Everything in the Thomas Harris universe has a faintly homo-unfriendly tinge to it. Hannibal starts with Julianne stepping into Jodie Foster's roomy, sensible shoes as FBI Special Agent Clarice Starling, now out of Quantico and going to fish markets to have accidental shootouts with HIV-positive, automatic-weapon-wielding drug queenpins with children strapped in their Baby Bjorns. Oopsie! Panic ensues for J-Moo as she tries to hose off the baby covered in "tainted" blood post-shootout-- and OK, while you can't automatically link anything HIV-related in a movie to being necessarily "gay," I feel like this is just a soupcon of the wild, evil sissy panic that Hannibal has in store for us: an overture of distaste before the first act of pure, uncut WTF.
Following this upsetting interlude, J-Moo goes home and cries. I like to think that Julianne is crying because she was realizing that taking this role was a losing battle-- and that she cannot make any sense of the script. But J has to dry her eyes right quick because she needs to run off and get back in the saddle to catch Hannibal Lecter, the world's most crypto-queer cannibal psychiatrist! Girls, let's face it, and own it: Lecter is the gay world's Freddy Krueger. She cooks, she LOVES to stir up drama and ask inappropriate questions, and she knows everything about antiques and opera. I dunno about you, but I've certainly met Miss Lecter in a gay bar on an off-night once or twice in my life (fact: white wine spritzers are a helpful tool to enable a sly, discreet escape).
Anyhoo, back to Julianne: during her quest to find Lecter (who's roaming free now in Florence, Italy), Julianne is forced to head to a huge (and I mean obscenely huge) home to visit with Hannibal's resident evil queen, a man who makes Lecter look like Pat Buchanan when it comes to filling out the faggoty checklist. This lady has:
a) an antique-laden (yet childless, barren and empty) home;
b) a dedicated and resentful manservant;
c) TONS of money.
Yes, kiddies: Julianne must meet with TOM FORD.
No. Wait, that's not right. It's Mason Verger (played with icky relish by an uncredited Gary Oldman), a former patient of Lecter's who had the hots for him. See, years ago, Verger (who likes to diddle little boys-- disgusting "gay" character trait #1 established: molester) went home with Lecter to get it on, and Lecter offered him the use of some "poppers" (disgusting "gay" character trait #2 established: druggie). Well, that bitch shoulda checked the label, 'cause whatever was in that bottle wasn't amyl nitrate. It makes Verger go batty, and cut her own face to ribbons-- and then Lecter feeds the pieces to a dog (disgusting "gay" character trait #3 established: gay sex is gross). Now Verger's confined to a wheelchair and has a face like a squashed tomato. She's dying to find Lecter to get revenge-- and her plan for that involves having Lecter eaten alive by wild boars. I've heard of pig play, but this bitch is one sick lady.
Nor can any self-respecting gay tolerate any behavior that abuses children (hence Verger's initial flashback punishment). I guess this is why we, the gays, need to embrace Lecter more as our own: because he's an avenging angel of sorts with exquisite taste who can't tolerate bad manners. He's like Martha Stewart's fever dream fantasy come to life. Maybe I'm reaching, but in the rococo, baroque landscape of crazy known as HANNIBAL, a girl needs something to hold on to. Just ask Julianne.
Seriously, ask her. Because by now she's tracked Lecter back to Verger's home, rescued him from the hungry, insatiable pigs (girl, we've all been there), and subsequently shot. Lecter rescues her himself to bring to a cozy lakeside cottage, but not before stopping at Gucci (again, I'm sorry, but Tom Ford is in here somewhere) to get the comatose Julianne a hot little number to wear.
It's around this point that it looks like Universal execs were watching dailies of the movie and collectively decided to fire Ridley Scott and give the movie over to that nice Nancy Meyers. The film's truly insane last act takes places at Ray Liotta cottage, where Lecter has both him and Julianne hostage (I mean, for the weekend!). Remember how in
Something's Gotta Give, Meyers lingered grotesquely over appliances, furniture and whatnot to create a movie that's the equivalent of a throw-pillow? Well, her touch is at work here in spades. Julianne wakes up, drugged out, and hoping that this whole movie was a horrible dream and that her handsome hubby Bart Freundlich is already downstairs making egg-white omelettes. But no: J-Moo is still in
Hannibal, and Julianne, ever the trouper (she was in
Body of Evidence, you guys), stumbles downstairs to find that Lecter is about to torture Liotta for dinner (in divine copper cookware, of course). That's what you get for fucking with his Julianne. Lecter doesn't want to bang her-- I think he's just her bestie and will sass anyone who disrespects her. Of course, "sassing" and "sauteeing and feeding a man his own brain" are different responses entirely, but we must keep in mind that the gay community is wide and diverse and therefore we mustn't judge.
