Silence of the Lambs
September 17, 2008 by Brazilla R. Kreep
Filed under Kreep's Korner
Dear kreepy klassic fans,
I will get right to the point: Thomas Harris’ The Silence of the Lambs is one of the supreme horror films of all time. It came out as a whisper in the dark movie houses of our nation, and then grew t’play like a mighty lion’s roar to audiences all across the globe. It elevated the serial killer to an almost anti-hero status while making sure it gave us that old nasty one Buffalo Bill. You know, just to remind us the true nature of the dark beast brooding in basements in the dark. For these men are forever truly sick n’ twisted souls. They do not see the world as we do. They do not appreciate the light n’ joy that surrounds them. Not one ounce, not one iota. They are sinister holes that need to fill their voids with innocent human sacrifice. They are t’be feared. They are t’be mistrusted and avoided at all cost. So the lesson goes.
The Silence of the Lambs, directed by Oscar® winner Jonathan Demme, brought poetry to the fading Saturday matinee slasher. It ripped it from its B-movie hiding place, a gorgeous bloody heart still beating to the symphony of a classic opera in Vienna, Shakespeare in the park, Broadway under the stars of a midsummer night’s dream. It did this with screen legend Sir Anthony Hopkins as the charming cannibal of wicked souls. With a shadowy sophisticated dementia, Dr. Lector felt the need to literally devour the evil in men’s hearts, steamy meal by gourmet meal. It did this with Jodie Foster brilliantly playing an aggressive young crime fighter reaching in the night to hush the crying of the lambs, not because she was a woman wanting t’be the first, but rather just because she wanted it so. It wasn’t about feminism for Clarice Starling, it was about being, doing, achieving something greater than her roots. Being a woman was secondary, as it should be, she simply didn’t care much about such political aspirations. It was about passion n’ conviction. In that, she was the ultimate feminist.
All this allowed The Silence of the Lambs to achieve a place in cinema history unparalleled. So as you read/listen to my little ode to Dr. Hannibal Lector and Agent Clarice Starling’s first encounter in the dungeon of the Baltimore Insane Asylum, never forget what he is, “Pure Psychopath. Very rare to capture one alive.” For it is true, my kreepy friends, you don’t want Hannibal Lector running around inside your head. Or, on second thought, maybe, you do.
In E†ernity,
Brazillia R. Kreep
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KREEPY KLASSICS
FLY AWAY (Ode to The Silence of the Lambs)
Agent Starling, I presume
(sniffs)
O’ how I smell your stale perfume
You know what you remind me of
With your good bag, shoes so suave
You look just like a well-scrubbed rube
Awkward, simple, quite the boob
You’re not “real” FBI
I won’t even dignify
You’re questions, with my expertise
Dissect me, I think not, Clarice
Now tell me, what was your father, dear?
A cool miner, stunk of the lamp n’ gear?
That accent too? Pure West Virgina, see…
So hard to shed, so hard t’be
One life away from poor white trash
Good-length of bone n’ some panache
And oh, how the boys found you!
Tedious, sticky fumblings you can’t undue
While crying in your stale boudoirs
Must’ve left a lot of scares
Oh, agent Starling how you dreamed
Out your bedroom window schemed
Wished upon a twinkling star
Up above n’ o’ so far
The journey from that backwoods bend
Uncomplicated life transcend
T’reach the coveted golden ring
Swirling, sweating, trembling
Rocking the backseats of cars
Eyes a glazed upon your bars
T’break free, n’ shout “good-bye!”
All the way to the F. B. I.
Now fly away,
Fly, fly, fly…
that was Kreepy! more please.
xo
dahni