellow was going to be like.

Going back unnecessarily and showing it at this point is like if they'd made a SE7EN: PART 2 and shown, via flashback, exactly how that notorious box from the finale came to be filled.

And because Anthony Hopkins wore an amazing big dumb hat in his final scene of SILENCE OF THE LAMBS, we are now entreated to 131 minutes of Hopkins wearing big dumb hats because now we can truly infer that he is a big dumb hat aficionado.


Anthony Hopkins: I HEART PAYCHECKS & BIG DUMB HATS

Along the journey that is this film, we're bestown with a zany Hannibal carousel ride, a supporting role from the talented Zeljko Ivanek (who seems destined to play only toadies, slimeballs, or a combination of the two),

a quasi-meaty but inadequate role for Italian film legend Giancarlo Giannini,

and the infamous "food for thought" scene with Ray Liotta, where he manages to actually be excellent despite being trapped in an awkward, overproduced horror scenario, the sort that can never match the dinner scene in TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE, no matter how many millions are poured into it.

Liotta's pathos cannot be easily caged.

And in a weird, topical twist, while watching this last night, I was shocked to see a pre-9/11 Osama bin Laden cameo (sharing the FBI's Top Ten Most Wanted list with Hannibal Lector).

Which sort of leads to this next point, which is my (possibly crazed) claim that thrillers have gone into the toilet since the internet era began.

For some reason it annoys me to no end to see filmic cops, neighborhood kids, concerned homeowners, etc. doing research on serial killers, Freddy Krueger, poltergeists, etc. on their computers! Stick to the microfiche and musty tomes, I say!

Well, I guess that's about it. I can't say anything more about this mov–

WAIT OH MY GOD HE'S GOING TO EAT HER


OH THANK GOD IT'S JUST A KISS... ...Er, what?


WITH A SINGLE TEAR– IT'S TENDER AND BEAUTIFUL, JUST LIKE I IMAGINED IT WOULD BE FOR ALL THESE YEARS

I take it all back– here's five stars for you, HANNIBAL. Here I was harshly judging you as a thriller, when in fact you were a love story all along. I apologize. Please don't think I'm one of those rude people.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: TALES FROM THE DARKSIDE- THE MOVIE (1990, John Harrison)

Stars: 4.2 of 5.
Running Time: 93 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Debbie Harry (VIDEODROME, "Blondie"), Matthew Lawrence (BOY MEETS WORLD, MRS. DOUBTFIRE), Christian Slater (HEATHERS, GLEAMING THE CUBE), Steve Buscemi (MYSTERY TRAIN, RESERVOIR DOGS), Julianne Moore (SAFE, PSYCHO '00), William Hickey (ONE CRAZY SUMMER, PRIZZI'S HONOR), David Johansen ("The New York Dolls," SCROOGED, 200 CIGARETTES), James Remar (THE WARRIORS, RENT-A-COP), Rae Dawn Chong (COMMANDO, CHAINDANCE), Mark Margolis (THE WRESTLER, THE COTTON CLUB). Cinematography by Robert Draper (HALLOWEEN 5, DR. GIGGLES). Screenplay amalgamated from work by George A. Romero, Stephen King, Arthur Conan Doyle, and Michael McDowell (BEETLEJUICE, THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS). Special makeup effects by Howard Berger, Greg Nicotero, and Robert Kurtzman. Visual effects supervised by Ernest D. Farino (THE THING, THE ABYSS, THE TERMINATOR).
Tag-line: "Brace yourself for some KILLER stories."
Best one-liner: "I've never blown a hit yet, kitty cat."

Well, my anthology horror series has given me an excuse to take this lofty tome off the shelf, dust it off, and flip through its brittle, musty pages once more.

Considered by many, including Tom Savini, to be the real CREEPSHOW 3, it features stories from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Stephen King, and ancient Japanese folklore adapted by the likes of Michael McDowell and George A. Romero. Its director, John Harrison, did the electrifyingly spooky score for the first CREEPSHOW, and the crew features many series regulars. Additionally, many of the cast (i.e., Christian Slater and Debbie Harry) were alumni from the TALES FROM THE DARKSIDE TV show.

Divided into three segments, each part has a thoroughly distinctive feel. "Lot 249," a tale of mummies and revenge, has the visual consistency of an old Republic serial with post-RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK production value. "The Cat from Hell" sees a hitman going after a cursed black cat, has a very Vittorio Storaro-esque texture, and becomes very theatrical, not unlike the "Father's Day" segment from CREEPSHOW:

"Lover's Vow," which sees a struggling artist make a pact with a monster to avoid evisceration, feels most like it's embracing a contemporary style, and it features a thick, 'desolate yet metropolitan' atmosphere. The wraparound story is basically "Hansel & Gretel" meets "Scheherazade" in suburbia. With Debbie Harry.

