The Unexpected Renaissance of Hannibal Lecter
A timely exploration of Silence of the Lambs and Donald Trump’s strange fixation on it
Finding an unexpected new relevance in the 2024 election, the infamous and fictional serial killer, Hannibal Lecter, has undergone a resurgence in recent months. After an odd string of mentions on the campaign trail from presidential candidate Donald Trump, the name “Hannibal Lecter” has suddenly become harder to escape than it was during even the mid-90s.
As the iconic figure has become a frequent honorable mention in Trump’s increasingly rambling campaign rallies and speeches, many probably can’t recall a time at all that the face-eating cannibal was such a hot topic of conversation across late-night shows and news channels alike. But perhaps “the late, great Hannibal Lecter” has earned his reputation.
So what exactly is it that’s helped this cunning killer to endure in our collective minds? What is it about the fava bean-slurping man-eater that makes him so “great”? Is it only Anthony Hopkins’ magnetic portrayal of the prolific serial killer that makes him so guilt-inducingly likable?
As problematic as it is that Trump admires autocrats and boasts the endorsement of democracy-ending dictators, this appreciation for Hannibal Lecter is the rare issue on which the “They’re eating our dogs!”-ranting lunatic/presidential hopeful and I can actually nod in agreement. But my affection for Lecter hinges largely on the fact that he’s not real. Had he tried to upend democracy in Brazil or Argentina, I might have come to a different conclusion.
Alas, I’m told it’s important to find causes for union with even the people I disagree with. Whether I can extend this courtesy to the felon waging war against my right to vote may prove a weighty task, but if Trump and I can at least find common ground in the fact that Silence of the Lambs is a great movie, perhaps it’s a small step toward peace. And if he should read this article and agree with my hotly contested take on the movie’s sequel and TV adaptation, there may just be hope for America yet.
Directed by Jonathan Demme, Silence of the Lambs is one of the 90s’ great horror movies, and in its slow and drawn-out introduction, it rises to something vaguely reminiscent of The Shining. Most characters are portrayed more than adequately, but I doubt I’m the only one who believes that the almost singular appeal of this movie is in Anthony Hopkins’ screen-stealing portrayal of Hannibal Lecter and his stellar chemistry with Jodie Foster’s Clarice Starling. From Hopkins’ first introduction, the entire plot hangs on his loaded, cryptic words.
Even when compared against the climax and the suspenseful defeat of the movie’s antagonist, it’s those protracted dialogues between Clarice and Hannibal that make the movie what it is. (Trump loves a good, soul-stirring exchange. The words, “Wow Hannibal. Tremendous. Really deep and good words,” echo through my mind’s eye as I write.)
The film has a masterful way of subverting expectations and shocking the viewer with a few of its twists. A couple of them are so iconic and well-executed that they’ve left indelible stains in the hearts of horror and suspense lovers everywhere.
There’s something enticing about so much of Lecter’s screen time being limited to him behind bars. It has a way of building up the threat that he poses. But at the same time, I think the Hannibal trilogy is arguably most thrilling when that antihero is allowed to roam free.
In the sequel to Silence of the Lambs, called simply Hannibal, Hopkins portrays the titular character after having begun a new life with a new identity in Europe. And in spending nearly the whole film free from captivity, Hopkins is given even more opportunity for his awful menace to shine. In its most gruesome and disturbing moments, it makes the original film look almost tame by comparison.
The consistent thread of greatness through Hannibal’s main three movies (Manhunter and Hannibal Rising are articles for another day) is Hopkins’ stoic, measured force. He’s sinister, calculating, and hypnotic. He’s suave, soft-spoken, cunning, controlled, and manipulative. But just because Hopkins creates a high standard doesn’t mean he leaves no room for improvement. There are components to his Hannibal that are certainly difficult to top. A controversial opinion of mine, though, is that Mads Mikkelsen in the (also called Hannibal) TV series takes the character to new heights.
The show feels like a less perfect and completed movie than the original Silence of the Lambs, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t have its lulls. But the Hannibal character lends itself particularly well to this long, drawn-out unveiling. With three seasons worth of runtime to work with, he achieves peaks for me that Hopkins never quite managed. He’s discreet, methodical, and even more charismatic and controlling. He’s younger and a more physically intimidating force to be reckoned with.
There’s an inherent intrigue to the old and slightly pudgy Hannibal. The discordance between his appearance and capabilities is part of what makes the character. Yet, watching Mikkelsen breathe life into the same role, I can’t help but feel that this more youthful and professional approach to the same character is even more terrifying.
In every case, it’s Hannibal himself that defines these projects for me. Maybe it’s just my long-held affinity for antiheroes. But throughout the history of TV and cinema, there are few characters who’ve managed to hold my attention as captively as Lecter. His dialogue-driven brand of intimidation is almost unparalleled, and in both the TV show and the Hopkins-starring trilogy, the writing behind the role elevates it to spectacular heights. He speaks in riddles and double entendres that seem to grow more weighty and nuanced with each viewing.
It’s not a mystery why the character has achieved the impact crater in the world of pop culture that he has. It’s not because people can condone his actions. It’s the strange thrill in this fictional villain who seems to defy all odds with his unrelenting wit. It’s in the suspension of disbelief that comes when we watch this seemingly omniscient criminal carry out crimes that we’d never in a thousand years want to ourselves (most readers, anyway).
It’s fair to grant that Trump can distinguish enough between reality and fiction to know that these Hannibal movies don’t retell actual, real-life events. But to consider the baseless conspiracy theories he spews in rallies and on debate stages alike, it’s possible that these distinctions between truth and make-believe are actually lost on him.
As Trump ungraciously welcomes old age and has reluctantly assumed the “old man” title in the 2024 race, his repeated confusion around names, history, and information lends credence to the idea that there may be an earnest struggle for him to differentiate fact from fiction. His apparent misunderstandings over the difference between mental asylum residents and asylum seekers also relate to the moment at hand.
Maybe it’s only a misspeak when Trump refers to Lecter in ways that imply the fictional cannibal once really walked the earth. But maybe this seeming admiration for a serial killer — that he quite possibly believes was real — speaks to something more serious. Maybe it echoes his reverence for despots like Putin, Duterte, Orbán, and, according to some sources, even Hitler.
Whatever the case, in the prospective leader who’s faced a crescendoing chorus of dementia allegations in recent years and months, it’s hard not to see something concerning in Trump’s continued mentions of “the late, great Hannibal Lecter.” But I’ll still happily continue to love the Hannibal films and TV show — even if that means that I have to admit similar taste in cinema to our suspiciously orange former commander-in-chief.