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Friday, February 16, 2007
Sometimes it’s really best not to ask what’s in the stew
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
You know, even though it’s pretty hard to imagine Hannibal Lecter on water skis — or even wearing swim trunks, or letting himself get something as common as a suntan — I think it’s time we all agreed that everybody’s favorite liver-eating, brain-sauteing serial killer has gone and jumped the [procreating] shark.
I’m talking about “Hannibal Rising,” which tells us everything we never wanted to learn about the early life of Agent Clarice Starling’s very special boyfriend.
Like, for instance, how he started off as this spoiled, hoity-toity Lithuanian rich boy living in a castle (called, you betcha, CASTLE LECTER!!!) with his mommy and daddy and precious baby sister, Mischa, in 1944.
That is, until this little thing called World War II happens, and Mama Lecter and Papa Lecter get blown up. And lil’ Hannibal and Mischa get taken hostage by this band of bad Lithuanian drifters led by Rhys Ifans, who played Hugh Grant’s goofy roommate in “Notting Hill” back in 1999 and looks like he hasn’t brushed his teeth, had a bath or wiped his [buttocks] since then.
Rhys stomps around saying things like, “kill the Jew,” and he eats birds raw, with the feathers still on them. (I guess he’s supposed to be everything the super-prissy Hannibal turned out NOT to be.)
The movie spends so much time giving us close-ups of him and his pals with their greasy faces and gray chompers, I was ready to yell, “We get it already — they’re the bad guys. Now can they go ahead and EAT the girl already, because I want to get home in time for ‘Entourage’!”
Because, of course, that’s what they do. Eat Mischa, I mean. But the movie tries to pretend like that’s some big secret, and it wastes precious screen time by showing Hannibal — once he’s grown up and turned into a smirky French actor named Gaspard Ulliel — thrashing around in his sleep and having grainy nightmares about Mischa getting led off to the chopping block.
Which, to begin with, doesn’t make a lick of sense, because young Hannibal has about twice as much meat on him as Mischa does, and there’s half a dozen hungry grown men to feed.
So maybe these doofuses DO deserve to get tracked down and killed after the war, just for being so stupid.
And, yeah, that’s what Hannibal sets out to do. We next see him as a teenager, stuck in an orphanage in the former CASTLE LECTER (!!!), but he breaks out and manages to go hippity-hopping over heavily guarded European borders like some kind of a magical bunny rabbit.
He winds up in France and goes to his uncle’s mansion — oh, excuse me, chateau. Only his uncle’s dead, but that’s OK, because his widow is Gong Li, who was in the only scenes that were worth watching in “Miami Vice” last year.
Gong teaches Hannibal how to fight like a ninja and clean a sword blade with clove oil. (Gosh, who knew?) And every now and then, she kneels in front of a samurai uniform and prays to her Japanese ancestors, but since Gong Li is actually Chinese, those seemed like the very definition of wasted prayers.
Pretty soon Hannibal starts concentrating on his special hobby. First, he guts the local butcher, on account of insulting Gong Li’s lady parts. Then he hippity-hops all the way back to Lithuania and uses his magical rabbity intellect to discover the names of all those hungry, hungry hobos who invented Mischa ragout.
I wish I could tell you that all the killings were cool. And they weren’t bad so much as they were sort of undermined by how smirky and smug and girlie this Gaspard Ulliel is. When a cop starts quizzing him about one of the murders, Hannibal goes, “Do you compose verse, Inspector, and keep it under your pillow?” And after he sees one of the bad guys, who’s now a family man, he goes, “How neat he is, and plump, this war criminal.” And I started to forget he would go on to have the hots for Clarice Starling, because it seemed like he wanted to do more to these guys than just eat them. …
It didn’t help that this Gaspard kid is a dead ringer for creepy Crispin Glover when he was in “Back to the Future.”
I kept half-expecting Marty McFly to drop in out of thin air in his DeLorean, and go, “No, Dad, stop it — killing and eating people is wrong!”
Come to think of it, I wish that had happened. Maybe then Hannibal could’ve climbed into that time-machine car, flown back to 1944, saved his sister from being supper, and saved US from this super-lame prequel — am I right?
