I am not going to tell you to not see ‘Hannibal Rising,’ because I give pretty poor movie reviews. However, I will tell you - in the spirit of friendship and concern - to not bother reading the book. For I finished it a few weeks ago and it was horrible with a capital-H and a couple of extra r’s and maybe the italics: Horrrrible. It’s been a long time since I read a book so devoid of talent and atmosphere (maybe since I read ‘Hannibal’?), such a blatant money grab, something that all but had camera instructions printed in the margins. Yes, that’s exactly what it read as - a movie script, lightly and haphazardly edited. It’s like Thomas Harris was possessed by a demon with dollar signs in its eyes (because you can read ‘Silence of the Lambs’ as many times as you want and it holds up effortlessly).
So go see the movie if you feel you must - it looks like there are a couple of interesting scenes - but for the love of all that is good and sweet in Odin’s beard, don’t pick up the book. You’ll be alternately bored and annoyed until you get physically sick of the self-righteous little git (H. Lecter, that is) and his uncanny luck and his totally dull prodigyhood, and throw the book out the window. Just trust me on this one.
“Why, Hello Clarice.” (slurpity, slurpity, slurp.)
So, are we supposed to believe that cutie-boy up there (I forget his name; it’s French) grows up to look like Sir Anthony Hopkins?
Ah, if only shnookums there was as interesting and vivid as Sir Anthony Hopkins. Goodness only knows what that young man grows up to be like, given that he spends half the book writing bad poetry and arranging flowers. :-S
Interesting fact: I have no idea what Sir Anthony Hopkins looks like prior to the age of about forty-five. Hang on while I look it up.
…OK, bluh.
Sidenote: although, isn’t that a perfect serial killer’s haircut on the French guy? I know it makes me want to kill people.