PREMIERE.COM'S REVIEW (posted 2/8/07)

Although Hannibal Lecter slithered onto movie screens in 1986's Manhunter, it wasn't until Sir Anthony Hopkins went brain-to-brain with Jodie Foster in 1991's Oscar-winning Silence of the Lambs that the brilliant monster became deeply imbedded in our cultural subconscious. What other movie about a cannibalistic doctor and a poodle-loving transsexual has won an Oscar for Best Picture? Exactly. The 2001 follow-up was a huge disappointment that tried to make up for its ludicrous story with a judicious amount of face-eating, while the remake of Manhunter, Red Dragon, redeemed the story somewhat despite its lack of an Iron Butterfly interlude. I approached Hannibal Rising with equal amounts trepidation and excitement, and both were justified.

Hannibal Rising tries to answer the big what-if of Lecter's deviance. Like most good psychopaths, his is rooted in childhood. Hannibal witnesses his parents' deaths in World War II and is taken hostage by wanna-be SS goons along with his beloved little sister Mischa. Gnarly things happen, eventually the whole place goes boom, and he ends up in an orphanage in what used to be his family's castle. He escapes to France, hooks up with his late Uncle's foxy wife Lady Murasaki (played beautifully by Gong Li), and goes about making mincemeat of those aforementioned goose-steppers.

The big question is, of course, how does Gaspard Ulliel stack up to Hopkins? While he probably shouldn't hold his breath for a Best Actor nomination, his impressive facial dexterity keeps his expressions glass-smooth and devoid of emotion, except for slowly sadistic smiles, careful enunciation, and an occasional Hopkins-worthy eye twitch. Several scenes and turns of phrase mimic those of later movies, especially one where Ulliel's Hannibal pronounces a rather vulgar term for female genitalia much the same way Hopkins did years earlier (or later?).

The film itself is, in the most basic sense of the word, sensual — naturally, there are many close-ups of mouths chewing, smacking, and drinking; rotting teeth; bloody lips; and a finger being crudely sutured (with accompanying sewing sounds). Hannibal's childhood in Eastern Europe is stark and snowy, while his life in France is rich with colors and textures. Gong Li's Lady Murasaki seems to have perpetually rolled out of bed in a silk kimono when she's not dressed in the most fashionable outfits (or, in one scene, motorcycle leathers a la Lara Croft).

The biggest beef I have with Hannibal Rising is the dialogue, which is overwrought at best. Choice lines like "We eat... or DIE!" and "If your pet snake strikes in France, I will have to seize him," had me snickering. The use of WII as a catch-all explanation for Lecter's evil is somewhat trite; after all, Murasaki and Inspector Popil, the policeman hot on Hannibal's trail, both lost their families in the war and didn't start going apeshit with samurai swords. The story's beginning is in a rush to get to the the killings, which get more and more disgusting. Obviously I knew what I was in for as a horror buff, but more on what exactly in Lecter's makeup created a grown man screaming "MISCHA! MISCHA!" while biting someone's face would have been welcome. I'd have rather seen him accept his aunt's earlier invitation to her bath tub party, but that's just me.

— Jenni Miller