30 Years Later, ‘The Silence of the Lambs’ Is Still a Perfect Film

What constitutes a perfect movie? Is there even such a thing as a perfect film? It’s hard to say; I believe that art is subjective, and my feelings about my favorite movies likely won’t be the same as everyone else’s. Everyone views art through their own lens, and so it’s tough to say whether something is objectively perfect. But at least in my eyes, there is such a thing as a perfect film. It’s one where every single technical element—the script, the direction, the performances, the editing, etc.—is in complete harmony. It’s one where there’s hardly a false note to be found; not an out-of-place scene, not an off performance, nothing. It’s one that doesn’t age, where it can be viewed for the first time decades after its release without feeling dated, and will continue to be watched and rewatched in the decades to come. Very few films fit all this criteria. Jonathan Demme’s 1991 masterwork The Silence of the Lambs does. And with its 30th anniversary arriving next week, now’s as good a time as any to revisit it, or check it out for the first time if you haven’t.

For those who aren’t familiar, Lambs follows FBI cadet Clarice Starling (Jodie Foster) as she enlists the help of locked-up cannibal Hannibal Lecter (Anthony Hopkins) in order to track down cross-dressing serial killer Buffalo Bill (Ted Levine). Thrust upon audiences on Valentine’s Day of 1991 (it’d certainly make an interesting date-night movie), it was met with immediate acclaim, grossing $272 million at the box office and receiving raves from critics. Almost a full year later, it would go on to dominate the Oscars, becoming one of only three films in history (1934’s It Happened One Night and 1975’s One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest being the others) to sweep all five major categories: Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor, Best Actress, and Best Screenplay (Adapted Screenplay in this case, working from Thomas Harris’ 1988 novel). Yet it wasn’t immune to controversy either; members of the LGBTQ+ community criticized the film’s portrayal of Buffalo Bill for being transphobic (although his sexuality is never stated in the film, and Demme has said that Bill wasn’t meant to be transsexual). Still, the film has weathered all storms and is now widely (and rightfully) considered among the greatest movies ever made.

Oftentimes, discussion about Lambs comes down to whether it’s a horror movie or not. On paper, it certainly seems so; the main plot involves not one but two psychopathic killers, and it’s not afraid to be gruesome at certain points (although Demme wisely keeps the most graphic detail offscreen; even the film’s most violent scene largely takes place just out of the camera’s view). But Lambs’ place in pop culture has also led to some misconceptions about it. Hannibal Lecter has become one of the most iconic film characters of all time, and Hopkins’ indelible performance has been quoted and parodied endlessly since the film’s release. However, most don’t seem to remember that Hopkins only has about 16 minutes of screen time in the film, with both killers being mostly pushed to the sidelines in favor of Clarice and the FBI’s investigative work. It’s a testament to Hopkins’ performance that he makes such an impression; even when he’s not on screen, his presence is still felt, and he makes the absolute most out of his scenes, responsible for some of the most chilling line readings in film history. But it’s hard to classify Lambs as a horror film when most of the focus is on the forensic side of things; it’s got more in common with works like Zodiac, True Detective, and Mindhunter, all of which are ostensibly about serial killers, but focus more on the investigations into the killers than on the killers themselves.

The technical craft of Lambs is unparalleled. There’s a scene that always stood out to me consisting of just Clarice and Hannibal having a conversation (it’s also where the film gets its title from). That’s all there is to the scene on paper, but as the two keep talking, cinematographer Tak Fujimoto’s camera slowly, subtly pulls in on Foster and Hopkins, and eventually brings their faces into extreme close-up. Aside from the dialogue, the scene is completely silent in the background, their voices echoing off the walls of the giant room (at one point, you can faintly hear a wrench drop in the background). The camerawork and sound design are brilliant but don’t call attention to themselves; every time I watch this scene, I’m as riveted as I would be watching a car chase. Even the simplest of scenes are put together with acute craftsmanship. Fujimoto brilliantly shoots much of the film from Clarice’s point of view. When she's talking to someone, that person appears to be talking directly into the camera; even though they’re talking to Clarice, by extension, they’re talking to the audience. She’s our window into this sick, depraved world. We’re right along with her as she makes her way down stairways and dark corridors, through dangerous prisons and creepy houses. She’s the lone woman in a profession dominated by men, and we see through her eyes as men leer at her, look down on her, underestimate her. We empathize with her the whole way through, a woman who overcame a tragic childhood and worked hard to get where she is, only to be ostracized by the men surrounding her. Foster’s performance only enhances the brilliance of the character; Hannibal may be who most people remember, but Clarice is the real star of the film.

Despite that, there’s a reason why audiences clung to Hannibal so much. Hopkins’ performance brings it into the pantheon of great movie monsters, in an entirely different league than past killers like Michael Myers and Freddy Krueger. For one, despite being a cannibalistic killer, he’s not the villain of the movie; Buffalo Bill is. Hannibal instead is brought in to help Clarice find Bill, putting him more in the position of an antihero. Even though we know we shouldn’t be drawn to him, that ends up being the case regardless; he’s intelligent, calculating, almost even charming, and he’s always the smartest in the room. He’s got refined tastes, listening to classical music and drawing portraits. And his line readings are unforgettable; lines like “I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti” and “I’m having an old friend for dinner” have been permanently burned into the pop culture lexicon. Even if you haven’t seen the film, you’re likely familiar in some shape or form with Hopkins’ Lecter. From his first moment onscreen, he’s as immediately captivating as any actor has ever been, and his 16 minutes of screen time doesn’t feel like nearly enough (he would return as Lecter for two more movies, 2001’s Hannibal and 2005’s Red Dragon; I haven’t seen either, but they weren’t very well-received).

Looking back, it’s shocking that a film like Lambs pulled off such a sweep at the Oscars, deserving as it is. The Academy typically tends to award crowd-pleasing dramas, historical epics, and biopics; something this dark and macabre is certainly an outlier among other Best Picture winners. But Oscar voters knew that Lambs was simply too good to ignore. It’s a film that isn’t going to go away anytime soon, either; its influence can be felt in practically every serial-killer thriller since, and there’s not a moment that feels dated. It’s a film I can rewatch multiple times and find new things to appreciate each time; it still feels fresh and ageless no matter how many times I watch it. Every second of Lambs is exactly what it should be. And so, with the anniversary coming up, it’s as good a time as any to revisit one of cinema’s seminal works.