How ‘The Silence of the Lambs’ Revolutionized Horror Films

by Brett Dworski

Horror films needed a facelift as the 1990s approached. The genre that emerged with silent and pre-Code masterpieces in the 20s and 30s and transformed cinema by the 70s had plateaued in scares and emotional depth well into the 80s. Masterpieces such as The Exorcist (1973) and Jaws (1975) proved that horror films could be earnest, frightening and box-office hits at once. On the heels of this discovery, filmmakers sprinted towards the 80s with what seemed like only the latter in mind. Films like Halloween (1979) and Friday the 13th (1980) were superficial bloodbaths, and although winners like The Shining (1980) and A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) captured audiences with their supernatural, ambiguous storylines, something was still missing.

That changed in the winter of 1991 when The Silence of the Lambs flipped horror upside down. Adapted from Thomas Harris’s 1988 novel of the same name, the film follows Clarice Starling (Jodie Foster), a young FBI trainee who is hunting a serial killer known as Buffalo Bill (Ted Levine). To catch him, she seeks the advice of Bill’s former psychiatrist, Dr. Hannibal Lecter (Anthony Hopkins), who happens to be an imprisoned, cannibalistic murderer.

Three decades since its release, it’s impossible to discuss the legacy of The Silence of the Lambs without mentioning its accolades. It became the third film in history to win the “big five” Academy Awards—Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor, Best Actress and Best Adapted Screenplay—after It Happened One Night (1934) and One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (1975), and it’s still the only horror film to win Best Picture. The Oscars are hardly known for awarding horror or even thrillers the top honors, so needless to say, this was—and remains—a big deal.

But why was The Silence of the Lambs so good? And how did it push the envelope for horror films?

For starters, its blending of genres was ingenious. The Silence of the Lambs is simultaneously a gritty, neo noir crime drama and a bloodcurdling thriller. It’s an intuitive detective story that’ll make you play chess with the characters, but also one that’ll shrivel your skin as you do so. And unlike many of its predecessors in the 80s, The Silence of the Lambs punched viewers with disturbing ideas, dialogue and character arcs instead of solely gore and jump scares. It combines nail-biting tension and unnerving, terrifying sequences from start to finish. One I’ll never forget is Buffalo Bill filming himself dancing to Lazzarus’s “Goodbye Horses,” while Catherine Martin awaits her death at the bottom of a well mere steps away. It’s so captivating, yet so horrifying.

Beyond its taut directing and innovative themes, The Silence of the Lambs also moved the needle for its dense characters. This is what truly separated it from the pack. Not only do we get to know Clarice, Lecter and Bill on the surface, but we dive into their inner workings, learning their fears, motives and darkest demons. Their arcs redefined what horror heroes and villains could be.

It starts and ends with Starling, a momentous character even without her nemeses. Although still a trainee, Clarice is ready for the challenge of chasing Buffalo Bill and making her mark in the FBI. If this wasn’t hard enough, she constantly battles the sexism of her colleagues in the male-dominated bureau. Director Jonathan Demme exposes Clarice’s greatest insecurities right in front of our eyes—and has Lecter open the doors to them. Clarice’s backstory of her father’s death and becoming an orphan from the countryside of West Virginia shows just how far she’s come; she’s truly climbed out of her own dark well. Yet with his sly wit and deception, Lecter claws at Clarice’s scars, showing us just how sensitive she is and how easily old wounds can bleed. But despite these hurdles, Starling’s ability to remain composed and confront her demons catapulted her to the top of cinematic heroes during a period that hadn’t yet fully embraced female protagonists as rugged and resilient. It’s a brilliant performance and portrayal by Jodie Foster.

But while Clarice is the hero, Lecter is the film’s most memorable character. Although  traditional horror villains often featured slashers, nightmarish creatures or supernatural beasts, Lecter was a bold, brilliant, and even polite doctor. Moreover, unlike previous villains who hid inside televisions or emerged in our dreams, Lecter stood right in front of us, snarling and humming in our faces. Early in the film, a tracking shot during Clarice’s entrance to the psych ward is our first image of Lecter: He’s standing erect with perfect posture, hands at his sides, with a smile on his face. In the moments that follow, he politely speaks to Clarice and shows his wit and intelligence, but it isn’t long before we see his dark side—how deceptive he can be, and how he gets his victims to open up to him before murdering them. Although this humanized villain dates back to Norman Bates in Psycho (1960), Lecter took it a step further. Bates was debatably a kind and gentle human, while his “mother” was the evil one. Lecter, on the other hand, always knew who he was and what he was doing.

Finally, we have Buffalo Bill, arguably the film’s most complex character. Bill is no ordinary killer: He captures young women, locking them in his dungeon for an extended period of time before murdering them to use their skin as a suit. He’s the type of killer who throws us off the second we see him: His eerie demeanor and acts of helplessness to lure his victims is beyond unsettling. His baritone and mumbled voice is just as frightening. Bill is the kind of villain who was everyone’s worst nightmare as a kid playing on the driveway.

But Bill’s complexity stems from his identity, and his character sparks a complicated discussion about gender. When we meet him, he’s wearing jeans, a coat similar to a letterman's jacket, and a baseball cap. But at home, Bill wears dresses, lipstick and eyeliner, and forms his body to resemble a woman, notably wearing the skin of his victims. Over the years, The Silence of the Lambs has been criticized for its transphobia because of how Bill is portrayed. Although Lecter says at one point that Bill isn’t transgender, audiences today may disagree, leading to a flaw in the movie: That the only representation of a potential queer character is a psychopath. Still, alongside Lecter, Bill showed that a horror villain could be more than an emotionless masked man slashing his victims, and that alone was a feat.

Horror films are constantly evolving and emerging in a variety of forms today, from grief-filled supernatural flicks like The Babadook (2014) and Hereditary (2018) to social thrillers illuminating the atrocities of bigotry and racism such as Get Out (2017) and His House (2020). The genre-bending characters, themes and stories in these movies have become household traits of modern horror films. Thirty years ago, The Silence of the Lambs helped make that possible.