The Silence Of The Lambs Is 30 Years Old, And The Pull Of Serial Killers In Fiction Is Stronger Than Ever

30 years have passed since The Silence of the Lambs (1991) was released, and goosebumps still reign in the wake of the psychological thriller. Eerie lines that conjure up images of Hannibal Lecter drinking red wine while devouring human organs, Buffalo Bill’s iconic locker room scene with a remarkable rib tattoo that has become a cult image, and the tension of the unforgettable shooting sequence in which Jodie Foster unwittingly enters the Belly of the beast.

Agent Clarice Starling (Jodie Foster), the sparkling young genius of the FBI, is at the center of the film, but instead of working with another detective, the young cadet gets glimpses from incarcerated Hannibal Lecter (Anthony Hopkins). Most of the time, we see the film through the eyes of the detective. But unlike many previous crime films, Thomas Harris, writer of the Hannibal the Cannibal series, was one of the first to turn his attention to the killer, which transitions into the film.

The silence of the lambs does not focus on the catcher but on the psychological trauma that influenced the killer’s behavior. The film succeeds in offering several perspectives; from Lecter, we gain insights into the psyche of the murderess, and from Starling, we gain perspectives of the corrupt and sexist institution in which she lives.

Related: Shudder’s Original Bleed With Me Is A Stiff, Sluggish Descent Into A Bloodthirsty Madness

If we are only allowed to see the narrative from the perspective of the police, it will be morally correct and the criminal will become a hideous evil. This rigid stance of many police procedures can be classified as “copaganda” as it promotes the agenda of the current justice system and chooses to shed a favorable light on the police while ignoring the many factors that generate crime, such as poverty and welfare will cuts.

This reduces the representation morally. A look at the killer’s psyche makes him more personable and offers an alternative agenda to the message of most cop trials: “Some people are just born bad.” Many crime novels want to paint serial killers almost like a different species and society’s responsibility forgets the criminals out of the way completely.

You can’t help but watch the monster relax and prove its ability to hide insight.

Although Silence of the Lambs was one of the first films to show us the unlikely detective pairing of a murderer and an FBI agent, this has now become a trope in itself. The Showtime series Dexter, premiered in 2006, even put the two characters in a jar. Antihero protagonist Dexter Morgan (Michael C. Hall) is both a blood-spatter analyst for the fictional Miami-Metro Police Department and a psychopathic killer. The twist is that he uses his detective skills to catch and kill murderers before the FBI does.

Society needs the long arm of the law to see killers as perfect killing machines, almost mechanical with no significant human traits, and characters like Hannibal Lecter support this message. If we see killers as other, almost reptilian creatures, who are skillfully evasive of the police due to their cold and calculating, inhuman cunning, we excuse the police institution, which fails in many places to protect its citizens. In this way, this perception leads to a certain absolution.

Shows like Dexter and another thriller series, You, take the presumptuous killer using Hannibal as an example and transform him into a one-dimensional shell of supposedly good taste and a man who makes bad manners unbearable. Dexter’s modus operandi is to only murder other murderers, never innocent people. In doing so, the show’s creators are offering their audiences a moral justification for their delight in Dexter Morgan’s clean and tidy killing rooms.

The victims of Yous Brooklyn hipster killer Joe Goldberg (Penn Badgley) are just deplorable in the same sense as we are all, showcasing perfectly curated versions of ourselves on social media as they lead our true hypocritical lives. This portrayal of the serial killer of high taste misses the gauntlet that Anthony Hopkins’ interpretation of Hannibal Lecter put down. Joe Goldberg is delusional and ignores his own mistakes, while Hannibal is not only aware of his own shadows, but enjoys them too.

He does not fake higher moral reasons for his murders but claims them to be his own. The strongest attraction of the killer in the eyes of the audience is not Goldberg’s pomp, but Hannibal’s harmony with his own darkness.

