The standard profile
#32 - 'The Silence of the Lambs'
The book Talking Pictures, by Washington Post film critic Ann Hornaday, is a wonderful breakdown of the component parts that make up the movies we all love. From score to screenplay, it’s a terrific guide to all of the pieces that swirl together on screen to ultimately make us feel something.
As a companion piece to Hornaday’s book, you can’t do any better than The Silence of the Lambs. That’s not to say it is the greatest film ever made, although one could credibly make that argument. It is to say that it is an absolute masterclass in using every tool available to filmmakers to establish a mood, ratchet up suspense and create deep connections with characters.
It wastes no time in doing so, opening with agent-in-training Clarice Starling jogging through the forest at Quantico. She is alone for most of the scene, breathing hard in the sun-dappled woods. Played by the great, slight Jodie Foster, Starling oozes humorless determination. In this scene, it is the foreboding, tension-inducing score by Howard Shore that prepares us for what’s ahead.
Now, imagine it without Shore’s music. With the natural sounds of the trail, we might anticipate a story more squarely focused on Agent Starling’s career ambitions. Insert something triumphant, say music that would fit in a Rocky film, and suddenly we’re seeing Clarice as an action hero. As it actually is, we are filled with nothing but dread before we have any idea why.
This thought exercise extends to every other part of the film. Each choice - consciously or not - instructs us on how to feel about just what we’re getting ourselves in to as viewers.
How about the production design? Clarice’s physical descent when she goes to visit Hannibal Lecter in his jail cell gives us masonry on one side that is allusive of a medieval dungeon and thick glass and a screeching, squeaky metal drawer on the other, a measure of deference to and accommodation for his monstrous ingenuity.
How about the choice of Tom Petty’s “American Girl” - blaring from Catherine Martin’s car stereo as she drives home on a dark night? It’s a joyful, mundane, relatable moment that immediately precedes her shocking abduction by Buffalo Bill. This could happen to any of us, we are told.
There is the cold cinematography and lighting that offers you no quarter, not one bit of warmth. And there are the close-up shots and forced perspective that have the effect of making Foster seem frail and fragile even beyond her slight frame - a stark contrast to her steely resolve. And there is the harrowing night vision scene during the film’s climax which allows us to literally see in the dark - to clamor and beg and pray for the best even as it seems like the worst is about to be visited upon Clarice.
Finally, how about the screenplay and delivery of it from the likes of Foster and Anthony Hopkins’ Lecter. Part of the appeal of The Silence of the Lambs is that Lecter is nearly as charming as he is horrifying. He’s funny - never funnier than when he tells Clarice in the film’s closing moments that he is “having an old friend for dinner.” There’s a nervous smile to be had here after almost two hours of tension - a bit of relief because Clarice and the rest of us have survived Hannibal Lecter. He might still be out there, but, to get to the conclusion of this film, is to have earned a reprieve.
Yes, The Silence of the Lambs might deal in grisly stuff - mutilation and murder - but it is impeccably made. Like Hannibal Lecter himself, the whole package is terrifying, but the perfectly manicured facade - refined taste and manners - is a big part of the reason why.
Director Jonathan Demme’s masterpiece has many, many standout components, but it is much more than just those pieces. Hannibal Lecter violates just about every cultural taboo there is. We are meant to revile him, but, the truth is, we find him irresistible. The nature of his crimes are a factor in this magnetism, but they are not the full article, and, in some ways, this is a film about how we relate to and are fascinated by the members of our species that stray so far beyond the “standard deviation” of cultural norms.
Consider the contrast between him and Buffalo Bill, the latter of whom fits a far more standard profile of real-life serial killers - unintelligent, a social misfit, and thus able to operate out of sight, and on the margins of society. Then think about what Hannibal and Clarice actually share in common. If Hannibal Lecter is not the standard profile for a serial killer, then similarly Clarice Starling is not the standard profile for an FBI agent. These are two books not meant to be judged by their proverbial covers, and as a species we can’t look away when we come across such subjects.
In a way, this is what Demme accomplishes with The Silence of the Lambs. He helps us process why and how we relate to the absolute darkest parts of humanity. It turns out, we can get as close as a not-so-thick pane of bulletproof glass and stare it right in the face.