Red Dragon (2002)

The problem with adapting Thomas Harris's novels, I have realized, is that Harris just puts too much stuff in his books. He's an excellent and accessible writer, with plots that should be easily adaptable to film... except that he goes into intense detail on even the smallest plot points. And there's tons of plot points. The Silence of the Lambs, in retrospect, appears to have been a fluke, a rare case where the screenwriter figured out exactly what needed to go and what needed to be saved. Then again, Ted Tally wasn't handicapped by having extra demands placed on him with Lambs; here, in his second crack at adapting Harris, he not only has to streamline the plot of Red Dragon to a workable two-hour script, but he has to beef up Hannibal Lecter's exceedingly minor role. The task proved too much, apparently, as the main problem with Red Dragon is indeed its impassive, hurried screenplay. Problems come up, only to be solved about three minutes later. (In particular, the magazine code-cracking was so off-the-cuff that it's a wonder Tally even bothered including it.) And Brett Ratner's generic direction does the film no favors. From all appearances, Ratner is a mildly talented hack who's seen Lambs about fifty times and apes it whenever possible. I say "mildly talented" because when he's forced to go it alone, when he can't steal from Lambs -- in short, the scenes with Ralph Fiennes and Emily Watson -- he lays down a perfectly creepy vibe. The Dolarhyde scenes practically thrum with life, and Fiennes is surprisingly good at using his presence to suggest a man much larger and stronger than he actually is. But every time we get a good rhythm going, the plot heaves itself forward, we cut back to Edward Norton going through the motions and Anthony Hopkins going through the motions, and the tension dissipates. Really a near miss, but a miss anyway. (And that coda is a fucking insult.)

Grade: C+