Bret Easton Ellis’ American Psycho is also celebrating its 30th anniversary this year. The book caused so much moral outrage at its excessive violence when outrage should have been directed against the extremes of capitalist greed portrayed by Wall Street stockbroker Patrick Bateman and his cronies. Still, as relevant today as in a world in which we are only free to consume or produce a Bateman or Lecter, the dark freedom they convey is seductive.

The murderous tendencies of these characters are not what attracts an audience. Neither of us condones murder or the desire to be Hannibal’s next dinner guest. What is fascinating is the extreme projection of white male privileges that Lecter and Bateman have.

The attraction and terror come from the outsider and insider status of the serial killer. You have the privilege to move in circles undetected and yet you are the wolf in sheep’s clothing. In the closing scene of Silence of the Lamb, Lecter strolls away and disappears into the crowd, his freedom both terrifying and tempting. You can’t help but watch the monster relax and prove its ability to hide insight.

Throughout the film, we see a relationship flourish between Starling and Lecter. He is fascinated by their steadfast morals and does not see Hannibal as a predator to stare at; she has no interest in talking about his violent legacy. Clarice has a grudging respect for him as he is aware of the misogyny that affects her everyday life.

Hannibal is one of the few men in Starling’s life who fully respects her intelligence and treats her as a whole person rather than a sexual object. He keeps noticing how the male officers must treat them in the field and kills his fellow cell, Miggs, after throwing his semen at Starling. An act she will not condone but ignore, how one could ignore the cat leading an innocent bird around the house.

The comment of the silence of the lambs on sexism in the police force has had a lasting impact on the genre. Hannibal makes consistent assumptions about Starling’s underdog status with the troop based on her gender, and her refusal to comment confirms this. She is not always silent and is able to defend herself, especially in a small exchange between Starling and Agent Crawford (Scott Glenn). She calmly confronts her manager with a sexist comment and claims it was just smoke for the local police. Starling puts him in his place: “The cops look at you to see how to act. It is important. “She points to the constant increase in institutionalized sexism in the police force.

Agent Starling has been read as a queer-coded character in the years since the film was released. However, the only men she encounters during the film are serial killers who tend to hurl sexist comments in their direction. A lack of interest in the men in the film seems logical and should not be decisive for queer labeling. Starling is consistently charming; Through years of harassment, she has clearly learned how to reject men without incurring anger. Perhaps this is a sign of the times that a queer woman was not actively portrayed in a crime thriller, since today we are only privy to a bisexual detective.

Stella Gibson of Gillian Anderson, the lead detective on BBC television drama The Fall (2013), is what young agent Starling could be. A full-fledged bisexual woman responsible for her own case and sure of her sexuality. Much like Starling, Stella experiences the sexism of the police force and beyond to shed light on gender-based violence by demonstrating harassment, microaggression, and assault in everyday scenarios alongside the extremes of the killer’s crimes.

In this regard, Fall and Silence of the Lambs have a clear message on gender-based violence: instead of seeing serial killers as an exception to the amazement, both the show and the film invite the audience to see the rampant sexism of patriarchal society. All violence against women exists on a sliding scale, from everyday to extreme.

The silence of the lambs invites us into the darkness. An interest in serial killers and the crime genre shouldn’t require moral justification. Morbid curiosity is an innate trait and does not require further investigation. It is Hannibal’s human characteristics, his preference for good schnapps, or his annoyance at rudeness that bring him to the crowd that can be attributed to him. Morally posing thrillers in which evil is one and good is another, in which the criminal shows no sympathetic traits, are incredibly unrealistic and frankly boring.

We are drawn to the stories of murderers, not because they are monsters without any humanity, but because we have an innate curiosity about the great depths of human darkness and depravity. We want to know what horrors we are capable of and why. Starling is our mark of morality while Lecter is the shadow. Like all great thrillers, the silence of the lambs leads you out of the dark, but still lost in the gray.

The Silence of the Lambs is streamed on YouTube.

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Original post: https://kryztoff.website/the-silence-of-the-lambs-is-30-years-old-and-the-pull-of-serial-killers-in-fiction-is-stronger-than-ever/

Originally posted on my blog: https://kryztoff.website/