I recently got the itch to revisit the 1991 psychological horror classic Silence of the Lambs. I say 'revisit' because I am confident that I had seen at least part of the movie at some point in my life before; however, I can not honestly remember having watched the film from start to finish before now. In remedying this, I found a movie that quickly rose into my top three horror flicks. As Hannibal Lector meanders the streets of what looks like Jamaica at the end, I found myself desiring more. Specifically, I wanted more of Anthony Hopkins as the titular cannibal serial killer. Lucky for me, Hannibal, the sequel to Silence of the Lambs, was available as well. Seeing that the sequel was directed by Ridley Scott (one of my all-time favorites) and written by David Mamet, I thought I had struck cinematic gold. Imagine my disappointment as I sat through 133 minutes of poorly paced drama masquerading as a psychological horror to make you cheer for a psychotic cannibal mastermind. Not only was the dialogue on the nose, and sometimes downright elementary, but the mood conveyed by the shots seemed to contradict the plot and characters. Worst of all, the film evoked only one primary emotion in me: boredom.

How could this happen? The formula, the talent, and the story were all packaged and presented to you on a silver platter. The fanbase was primed to support another great film, with hopes that Hannibal might do the unthinkable, much like its predecessor, and win Oscars left and right. Instead, we got... Hannibal. A slog spanning more than two hours that culminates in the torture of a character we do not care about and a resolution that makes no sense, all to glorify and humanize a character that, by all rights, should be revolting to us regardless of how well Mr. Hopkin's portrayal may be.

To understand why Hannibal failed, we must first assess what made Silence of the Lambs a huge success.

Silence of the Lambs is a visual marvel. This is not the same 'visual marvel' as what we see in something like Avatar: The Way of Water, where the wonder comes at the hands of beauty, awe, and inspiration. Instead, Silence of the Lambs establishes its visual mastery by placing the audience's viewpoint in places that create an uneasy mood throughout the film. One way (of many) that this is achieved is we are given many POV shots from the perspective of our protagonist Clarice Starling. Played by Jodie Foster, Clarice is relatively short and slight in stature, which plays well with her POV shots as it causes all men to look down on her, giving them the classic and unsettling "Kubrick Stare." No matter how much their credentials might say otherwise, you never know who you can trust in the movie.

Everyone is using everyone, our hero is a competent woman in a man's world, which is unsettling in its own right, and our main villain, the grotesque transvestite code-named 'Buffalo Bill,' has a tragic backstory that humanizes him even though we see how sick and twisted he is. These things heighten the tension and drive the film to a terrifying climax. Couple the copious use of the "Kubrick Stare" with shots isolating our heroine, Anothy Hopkins' electric, albeit unsettling performance of Hannibal Lector, and a script that is as intriguing to follow as it is disconcerting to watch, and you have the makings of a film that deserves every accolade it has received and more.

Hannibal fails in almost every area that the first film succeeded. We do not fear Hannibal Lecter in this film; instead, we are encouraged to advocate for him. We are presented with a side villain whose appearance, mannerisms, and life station (a useless, decedent inheritor of obscene wealth) make him so easy to hate that it's almost silly, and his backstory merely makes us hate him more. The workplace antagonist that hounds Clarice is so unbelievable that we almost want to cheer when Hannibal starts feeding him his brains (when we manage not to get sick ourselves.) Clarice spends most of the movie pacing in an evidence basement, listening to voice recordings of Hannibal, but otherwise doing nothing to try and catch him. At the same time, Hannibal enjoys a leisurely life in Florence, Italy, until he's ready to return to the states to play a silly game of cat and mouse with our supposed hero. 

For all his directorial prowess, Ridley Scott fails in this movie to convey anything resembling horror. Though tropes like the Kubrick Stare are unnecessary in a horror film, mood, and tone are necessary. After a massive success like Alien, one would think Ridley Scott would have no issues on this front; however it seems that Mr. Scott was still in the mindset of films akin to former works like Gladiator and later works such as Kingdom of Heaven.

Though I would not recommend either of these films to anyone younger than 17, I can say with certainty I would not recommend Hannibal to anyone. That said, if psychological 'who-dun-its' like Criminal Minds and CSI interest you, you owe it to yourself to give Silence of the Lambs your undivided attention.

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In his newest film, 'Pinocchio,' Guillermo Del Torro mesmerizes his audience with stunning visuals and performances. He honors the source material that most of society is ignorant of. All while gutting two quintessential themes of payoff and meaning.

Widely considered the king of modern movie monsters, Del Torro uses his directorial eye, trained for the weird and unnerving, to create some of the most unsettling visuals in a children's movie to date. Everything from how Pinocchio moves when he is first given life to the odd use of the many-eyed seraphim that replaces the role of the fairy, each shot carries an air of innocent macabre. The gorgeous design of the stop-motion world lends itself wonderfully to this unsettling feel, bringing laughter and horror in equal measure during sequences like Pinocchio burning his feet off or his visit to the coffin and decay-ridden afterlife when he dies (and no, you didn't misread that.)