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Some sure bets left in their seats by fickle Oscar
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Dear Mr. Smithee,
Over the past few years, largely due to my discovery of the wonderful “Prime Suspect” series, I have become a fan of Helen Mirren. The Oscars haven’t been handed out yet, but has there ever been such domination by an actress’s performance as Ms. Mirren’s? And is there a particular Mirren role in a film that you would recommend for me?
Oh, and not to slight Forest Whitaker - his universal recognition is long overdue.
DEAN ABERCROMBIE, Snellville
Dear Just Where Have You Been?
As longtime “Ask Alan Smithee” readers most likely know by heart, yours truly is a stalwart Helen Mirren admirer.
Oh, but yes. She and I once chortled in private amusement while conversing about her stunning beauty in her role as the underdressed Morgana in John Boorman’s 1981 King Arthur tale, “Excalibur” - she intoning her words for my ears alone in the swirling, guttural potency of Old English that she had used to chant spells in the movie, whilst votre ami could but heave his chest and beg for more.
She’s been a lock for the Oscar since “The Queen” first unreeled.
In fact, in my humble opinion, her only competition should be Judi Dench (“Notes on a Scandal”).
And wise Oscar watchers know Ms. Dench has already announced that not only will she not be at the awards show (because of pending surgery), she didn’t really want to come all that way across the pond just to lose.
Can Ms. Mirren win just about everything in sight, then up and lose the best actress Oscar?
Heck, yes. It would be sad, but wilder things have happened.
For the 1948 Academy Awards ceremony, Rosalind Russell (“Mourning Becomes Electra”) was the heavy favorite. According to Robert Osborne’s “Academy Awards Illustrated,” a Daily Variety poll put Russell No. 1, followed in order by Dorothy McGuire (“Gentleman’s Agreement”), Joan Crawford (“Possessed”), Susan Hayward (“Smash-Up - The Story of a Woman”) and, finally, Loretta Young (“The Farmer’s Daughter”).
Guess who won.
“Russell was halfway out of her seat,” Osborne wrote in his book, when Ms. Young’s name was called and a loud gasp swelled.
But I still hope Mirren wins.
In addition to “Excalibur,” you need to see “Gosford Park” (2001), “Some Mother’s Son” (1996), “The Madness of King George” (1994), “The Mosquito Coast” (1986) and, especially, “The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover” (1989).
Your kind words about Forest Whitaker (“The Last King of Scotland”) ring true as well. He deserves the best actor Oscar.
Now, I couldn’t be entirely upset myself if Peter O’Toole (“Venus”) pulls an upset. O’Toole, after all, was denied an Academy Award many times when he very richly deserved one. But I still think Whitaker’s performance is too good not to win.
ALAN
P.S. You get a wine-bottle opener kit from “A Good Year” and an “Ask Alan Smithee” T-shirt.
Dear Mr. Smithee,
Recently, a local theater had a Robert Altman festival and showed “MASH,” “The Player,” “Popeye,” “Short Cuts” and “Nashville.” I went to all five. It was my first time to see “The Player,” which deserved all its accolades.
My question, though, is about “Popeye”: The resident trivia expert said Wesley Ivan Hurt (who played Swee’pea) was Altman’s grandson.
I seem to remember that when it came out, it was said that he was John Hurt’s son. He gave such a remarkable performance that I felt he had to have that great actor’s genes.
Which is correct?
DON HENKE, Dayton, Ohio
Dear Bluto,
Why would anyone show “Popeye” much less watch it?
I don’t care how much I loved Altman - and I loved most of his movies enough to tolerate “A Wedding” - I cannot even pretend to sit through “Popeye.”
Which leads me to a very quick answer.
Sir, everybody on the planet, including Roger Ebert but apparently not you, seems to believe that Wesley Ivan Hurt was Robert Altman’s grandson. I even found a guy online who claims little Wesley is his wife’s second cousin as well as a descendant of the celebrated director.
In the vein of I yam what I yam, he is who he is.
ALAN
P.S. You get a “Children of Men” cap and an “Ask Alan Smithee” T-shirt.
HAVE A QUESTION FOR MR. SMITHEE?
E-mail him at alansmithee@ajc.com or go to accessAtlanta.com and click on Movies. Please include your name, city and daytime phone number. Mr. Smithee can’t reply to every request, but inquiries chosen for publication will receive movie-related prizes.
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