The Model by Which Thrillers Are Judged

This film reminds me of what a thriller is supposed to be. The Silence of the Lambs is Jonathan Demme's 1991 Oscar-winning adaptation of the Thomas Harris novel about a female FBI agent whose best hope of tracking a serial killer is to get lessons from another.

For those familiar with Thomas Harris, this is essentially Red Dragon 2.0. Harris's first novel involved the demented Dr. Hannibal Lecter, or as audiences came to know him, "Hannibal the Cannibal." Its protagonist, an FBI profiler named Will Graham, was effeminately sensitive - an "eideteker" able to imagine, from evidence left at a crime scene, what went on in the mind of the killer. Graham found it necessary to consult his "mentor," the eerie Lecter, to track "the Tooth Fairy." These "little chinwags" from Hell were half the fun of Red Dragon. The other half was its portrayal of a sick twist that one might even call "empathetic."

Red Dragon had three things going for it: (1) an empathetic, humanistic, view of the criminal mind; (2) a kind of "devil in a box" who mentors the "worthy" about the "real world"; and (3) nail-biting danger. You never know when the man tracking the bear will end up face to face with a bear tracking a man.

Red Dragon did end up on the big screen, but as the Michael Mann adaptation, Manhunter. Michael Mann captured enough of the book to win critical reviews (and his Will Graham - Will Petersen - ended up on CSI). But Manhunter never quite clicked as a release. Harris had to wonder if part of the problem was Mann's decision to gut so much of the book, going for something more akin to a music video. That was 1986.

Two years later, Harris was back with Silence of the Lambs, an even grittier tale but with a female as the lead. Here, Graham's effete sensitivity was replaced with a woman's inborn sensitivities - combined with a tomboy's spunk. That was important because Graham's sensitivity, needed for his "eideteker" abilities - robbed him of the masculinity he needed at the end. The Red Dragon's original ending was beter than Mann's acid-flashback dancefest, but the ending didn't get fixed until the book's second adaptation, 2002's Red Dragon.

By going with a spunky female, Silence of the Lambs hit paydirt. A woman protagonist fit the era of the woman, allowing the story to use feminist criticism as a vehicle for layered discussions about human nature, societal repression and hidden aspirations that defy containment. Where a woman protagonist would be more sensitive to a goon who preys upon women, a woman on a mission would be more dynamic than a guy haunted by his own imagination. And Lecter, who may have helped Will Graham out of pity, would have better reasons to help someone he considered a wolf in training - even if she looked like Little Red Riding Hood.

In the film, Silence of the Lambs (1991), that cadet is Clarice Starling (Jodie Foster), pulled from the ranks of the wannabes to take part in an actual F.B.I. manhunt. In reality, the feds, as embodied by Director Jack Crawford (Scott Glenn), have merely run out of ideas - and are willing to pull a Hail Mary. With Graham on permanent sabbatical, their best bet is Lecter, but he won't talk. Why should he? Their plan, if you can call it one, is to send in Little Bo Peep, to bat her pretty little eyes at the Biggest, Baddest Wold of them all.

It's a half-baked plan. Not surprisingly, no one foresees that Lecter (Anthony Hopkins) not only takes a liking to Starling but begins what can only be described as a tutorial in Hell. Crazy but not stupid, Lecter knows what they want. He knows what she wants. The only question is whether they know what he wants - and whether the exchange will help the feds catch a killer - or just take them to Hell and back.

Silence of the Lambs is a feminist up-ending of the hunter tale. There's a reason it begins in the woods, tracking Clarice on a running trail - one part Little Red Riding Hood and one part woodsman. There's something zen about her struggle, which takes her twisting and winding through a torturous path. That's her relationship with the case. That's the bear she's pursuing. That's her relationship with Lecter. That's her relationship with the feds.

It's in these interactions that innocence - of a certain kind - engages in a mental dance with evil. In another age, Lecter would have been destroyed - like a fire-breathing dragon with a record for torching villages. In ours, he's a freak, to be put under glass and studied. Crawford just wants to use him. Dr. Frederick Chilton (Anthony Heald) wants to toy with him as if the good doctor were a cat - and Lecter were a rat.

By contrast, Clarice is seductive to Lecter, not because of her beauty, but because of her innocence. She's not a helpless damsel-in-distress but she has a pure heart. She's probably the only around who actually wants to understand what makes Lecter tick, not because she wants to label him or exploit him. She comes to him, a pupil of the FBI, ready (whether she knows it or not) to be tutored by the Devil.

In their interactions, we learn more about the two characters than we do about most characters in most films - precisely because the better part of their nature is revealed in action, rather than exposition, even if that action is verbal repartee. Both are keenly observant. Lecter is quick to size up the bait that thrust before him, and is only willing to play ball if she reciprocates with a little "quid pro quo." Because of what happened to Will Graham, Clarice has been instructed not to "let this guy in your head," but like all exchanges of intelligence, you can't get some if you don't have some to give.

The result are scenes that burn with intensity - and dialogue that sizzles. The issues these two chew on are priceless. But this isn't a drama, playing on IFC at three in the morning. It's a thriller, the point of which is to put the audience into harm's way. And that's where Silence of the Lambs succeeds gloriously - where other films - including duds like Taking Lives and Murder by Numbers - merely pale in comparison.

Three intersecting subplots make Silence of the Lambs the kind of film not to watch alone in the dark. One has to do with the film's central villain, Buffalo Bill, who roams the streets, preys on the innocent and skins his victims like sheep. This guy is frightening precisely because he uses the goodness of his victims to completely debase them - and once in his clutches, leaves nothing in his heart for either reason or compassion. Then there's Lecter, himself, a kind of plutonium of evil, whose logic - turned into ruthless efficiency - makes you wonder why anyone bothers to come near him without lead underwear. Finally, there's the trail itself - in the world "out there" - as Clarice applies her Hellish tutorials with Lecter. These are among the film's most unnerving moments because they're the ones where Clarice puts it all on the line.

Ted Tally's script is a masterpiece. It uses every scene, every beat of action, and every sequence, to juggle its theme of the female woodsman, the knight in shining heels. Seen through the eyes of Clarice Starling, this is a story of aspirations, dangers and opportunities. She learns - first from Hannibal, and then from her own experience - how it's the small details that make or break the case. To quote a line from another film, "It takes a wolf to catch a wolf." In a genre usually filled with senseless violence, this is one film that combines a quick wit with a sharp eye. The results are nothing, if not harrowing.