Expansive study in character and atmosphere, blending horror with thriller and coming out the other end on top.

Rating: 10/10 (10 March 2010)

"Oh, he's a psychopath...." exclaims Baltimore asylum boss Dr. Chilton (Heald) to both us and our lead as we get first wind of a certain imprisoned madman who'll hopefully help both her, and the agency she works for in the F.B.I., catch a killer at large. The first time we arrive at said psychopath's cell, it is en route through many-a door and corridor as Chilton describes in a chaotic and disorientating nature the rules which come with interacting with this beast – a final warning as the screen, drenched in blood red lighting, when a photograph of a deformed nurse harmed only recently by the inmate is displayed to her. The key item being that we do not see the picture, and along with all the hustling build up, must come to our own conclusions about the imminent interaction. Build up such as the above aids in making the man feel as if he's present more in the film than in actuality.
Such a sequence, or chain of events, goes a long way in capturing everything that makes The Silence of the Lambs so effective, that sense of talking about something and building it up rather than out-and-out showing it. The common place is that the first thing you jump to when talking about the film is the particular character the above dialogue refers to, and how their presence is both so very fascinating as well as rather frightening. The fact the film balances this well enough with everything else so that as to avoid ultimately overwhelm the film is an achievement. That character is of course a certain Hannibal Lecter, an individual played by Anthony Hopkins in what is a highly praised performance for his portrayal of the man, a victim of countless spoofs; references and imitations since. Lecter is both foil and mentor; both anti-hero and a (not THE) villain, psychotic enough to have previously killed and maimed, but smart enough to identify when genuinely coming across as helpful to a cause might aid in his own intentions. There is a degree of irony in the fact F.B.I. chief Jack Crawford (Glenn) attempts to exploit the mind of Lecter so much that his desperation forces him to turn to a young female rookie, something that ultimately stirs Hannibal's creative juices enough so that he may carry out what eventually happens in the film.
When our lead, a certain Clarice Starling (Foster), arrives at a heavily guarded entrance, the film is constructed through Starling's point of view as we observe security screens; an armed guard plus his arsenal of shotguns as well as heavily fortified steel doors protecting this little area all by itself stand tall, all before settling on the welcoming tone of an orderly named Barney. The film's first interaction between them plays out, and the film toys with all the prior material in having Lecter demand he have a "closer" look at her identification. But despite Lecter, it is lead Clarice Starling whom drives the film; heading on out into her own arc of self discovery within a circular journey; all the while with the slow burning memories and tragedies of years of old eating away at the back of her mind. Whilst the leads ponder Lecter as a tool, key for burrowing into a certain Buffalo Bill (Levine), a slight nickname for a serial killer in operation, it is Lecter that provides the burrowing into Starling and her own past for sake of us that proves just as interesting.
Most of the latter half of Starling's past, that is to say her childhood, reveals a sense of desperation to aid the helpless or a violent reaction to slaughter and murder and an aching lust to reject it in helping those that are victims of it. This, combined with her father and both his role and his fate, help in fleshing Starling out and getting to understand why it is what she is, something a little more than a nameless; faceless protagonist detective hired to take care of whatever case because the demands of that genre implore it. If American films of the action, thriller or detective ilk produced in the 1980s fed off an idea of the male lead and their body being put through a grinding process of harm and hurt, then The Silence of the Lambs toys with this in its opening segment when a yet to be identified Starling huffs and puffs her way through an assault course in rural nowhere, putting her body through the established test before someone intervenes and sends her on her way to an assignment which will ultimately lead her on her quest. Progressively, the film develops Starling as the agent she will become; observing tiny details such as having her describe what she correctly assumes Buffalo Bill to look like, a scene after we observe him for the first time in swiping his next victim.
The tie that binds Starling's world both inside and outside of the F.B.I. academy is a degree of sexism and individualism; exemplified when male trainees gaze at her as she jogs past but also when she is surrounded in an elevator early on, the colours of the occupants' jerseys getting across a sense of alienation. This, as Chilton's futile flirting plays out at the asylum; a moth expert's advances are rejected and an additional sense of astonishment contained within by local law enforcers when she orders out a room full of them whom are relegated to having to bear it occur. The text is aware of both its lead character's strength and gender, providing a number of instances in which the danger of getting knocked back down because of both role and gender is made aware but always rejected. The film is a powerful, well observed pot boiler as detectives race against time and a fascinating third element in Lecter ominously plans and ploys. In combining narrative with character study, Demme has created something remarkable.