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"Okey dokey! Here we go!"

When I heard that Ridley Scott (Blade Runner, Gladiator) signed on to direct the long-in-turmoil film adaptation of Hannibal, I did not envy him. The odds were against him, and it seemed the fates were too. The star of The Silence of the Lambs, Jodie Foster, chose not to return and they had a dubious replacement in Julianne Moore. The novel by Thomas Harris was (unjustly) bashed in most circles, especially for its ending. There was no way, it seemed, that such a troubled production could ever churn out anything worthwhile. Fortunately I, along with most others, grossly underestimated the movie-carrying skill of star Anthony Hopkins (hard to do, since he's already my favorite actor, but here we are) and the technical prowess of director Scott.

Hopkins reprises the role that so captured the nation's attention in the Oscar-sweeping Silence of the Lambs. Dr. Hannibal Lecter, the notorious psychologist with a taste for human flesh, is on the loose this time, wreaking havoc in Florence, Italy. He is still fond of Special Agent Clarice Starling (Julianne Moore) recently suspende from the FBI for her justifiable actions during a recent drug bust. When she finds out that Mr. Lecter is out of retirement, she enlists the help of Mason Verger, the only one of Lecter's victims who survived. Wheelchair-bound and horribly disfigured, Verger has devoted his life to finding Hannibal, feeding him to wild pigs and watching him suffer.

Make no mistake, the film is as unmercifully violent as everyone says it is. Only the most resilient viewers will be able to stomach some of the scenes without flinching or taking their eyes away from the screen. But somehow, I felt that the film had earned its right to be brutal. The gore isn't here just for its own sake, nor is it here to take the audience's attention from any shortcoming Hannibal may have had. With the blood and guts or without them, this is a solid, well-made film.

Few would dispute Ridley Scott's genius in just about all technical facets of filmmaking. His 2000 smash hit Gladiator compensated for its thematic hollowness with pure, unadulterated movie wizardry. Here, though, Scott is working on a new level. He is still gangbusters at generating suspense -- I got very well acquainted with the edge of my seat -- but he has regard for his characters, as well. Hannibal Lecter remains one of the most interesting people to ever grace the screen.

Scott's role in maintaining the main character's dignity is, of course, simply a matter of getting out of Anthony Hopkins' way. When his Lecter is on screen, we can't take our eyes off him; when he's not on screen, we wish he was. Never have the words "Okey dokey! Here we go!" sounded so creepy and never has a serial killer -- usually characterized as repulsive and uninteresting -- been so alluringly scary. I'll be damned if I wasn't rooting for him.

Julianne Moore doesn't fare quite as well. Her Clarice is cold, detached, unfeeling. I suppose this would be a realistic portrayal of a character who's been through what Starling's been through, but that doesn't make her any more viable as a protagonist. Moore exaggerates this effect by playing each scene icily, as if convinced that any show of human emotion would shatter the mood.

And so the legend continues, showing no signs of a decrease in quality. While the book provides ample closure for the franchise, hinting that there is nothing more to come, the movie leaves it wide open for another sequel. I'll be waiting with bated breath and looking over my shoulder before I turn out the light.