Hannibal Rising
I love anything involving Hannibal Lecter. Even the demented sequel to The Silence of the Lambs earns a spot in my heart because of Anthony Hopkins’ fearless performance as Lecter. And the prequel that Brett Ratner directed? That gets a pass in my book, and that’s from the guy who directed the abysmal X-Men: The Last Stand.
But Hannibal Rising? I would rather bathe in hot oil and present myself to the good doctor for some Ray Liotta style brain munching. I’m sure that Lecter has a history that is ferociously interesting and pertinent to who he eventually becomes, but I guarantee that what is presented here is far from what faithful fans deserve. Sure, there’s plenty of gore and torture, but Lecter never stands as a unique individual. Instead, he becomes a textbook case of various psychotic issues. Oh, and he eats people.
There is a crippling lack of originality on display, and anything involving a character as intriguing as Lecter should never be lacking in that aspect. I mean, he fed a live man his own brain for crying out loud! Forget Nazis, katanas and lame decapitations. Just give the doctor some respect.