THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS

Scarcely ever have I felt the presence of Evil so manifestly demonstrated in film as in the first appearance of Anthony Hopkins in "The Silence of the Lambs." As he stands perfectly still in the middle of his cell floor, arms at his sides, there is this instant sense of a savage animal completely confident of the brutality coiled up inside him. His speaking voice has the precision of a man so arrogant he can barely be bothered to address the sloppy intelligence of the ordinary person. The effect of this scene is so powerful that it underlines the rest of the movie, lending terror to scenes that do not even involve him.
The notion of the beauty and the beast is of course central to most horror stories, but, watching "The Silence of the Lambs" for possibly the fifth time recently, I began to fully appreciate how the movie incorporates most great universal phobias and dreads- involving not only cannibalism and the skinning of people, but also kidnapping, being trapped in the bottom of a well, decomposing corpses, large insects, being lost in the dark, being tracked by someone you cannot see, not being able to get people to believe you, creatures who jump from the shadows, people who know your deepest secrets, doors that slam shut behind you, beheadings, bizarre sexual perversions, and being a short woman in an elevator full of tall men.
The way great entrances in movies go- Hopkins’ is prepared carefully and diligently. He is a brilliant psychiatrist and a mass murderer and the coolness that exudes from him even when he is behind bars (and unbreakable plexiglass) is characteristic of his “cannibalistic” instincts. Of course, if the movie were not so well made, it would be ludicrous. Bold experiments like these lure filmmakers to take chances and punish them mercilessly if they fail. The director, Jonathan Demme, is no doubt aware of the hazards of the trade but does not hesitate to take these chances. Hopkins’ opening scene could have gone over the top, and in the hands of a lesser actor almost certainly would have. But Hopkins is of the great British tradition of actors who internalize instead of overact, and his Hannibal Lecter is as paradoxical as he should be- savage yet sophisticated, endearing yet brutal. Jodie Foster, on the other hand, though inevitably upstaged by Hopkins’ rich and gruesome performance, captures one’s attention by her character portrayal of Clarice Starling, a young FBI trainee who is used as bait for Dr. Lecter. Her steadiness and pluck are at the heart of the movie as her inexperience, uncertainty and plain fear reflect beautifully in Foster’s pale, translucent face.
Some interesting aspects have been provided for her character: She is "one generation up from white trash," as Lecter correctly guesses; she tries to disguise her accent, and she has to muster up all of her courage to order a roomful of lascivious lawmen out of an autopsy room. The movie has an undercurrent of unwelcome male attention toward her character; rarely in a movie have I been made more aware of the subtle sexual pressures men put upon women just with their eyes.
Against these qualities, the weak points of the movie are probably not very important, but there are some. The details of Foster's final showdown with another psychopath killer are scarcely believable and Director Jonathan Demme lets Lecter get away with some unnecessary display of blood and gore as he deceives his captors.
But against these flaws are balanced true suspense, unblinking horror and an Anthony Hopkins performance that is likely to be referred to for many years when horror movies are discussed.