Directed by Peter Webber

Written by Thomas Harris

Starring: Gaspard Ulliel, Gong Li, Dominic West and Ryhs Infans

117 min. in CinemaScope

Perhaps the reason I hate Hannibal Lechter movies is because the franchise got off on such lousy footing.

Had Silence of the Lambs been directed by anyone other than Jonathan Demme, there might have been some room for faint praise. With a string of films like Crazy Mama, Handle With Care and Melvin and Howard behind him, Demme seemed poised to assume the mantle as the Frank Capra of his generation. Instead, the easygoing All-American directed a high profile slasher film further legitimized by the presence of Sir Anthony Hopkins and snooty Jodie Foster.

I am probably the only person on the planet who preferred Hannibal to the original, though not by much. The one image from the trilogy that is forever etched in my brain is that of Ray Liota, seated at the dinner table with the top of his head sawed off, functioning as that evening’s main course.

Novelist Thomas Harris, needing to satisfy both his readers’ curiosity and a desire to pick up another fat paycheck, fashioned a prequel meant to explain his character’s origins. When all else fails, blame it on a bad upbringing and the Nazis.

In war torn Lithuania, one of the first acts that young Hannibal witnesses is the slaughter of his parents at the hands of a Russian gang led by the maniacal Grutis (Rhys Infans). Left orphaned with his baby sister, we sit in rapt attention waiting to see what Hannibal will put in his mouth. Will he feast on live pheasant with Grutis or snack on the wolves that devoured his parents’ carcasses?

The first wave of human consumption is sparked by the starving Russkies who whip up an order of Hannibal’s Sister Tartar. Hannibal’s family castle is transformed into a prison where our hero spends his formative years. Fortunately, his cell is connected to a secret passageway that Stevie Wonder would have no trouble finding.

Hannibal grows up, escapes the horrors of the Eastern Front and makes his way to France. It is here that the filmmakers basically restage Agatha Christie’s Ten Little Indians, as Hanny systematically tracks down and kills every man who dined on his sister. Since everyone that Hannibal kills deserves their fate, it’s as though the author was straining to make Hannibal the Cannibal a sympathetic character.

He eventually finds refuge in the home of Lady Murasaki Shikibu, his uncle’s beautiful Japanese widow (played by the Chinese Gong Li). Lady Shikibu looks after her nephew “Hanny-Bo”; she not only introduces him to his trademarked mask, but teaches him the art of the Bushido blade as well.

The film’s only high point is Dominic West’s sharp performance as French detective Inspector Popil (pronounced the same way as America’s inventor and Showtime Knives pitchman Ron Popeil.) He is barely on screen compared to newcomer Gaspard Ulliel who commands the lion’s share of the film’s running time.

With his dimpled grin and pouty lips, Ulliel would look right at home in some of the ads scattered through the back pages of the Gay & Lesbian Times. Posing before the camera with chin buried in chest and eyes forward, he looks more like Crispin Glover in Willard than a young Anthony Hopkins.

If you are that starved for entertainment, eat your television set rather than consuming Hannibal Rising.

Rating: m

Directed by Michael Lehmann

Written by Karen Leigh Hopkins and Jessie Nelson

Starring: Diane Keaton, Mandy Moore, Gabriel Macht and Tom Everett Scott

102 min.

Get ready for another perfectly miserable contemporary romantic comedy, this one about a meddling mother of three eager to hook her youngest daughter up with Mr. Right. Here are 10 reasons to avoid Because I Said So at all costs:

1. An overabundance of dog cutaways, including the obligatory shot of Rover humping an ottoman. The pooch gets more screen time than poor Piper Perabo.

2. Diane Keaton lives in an alternate universe where the same exact scene from Frank Borzage’s unyieldingly romantic A Farewell to Arms plays cable every night. The producers, too chintzy to spring for the pristine Image Entertainment transfer, opt for a muddy, public domain copy.

