After witnessing the violent deaths of his parents at the end of World War II, young Hannibal Lecter (Gaspard Ulliel) flees to his uncle's home in Paris and begins plotting revenge on the barbarians responsible for his sister's death.
o Webber mazi me ton aytokanibalisti Thomas Harris frontizoyn na makelepsoyn enan ap' toys pio eikonikoys haraktires tis mythologias toy tromoy toy aiona mas, kai na ton ypobibasoyn se enan akomi fonia mias opoiasdipote tyhaias slasher tainias, me proshim
If they were going to show how he got to be the brilliant, charming, exquisitely cultured, uh, vicious cannibal psychopath -- couldn't they have come up with something more interesting?
Un intento forzado por seguir explotando el personaje de Hannibal Lecter, vistosamente filmado y producido pero sin otra excusa argumental que intentar explicar lo inexplicable.
What this nasty, brutish movie left me feeling was ashamed to be American. First of all: As a folk archetype, a supervillain for our times, this is the best we can come up with? A vaguely Eurotrash schoolboy who eats people's cheeks?
Tilting his elegantly aquiline features downward while hoisting one eyebrow over a dark orb, curling his lips with Grinchian deliberation, he seems to be determined to kill people on the strength of his cologne alone.
The material knows it is a prequel, and acknowledges such with tactics that consist of taking viewers from beginning to end in the most straightforward way possible...
Thomas Harris is now hoodwinked by his creation's faux pedigree. He's scripted him a ridiculously Eurotrashy upbringing, one so silly, it'll remind you of Dr. Evil's memory-tripping: "Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons..."
