I was lured to Hannibal frankly by the sexiness of the reviews I had heard from others. People either love it or hate it, they said. It's fine until the last 10 minutes, they said. No advertising campaign could have done it better, holding out a lure that was too great to deny. I went.

        I neither loved it, nor hated it. Frankly, I found the whole thing ridiculous. If you saw "Silence of the Lambs" you'll recall that Hannibal Lector is a very suave and genteel man, a man of learning, who is also a serial killer and a cannibal. He assists Clarise, an FBI hopeful, to track down another serial killer, also saving the life of his latest would-be victim.

        "Silence of the Lambs" was smart. The real killer was someone other than Hannibal, who was painted almost as a victim of the system--almost. He was certainly likeable, since so many other characters were portrayed as less than agreeable.

        In Hannibal, there are no such illusions. Now free and living a life of luxury in Florence, Hannibal is spotted by a Florentine policeman who tries to cash him in for a reward, offered by Mason Verger, Hannibal's only surviving victim. Although extremely rich--his home is the Biltmore Estate in Ashville, North Carolina, he is severely disfigured, leaving you to wonder why his money couldn't buy the services of a plastic surgeon. What his money does buy, however, are some man-eating boars (the four-legged variety) who have been bred specifically to devour Hannibal.

        Clarise gets wind of Hannibal's disclosure, and attempts to warn the Florentine detective not to get involved. Too late, of course, the smell of the money is too strong for him, and his demise is fait accompli.

        Clarise, ten years later, is still with the FBI, but not doing so well. Victimized by male chauvinists to the left and right, the ultimate insult comes from the movie's plot, when it becomes apparent that her life has been in a holding pattern, waiting for Hannibal to spice it up.

        The film, ultimately, is dull. There are blood and guts moments, and the much commented upon final ten minutes feel like a desperate attempt to be more gory than anything that has come before it. Anthony Hopkins is indeed wonderful as Hannibal, but the movie ultimately portrays him as a villain, and as such, I was longing for his demise.

        In the spirit of "it's his sled" and "he's a woman" and "it's Verbal Kint" I am tempted to blurt out the ending to save you wasting 2 hours to see it. But I won't.

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