So, while giving away as little as possible, I shall thumb through the veritable reams of these darkened pages- TALES FROM THE DARKSIDE features immeasurable insights into a number of scholarly disciplines. Prepare to have some thoughts provoked:

The Wrap-around Segment:

PHILOSOPHY: Is Debbie Harry a good actress? I don't know. Can we say for sure? ...Should we say for sure?

How about this: if a radio is playing "Rapture" in the woods and no one's around to hear it, does it still have that schweet rap part?

No wait– I'm sorry I said that, Blondie. Er, I mean, Debbie Harry. Yes, I know Blondie is the name of the band, not you. Sorry.


Lot 249:

ZOOLOGY: TALES FROM THE DARKSIDE affords us an outstanding glimpse of the Slater Factor in its natural habitat. Not until KUFFS in '92 would we see it quite this unrestrained. Look at the following images. Rarely has the Slater Factor been captured with such gleeful, manic precision. And rarely has it been captured holding such a wicked electric knife.





SOCIOLOGY: How is it possible that I'm always rooting for the proletariat... unless the ruling class is Slater?

Look at that sweater. We should hate him. But the eyebrow has won us over. An important lesson. Conversely, Robert Sedgwick and Julianne Moore, in their respective squash court and aerobics attire, garner no such sympathy.

Smart-alecky-ness vs. pomposity. An age-old struggle, and one which is always won by the smart-alecks.

ARCHAEOLOGY: Julianne Moore handles an actual Zuni fetish doll, in an in-joke directed at TRILOGY OF TERROR's (historically inaccurate) bundle of teeth.

Though I must admit, a small, polished stone carving of an animal is infinitely less fun than a 'YAAAAAH YAH YAH NUMMM NUM' yammering little fellow with a predilection for edged weapons.

PHYSICS: Can three heads occupy the space intended for two heads?

This case study shows that it is, in fact, possible.

LINGUISTICS: Why does uttering the ancient hieroglyphic curse in English cause the mummy to awaken?... More importantly, who cares!

Young Buscemi utters the malediction.

The Cat From Hell:

GERIATRICS: Is it possible for a human being to have never been young? I swear that William Hickey was like eighty years old for a span of about forty years.

"Bring me its tail, so I can throw it in the fire and watch it burn!"

And it's always the greatest actors, like Harry Dean Stanton, Walter Huston, Walter Brennan ...I could go on. Unless somebody can provide me with evidence to the contrary, I'll have to assume that Hickey sprung forth from the womb as an oldster–

I stand corrected. Though he kinda looks the same, even then (the 1960's).

MUSIC THEORY: Who'd have thought that one day we'd see New York Doll member-turned-Buster Poindexter songster David Johansen stalking a cat with a laser-sighted gun in a suspenseful horror anthology? Not I.


And who'd have thought that he would have such a subtle, classy Dirk Bogardish quality to his acting? Or that he could pull off the whole 'internal monologue externalized' thing like a true professional?

According to Harrison and Romero, Johansen and Hickey drained a great deal of gin in their down-time and held the cast and crew rapt with their constant banter and ridiculous anecdotes. Ah, to have been a fly on the wall on the set of TALES FROM THE DARKSIDE...

Lover's Vow:

ART HISTORY: Balsa wood artists are an angst-driven bunch. Theirs is a fleeting art, one that can be easily smashed in fits of impassioned fury.

To be fair, we see him work with different media, but our first glimpse of him is as he's smashing a balsa construction that looks culled from an 'Odyssey of the Mind' competition.

This is easily the most dramatic segment, as nearly every omnibus requires a straight-up tragedy. And James Remar, one of my faves, has been cast against (villainous) type as a sensitive artiste. I like it. Hell, I'm always rooting for him anyway. [See also: The Slater Factor.]

HISTORY HISTORY: Speaking of factors, the RDC factor is pretty high, too, and it's occasionally wearing a fringe hippie jacket. For the uninitiated, that's the Rae Dawn Chong factor. She was comin' into the home stretch of a pretty mindblowing run of films from '81 to '91. We're talkin' QUEST FOR FIRE, BEAT STREET, Ferrara's FEAR CITY, CHOOSE ME, AMERICAN FLYERS, COMMANDO, THE COLOR PURPLE, SOUL MAN, THE SQUEEZE, THE PRINCIPAL, and Ironside's CHAINDANCE.

This was one of her great last hurrahs, and I can't decide if seeing her romantically paired with James Remar makes me happy or uncomfortable.

CRYPTOZOOLOGY: The monster is great. A detailed latex n' rubber construction, you can only shudder to think of how they'd handle it today, maybe with a CGI creature that resembles DRAGONHEART or something. At best.