These choices not only subvert our expectation of the film, an expectation set primarily by our memories created by Walt Disney's original 1940 adaptation by the same name, but act as a subtle nod to the source material The Adventures of Pinocchio penned in 1881, by Italian author Carlo Collodi; a source material whose dark subject matter and execution remind us much of the Brother's Grimm fairytales. Though Del Torro chooses to avoid dark topics that Walt Disney took in stride (mainly the sinful crime of child trafficking), there are still plenty of maturities to explore.

A creative and compelling change that Del Torro makes to the classic tale is the inclusion of World War One and World War Two as a backdrop that goes hand in hand with Geppetto's backstory, another welcome and creative deviation. Not only does the backdrop of the wars help raise the stakes for our characters and provide plot devices with which to solve their problems (Monstro brains for dinner, anyone?), but it also creates a compelling story arch for Geppetto as he goes from trying to replace something he lost to accepting Pinocchio for who he is. One could argue that Disney's choice to have Geppetto create Pinocchio out of an honest desire for a son is more compelling as a motif, ultimately showing boys that fathers should desire to have sons. However, as far as the sins of creative license go, this hardly counts, and even the most stalwart Disney enthusiasts will struggle to see an issue.

Sadly the film fails us in two significant ways, and both occur (as most Hollywood sins do) in the script.

First, the major flaw of Pinocchio being a habitual liar and needing to overcome this flaw on his journey to becoming a 'real boy' is downplayed to the point that the growth of his nose, and the lies necessary to do so, are glorified rather than condemned. Spoiler warning: this occurs because the growth of Pinocchio's nose is used to create a bridge that our protagonists utilize to reach Monstro's blow hole and escape. The messaging here has changed: instead of lies being an extreme taboo and honesty always being the best answer, Del Torro shows us that lying is acceptable if it gets you out of a tough situation. This choice is even sanctioned by Pinocchio's father, Geppetto, saying, "Just this once," showing us that even he knows this choice is wrong and is choosing to set aside his morality for the sake of saving his neck rather than encouraging his son to come up with a different solution that saves them without compromising a key value our society should cherish.

Lastly, (and spoiler warning for this par too) we never get the satisfaction of Pinocchio becoming a real boy. That's right, in a movie driven by a wooden boy's desire to become real, and therefore setting out on a journey to prove that he has the qualities necessary to become a real boy (I.e.- honesty, bravery, compassion, self-sacrifice, etc.), our main protagonist never achieves this most essential of goals.

There are two ways someone could justify this incredible flaw in storytelling:

First, since Pinocchio chose to lie to escape Monstro, he does not actually deserve to become a real boy. The film contradicts this because of the second explanation. The film espouses that the mark of a real boy is not the way one looks but rather the ability for one to die, a law of nature that Pinocchio continually subverts throughout the movie in yet another new plot device. To save Geppetto from drowning after escaping Monstro, Pinocchio breaks a rule placed on his immortality and becomes 'mortal' though still made of wood. The issue here is similar to the sin of showing a gun hanging on the wall, yet after the entire film, the gun still hasn't gone off. Why was it there? The same goes for Pinocchio. Suppose he's made all the necessary sacrifices to become a 'real boy,' with the magical prospect of such looming just beyond the audience's sight. Why not give them the satisfaction of seeing Pinocchio become real? Especially after having promised audiences this was the end goal the whole time.

Though the ending falls flat, Guillermo Del Torro's Pinocchio is still a visual achievement, the likes of which have not been accomplished since Tim Burton's A Nightmare Before Christmas. It is gorgeous, staffed with an all-star cast, and brimming with detail that you do not want to miss. Just be prepared to ultimately be let down as the curtain falls and the fate of our still wooden boy is left unknown.

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When initially presented with the premise of 'The Pale Blue Eye,' I was enthralled. Set up as an 1830s gothic-style mash-up; this film presents itself as a Sherlock Holmes-style mystery/thriller by way of Edgar Alan Poe, who makes a prominent appearance as a principal character throughout the film. Couple that with Christian Bale as your leading star (not portraying Poe), and you're set up for blockbuster success!

Sadly, the film's writers missed the mark. With a run time of 130 minutes, I found myself, at the end of the film, not knowing who anyone was besides Poe and our main protagonist Landor. Beyond that, the film commits the number one unforgivable sin of the mystery genre: create a plot that your audience cannot solve themselves.

The mark of a great mystery film is that you present your audience with all of the evidence necessary to solve the mystery themselves. From the perspective of Film, a decidedly visual medium,  we have no excuse for not presenting our audience with all the necessary information. Nevertheless, 'The Pale Blue Eye' drives us through plot point after plot point, forsaking the art of 'storytelling' nearly altogether until you arrive at an obvious climax that anyone should have seen coming. Then, in your final moments of victorious revelation, where we should be seeing our characters pick up the pieces in their lives, we are given a nearly 10-minute scene of exposition about the undergirding mystery that we, as the audience, had no hope of solving or even knowing was there due to zero time spent alluding to it.

Ultimately, were it not for the intrigue surrounding the premise of an Edgar Allen Poe mystery and the admittedly excellent performance delivered by Harry Melling (playing Poe) 'The Pale Blue Eye' would have been a masterclass in how not to write mystery tied with a bow made of fancy language and a moody atmosphere. As it stands, the movie is worth watching once but is doubtful to be remembered much past the summer of this year.

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