Sequel to The Silence of the Lambs: long, slow, eventually revolting; less a fright film than an anguish film; somber, overinflated, operatic (it stresses the "grand" in Grand Guignol); no doubt a disappointment to people who actually wanted a sequel; of little interest to people who didn't. It could have been a lot worse. It could have taken as low a road as, or a lower one than, its predecessor. It could have tried to "top" it. There seems little sense, even so, in bringing back Anthony Hopkins in the part of Hannibal the Cannibal and then not letting him eat anyone (only letting him serve as gourmet chef). There's a little more sense in the filmmakers' apparent attitude of affection, admiration, and protectiveness towards him. That attitude is quite understandable if you think of him not as a man-eating maniac but as a Hollywood cash cow. Or cultural icon. Or grist for the joke-mill. Godzilla, after all, evolved into a stuffed toy, a plastic action figure, and Earth's savior. The Terminator, too, got reprogrammed as guardian angel and martyr. So let the revisionism commence. All of a sudden we are informed that Hannibal Lecter chows down only on "rude" people. A public service, practically. With Julianne Moore (taking over the part from Jodie Foster, who had the better sense to turn it down), Ray Liotta, Giancarlo Giannini, and an uncredited, unrecognizable Gary Oldman; directed by Ridley Scott. (2001) — Duncan Shepherd
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