3. Another cost cutting measure pads the soundtrack with pop songs performed by the Sound-Alikes. And if I see one more film in which single moms perform bedroom karaoke with their daughters…

4. Longtime galpal of legendary cocksman Warren Beatty, Ms. Keaton confesses to Mandy Moore that she never had an orgasm.

5. Mandy plays Milly Wilder while Keaton’s character is named Daphne, the same as Jack Lemmon’s in Some Like it Hot.

6. Funny subtitles help American audiences appreciate what four nasty Asian masseuses, working over mom and her daughters, say behind their backs.

7. One of Keaton’s grandchildren has what appears to be a serious medical condition. No time for technicalities as the poor kid’s malady is brushed aside with the on-screen diagnosis of “unique rhythm.”

8. The one chance the film had at executing a potentially funny gag is quashed before it’s given a chance to play out. Moore and Macht meet cute when he spots her having a bout with static cling. Out of nowhere, a red balloon affixes itself to her backside. Instead of following her into work where she’d presumably sit down and explode, the filmmakers simply dissolve.

9. While she has appeared in several bad films of late, I would be loath to assign blame solely to Ms. Keaton. Here, she is merely a willing participant in the awfulness. Her mincing, eclectic “La-De-Da” demeanor, once so endearing, now plays out like Paul Lynde on steroids.

10. What is the best reason not to see this movie? Because I said so!

Rating: m

Directed by George Hickenlooper

Written by Aaron Richard Golub, Captain Mauzner and Simon Monjack

Starring: Sienna Miller, Guy Pearce, Hayden Christiensen and Jimmy Fallon

90 min.

Call it Olfactory Girl because this one stinks to high heavens!

In light of Mary Harron’s far superior I Shot Andy Warhol, the logical choice of titles for this finger-pointing exposé should have been I Killed Edie Sedgwick.

According to the screenplay, it was Warhol’s (Guy Pearce) ultimate dismissal of his fading superstar that led to her death by injection at the age of 28. Born in Santa Barbara, Edie Sedgwick moved to New York City in 1965 and almost instantly set the fashion world on fire. According to Diana Vreeland (a very funny, perfectly accented Illeana Douglas), Edie was the first girl to bring sex appeal to American high society.

Her tumultuous upbringing is detailed in a manner worthy of an “E! True Hollywood Story.” Her father (James Naughton), affectionately nicknamed “Fuzzy,” molested his daughter and showed zero compassion when his gay son committed suicide. When Fuzzy first meets Andy, he confesses that he’s relieved to learn that his daughter’s mentor is a “queer” who won’t attempt to take control of the family fortune through marriage.

The other man in Edie’s life is referred to only as “The Singer.” That’s because Bob Dylan threatened to sue if they used his name. As “The Singer,” pretty boy Hayden Christensen (who looks as much like Dylan as Gary Coleman does Ali) hands in another terrible performance. His mumbled line readings sound more like Tony Bennett than the Tambourine Man. Considering that this is a story about a person who has nothing going for him beyond physical beauty, Christiensen should take heed and choose another career path. Try holding back the laughs when he tells Edie that “her heart is as empty as her friend’s soup can.”

If Andy Warhol purposely set out to make shit, he is the most successful filmmaker of all time. Factory Girl’s only amusing section focuses on Warhol the “director” asking for booms to be lowered in the frame so audience members are constantly reminded that they are watching a movie. Bertolt Brecht he wasn’t. The biggest intentional laugh comes when Andy lets a relative stranger turn on the camera.

As for unintentional laughs, it’s worth catching the last 10 minutes just for Sienna Miller’s emotional breakdown. Fine for the first 80 minutes, Ms. Miller hands in a shrieking meltdown worthy of Valley of the Dolls.

Hickenlooper, known primarily for his absorbing documentaries of filmmakers (Hearts of Darkness, Picture This, Monte Hellman – American Auteur), tries his best to give the film an authentic period feeling. All the split screens, jump cuts and flash frames in the world couldn’t help this mess.

Rating: m