ALTERNATE UNIVERSE-OLOGY: A glimpse of James Remar in an eyepatch reveals what it would have been like had Walter Hill directed ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK.


In the end, one of the stronger horror anthology films. Not as good as the original CREEPSHOW, but it's leaps and bounds above CREEPSHOW 2. There's not a weak segment or a groan-inducing moment in the bunch, and that's the highest of compliments for an omnibus film. A little over four stars.

Film Review: BODY OF EVIDENCE (1993, Uli Edel)

Stars: 2 of 5.
Running Time: 101 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Willem Dafoe, Madonna (DICK TRACY), Joe Mantegna (HOUSE OF GAMES, HOMICIDE), Frank Langella (MASTERS OF THE UNIVERSE, FROST/NIXON), Julianne Moore (SAFE, TALES FROM THE DARKSIDE: THE MOVIE), Anne Archer (FATAL ATTRACTION, SHORT CUTS), Jürgen Prochnow (TWIN PEAKS: FIRE WALK WITH ME, DAS BOOT), Charles Hallahan (THE THING, VISION QUEST). Written by Brad Mirman (HIGHLANDER III, THE GOOD SHEPHERD). Music by Graeme Revell (SIN CITY, CHILD'S PLAY 2).
Tag-line: "An act of love, or an act of murder?"
Best one-liner: "It's not a crime to be a beautiful woman." ALSO: "It's not a crime to be a great lay!"

As promised, BODY OF EVIDENCE is amazingly bad. And it's the sort of bad movie that I don't realllly ever need to see again, not ever. That's not to say that there's no gold here. There is definitely some gold. Joe Mantegna discussing nipple clamps. Frank Langella somberly elucidating how Madonna fingering herself drove him wild.

Langella hangs his head in shame. Mantegna closes his eyes and pretends it's a Mamet picture.

Willem Dafoe declaring the self-evident truth, "It's not a crime to be a great lay." Julianne Moore doing that whole 'anguished wife' routine.

"How did you get those candle wax burns? TELLL ME!!!"

There are a lot of great actors here who were happy to collect a paycheck and then head for the fuckin' hills. Then there's Madonna. Madonna is not a 'great actor.' She's probably at her best in DESPERATELY SEEKING SUSAN, where the role cleverly called for her to only ‘look cool’ and keep the talking to a minimum. Here, she's talking a LOT, and she's trying real hard to be ‘sexy.’


Welcome to Sexytown, U.S.A. Population: Madonna. And why is a heavenly choir playing? Well, in my opinion, that unanswered question finds resolution nearly 20 years later with 'ANTICHRIST.'

And the forced sexiness is utterly macabre. The pacing is EXCRUCIATING. How long can we watch Madonna alternatingly pour hot wax and champagne on Dafoe's nipples as stock, steamy Spanish guitar plays? Well, watch the movie and find out.

WAXXX–

Dafoe is a goddamned trouper.

DAMN this movie is so KINKY and FORBIDDEN. It depicts scenes involving HANDCUFFS, CLOTHES-RIPPING, and other such HANKY-PANKERIES!

Sometimes a mere picture is worth one thousand words.


Madonna cops a feel. Dafoe's look says it all.

Wait one minute! Whose manly hand is whose?


Madonna prepares to smash a light bulb and then have sex on top of it. I think BODY OF EVIDENCE was hoping to instill a Pavlovian reaction within the viewer where broken glass = arousal. If that's the case, you probably shouldn't watch TOTAL RECALL right afterward.

Anyway, I forgot to mention that all of this accompanies a legal thriller. The trial is overseen by an incredibly sassy judge who is always insisting that "I will not allow this trial to become a circus!," but it always does anyway.

"I WILL NOT ALLOW THIS TRIAL TO BECOME A CIRCUS!!!"

The spectators are those same eternally muttering, easily shocked people from every courtroom drama who mumble "Rhubarb, rhubarb, rhubarb" into their cupped hands every few minutes. Whew.

There's an awesome vintage featurette on the DVD which has all manner of trite sound bites like Madonna saying "She's a complicated woman- I can relate to that" and a sold-out Mantegna remarking that "we only have phenomenons like [Madonna] at certain intervals in history." However, Dafoe stands fast when asked about the Material Girl: "She's always investigating, uh, new things." Ha!

Madonna tries new things, the likes of which we haven't seen since at least DICK TRACY.

Two stars.

-Sean Gill

P.S.

Mantegna informs Dafoe of the forthcoming sequel: BODY OF EVIDENCE II: HARDBODIES.


P.P.S. And don't worry, Willem, this sort of thing happens to the best of 'em.