Misguided and counterproductive gay activists set upon The Silence of the Lambs and made fools out of themselves simplifying and misinterpreting certain elements of a complex cinematic masterpiece.

When they insisted that Jodie Foster had to be a lesbian and that her character in this film, Clarice Starling, was probably gay too, they were invoking ultra-conservative, old-fashioned sexist ideas that if a woman was independent, tough and at loggerheads with the patriarchy, then her sexuality was in question, as she wasn’t behaving like a good woman should. As a letter writer to the Village Voice pointed out, “under the guise of promoting gay consciousness, they’re falling back on the same reliable weapon that men have used for centuries against women who claim a little too much for themselves – they’re calling her a dyke.”

When they expressed outrage that gay stereotypes had been attached to the film’s psycho killer, Buffalo Bill, they miss the film’s quite obvious point – something that is stated through action, theme, and even dialogue (“Billy [only] thinks he’s a transsexual”) – that the killer is struggling, just as Clarice is, to find some kind of stable identity in a world of strict, sometimes unfair and unrealistic, gender roles, a struggle which gay activists should have perhaps applauded, or at least related to. As Judith Halberstam has noted, “Buffalo Bill could be another victim of the heterosexist culture which believes that anatomy is destiny.”

Furthermore, sulking at the side lines while eager hetero moviegoers lined up around the block to see this film or Basic Instinct, early-Nineties gay activists - who seemed to want to integrate gay culture into the American mainstream - shot themselves in the foot with gusto as they isolated themselves from the cultural mood of the times by objecting to blockbuster movies that everyone else loved. Gay activists would have been better to have nailed their colours to the mast of Hannibal Lecter, the film’s other fey killer, a sophisticated sexually ambiguous villian who continues to enjoy Darth Vader level popularity with audiences of all stripes.

But enough about that. Clarice Starling (Jodie Foster) is an FBI trainee sent to the dungeon cell of Dr. Hannibal “The Cannibal” Lecter (Anthony Hopkins) to collect any information Lecter may have on “Buffalo Bill”, an elusive serial killer who “skins his humps”. Hoping to advance her career and put her own demons to rest, Clarice embarks on a fascinating quasi-romantic relationship with Dr. Lecter, who in turn revels in exploring and exploiting Clarice’s brittle psyche. Clarice also battles her superior, Jack Crawford (Scott Glenn), and, eventually, “Buffalo Bill” himself, Jame Gumb (Ted Levine) in a thrilling pre-finale.

Perfect pace and structure set up and balance the film’s multiple threads of complex tension before running them together with unbelievable class and flair in the supersonic third act. The Silence of the Lambs generates adrenaline and terror at the level of Psycho, and has an operatic and reverent approach to gore, pain and horror that rivals the alchemic excesses of The Exorcist.

Unsung heroes of this justly rewarded film are Anthony Heald, who plays Dr. Lecter’s mediocre tormentor Dr. Chilton, and Howard Shore, who created the surging original musical score. An hysterical musical with song titles like “If I Could Smell Her Cunt” and “Put the Fucking Lotion in the Basket” runs well away with Shore’s melodies and many of the film’s innumerable snatches of great dialogue.