Supreme Cinema.

Rating: 10/10 (17 May 2008)

This is one of those very rare movies in which every detail meshes. It's a whole piece. A comparison that comes most readily to mind is 'The Usual Suspects'.
From the beautifully evocative orchestral music onwards, you just know you're about to witness something special. The camera-craft and lighting are at times quite sublime, the acting entirely believable. For those with a decent sound-system, one can almost feel the changes of ambiance. Take, for example, Clarice Starling's first encounter with Hannibal. A slight echo typical of the prison facility above ground, is lost as she descends into the catacomb-like dungeon of the most dangerous inmates. Now there is no resonance at all. Instead we have a thick, claustrophobic silence that is frighteningly intimate. This is a nerve-racking aural prelude to their first meeting at the other end of the chamber. It is wonderfully crafted. And because it serves our expectations so well, we take it for granted. For this reason, good quality sound-engineering is often overlooked.
And so the movie goes on. Dr Lecter is standing in the middle of his cell. It's a strange, unnatural posture, as if momentarily paused from some action. But he just remains, quiet, still, fixedly watching.
The exchanges between nervous Clarice and himself are amongst the classics of cinema. Jodie Foster is ideal with her nervous palpitation, but still driven by pride and ambition to achieve something, whilst Anthony Hopkins, playfully enigmatic, intelligent, and with a barely-restrained madness, sets her a perfect foil.
The plot twists are numerous and clever. The discovery slow, slick and often shocking. The script is arch, witty, but still entirely believable, and delivered by a cast of actors who never put a foot wrong.
Small town America is depicted as a sad failure. Properties are neglected. The people appear defeated. The lighting is always dull, with the colours washed-out. It's grim. The sun never seems to shine. The music is pensive and thoughtful. A great deal of attention went into describing emotion by light and sound, and once again we can easily take it for granted. But someone thought it all out, piece by piece.
Fast forward to Buffalo Bill's lair. We meet the man himself at last. He is naked, obsessing over his pathological delusion. In the mirror he conceals his genitalia between his legs as metamorphosis into femininity. A different music is playing - heavy metal.
Clarice has found him out. But he has descended into a sub-basement hell and she must follow and find him. Groping in absolute darkness amongst unimaginable ghastly relics of wickedness we see her at last from Bill's perspective. He has an image intensifier and can observe her every move. She is desperately afraid but yet more courageous still. She will not be deterred. In the stifling confinement we hear her hyper-ventilating with terror and barely able to hold her gun steady.
Then it's over. Bill is disclosed by his own sound and seen in a whirl of momentary gun-flashes. During the chaos a blind is disturbed and at last there is sweet daylight flooding in. A Chinese-lantern affair is twirling gracefully in its glare. The audience collectively begin breathing again.
This movie is a master-class in cinema as an art-form. It is possible to exhaust one's fund of superlatives in praise. I cannot watch it very often because I am drained by the sheer emotional experience. When Hollywood does it right, they really cannot be bettered. Oscars for best film, best director, best screenplay, and best actors for both Hopkins and Foster, with two other nominations - never more deserved.
As a footnote to an earlier commentator. Apart from the corpses, the only character in the movie to be seen naked is that of buffalo Bill himself. And even he spares our sensibilities. At no time does Jodie Foster expose herself, neither does Anthony Hopkins, nor indeed anyone else. I begin to wonder if that commentator was watching a different movie.