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![]() Mikkelsen straddles that fine line between man and beast in a way Hopkins nor Cox manage as adroitly. Mikkelsen’s Hannibal deeply explores the philosophy behind his actions – cannibalism as a desire to understand the world, and his mortality, more than happy to live out his contradictions as a self-aware beast who dresses up like a man. That’s not to say that Mikkelsen can’t throw down: When he moves in for the kill, he does so with the raw ferocity of a desperate animal. This is particularly true in his scenes with Hugh Dancy’s Will Graham, their homoerotic tension a far sight more dynamic than their lame father-son routine in Red Dragon. Every sultry, half-mumbled probing question and philosophical insight, filtered through his intoxicating Danish accent, elevates him into a passive, calculating observer of the psychological condition. It’s fitting, frankly, that Bryan Fuller’s version of Hannibal would concern himself so much with accoutrements and style, given the slasher-as-art-film approach the showrunner cultivated through all three seasons. Every episode dresses him in a new and fascinating three-piece suit, the camera lovingly pans over his fastidiously-made dishes, and Mads’ own uncannily-handsome face makes for an imposing profile. While Hopkins was a sneering, self-aggrandizing showman, and Cox was a monster horrifying in his mundanity, Mikkelsen’s Hannibal is a baroque aesthete. Essential to that is Mikkelsen’s stylized, aristocratic portrayal of Hannibal Lector, who managed to worm his way to the top of my list. Three seasons later, Bryan Fuller’s vision of a painterly, psychosexual exploration of sanity and control is one of those bravura cult hits we still can’t believe was allowed on network TV. ![]() Not to dismiss the other iterations, but that makes a big difference in my book.Ĭlint Worthington: When NBC’s Hannibal was announced, I (and possibly many others) wrote it off as yet another limp network procedural- a nostalgic prequel that would anemically retell the origin story of somebody whose origin we didn’t need. Cox’s Hannibal Lecktor (film spelling) could excel in the real world because he feels real. It reminds me of Stephen King’s criticism of the Kubrick’s Shining adaptation, and how the author felt that Jack was crazy from the moment we see him on screen as opposed to the alcoholic teacher he wrote about years earlier. He leans against the wall when talking to him, leaning forward when he asks “Dream much, Will?” There is a casual bit to this delivery that throws us off. When Graham first enters the picture, he’s lying in bed with his back to him. He blends in with his chalk-white prison cell as though he’s always been a part of it and in no hurry to leave. We ask ourselves, “What would cause him to break?” “Would we see it coming?” “Why?” Hopkins exceled at the sinister, Mads Mikkelson with the cool and collect, but Cox was a different kind of monster all together: normal. The fact that there is no real moment of terror from this Hannibal throughout Manhunter makes him that much more of a puzzling character. He’s so unassuming you’d never see him coming. ![]() This is a Hannibal from the local pub, the kind of guy you can imagine kicking back in the corner and enjoying a pint just before dusk. We only see him in short stretches, either conversing with Will Graham (William Petersen, still the best in the role) or through telephone calls, but his take on the character is fascinating. However, there’s something about the laissez-faire performance of Brian Cox in 1986’s Manhunter (Michael Mann’s film adaptation of Red Dragon) that continues to impress me above all others. It gave his career a boost it desperately needed, and he’s been pretty much riding the waves ever since. It earned him an Academy Award for Best Actor. Justin Gerber: I grew up on Anthony Hopkins’ Hannibal. ![]() Mind you, this piece originally ran in 2016. This time, Justin Gerber, Clint Worthington, and Dominick Suzanne-Mayer debate over who played the best Hannibal Lector as Ridley Scott’s Hannibal turns 20 and Jonathan Demme’s The Silence of the Lambs turns 30. Well, for those of you who know better than to believe those lies, welcome to another installment of Vs. Music and movies aren’t about competition they’re about artistic expression. ![]()
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