Sally Jane Black’s review published on Letterboxd:
I recently read a book called The Serial Killer Whisperer that my mother sent to me, about a man with brain trauma that found he could relate to serial killers via mail and get them to talk. What the killers mostly told him, from what was printed in the book, was generally aggrandized versions of their crimes, but even the most aggrandized versions of their crimes rarely came close to the theatricality depicted in even the tamest Thomas Harris adaptations that I've seen (admittedly, this is limited). But what Manhunter shows is leagues and leagues closer to what most serial killers are probably like than the television show Habbinal.
This is notable because both use rich, deep cinematography to draw unearthly beauty out of the grotesque. Both have a heightened sense of drama, and both tackle their villains with sympathy, insight, and a metaphorical flair. Though there's enough here to see a real person in Francis Dolarhyde, he certainly works on a symbolic level. He has a theme, a motif, that is a hyper-poetic version of the modus operandi most serial killers have. As Will Graham deciphers his motivations, we come to understand this pale, freakish man with a Frankenstein's monster gait and awkwardly direct dialogue. He works in a video production place, and he is obsessed with seeing, with visuals, with reflections. Ted Bundy and Albert Fish were dark, disturbing souls with an allure in the former case and a repulsive demeanor in the second, but neither were living embodiments of a sense.
It's appropriate, of course, that Michael Mann's cinematography was utterly lavish in that typical Mann-neon way. Everything is crisp and clinical, and the shots are composed such that no scene is anything less than striking. Whether it be a bizarre conversation switching between Will Graham and Sidney Bloom's heads taking up an awkward third of the screen, the luscious beaches of Florida, the cold blue bedroom scenes of Molly all alone, or those blindingly white cells that Dr. Lecktor [sic] dwells in, every scene, every setting is meticulously designed to be an image that you cannot forget. This is the world of Dolarhyde, a world he cannot be a part of until he kills enough.
It's strange to see this film for the first time after having grown up with Silence of the Lambs and having seen Byran Fuller's magnum opus with Habbinal. Comparisons are impossible to avoid, and the focus on both of those on Habbinal Lecter makes it seem off that he is not the focus here. On the other hand, as good as Brian Cox is, he would not stand up against Mads Mikkelsen's superlative performance, so it might be best that his screen time is minimal. The visual and dialogue references the television show has picked up from this film (and, presumably, the books) are now much clearer (and appreciated), and the thematic comparisons (which, if Fuller's plans come to fruition, count as foreshadowing, really) regarding "becoming" and Habbinal's views of God are that much more delicious (uh).
There are hints in this that the Tooth Fairy's sexuality is part of his motivations. The nickname is a start, but his defensive homophobia and treatment of Freddy Lounds is particularly blatant. His victim (poetically blind) in the last act of the film also seems to be a sexual component. It's a heterosexual relationship, and his actions are in part fueled by jealousy. This suggests that regardless of whether he is sexually attracted to men, he certainly is also attracted to women. The homophobic defensiveness is most likely, then, derived from his fear of and need for acceptance. In society as it was at the time (and more or less is now), if he were queer, this would be almost impossible to attain. Being thought of as queer would be a complete defeat of his purpose. His violence against his blind girlfriend is spurred by a suggestion of rejection as well (a misinterpretation, in fact). It's notable that the film manages to depict this motivation without muddling it, and refreshing to find that the Tooth Fairy's sexuality, while central to his motivations, is so in such a manner that does not derive from being gay. It's part of it because of a broader need.
Lastly, I just want to ask: when Will Graham is speaking with his son in the supermarket, and they've stopped to talk in the aisle, why do the products on the shelves keep changing behind them?