(Movie, not book. I adore the book and will happily duel anyone who criticizes it in any way other than “It’s too short.”)
But as for the stinking pile of donkey vomit that is the movie–well, Mirando Otto was simply wonderful. Not merely hot (but that too) but her Eowyn was beautifully, mournfully perfect (except for a few lines of insipid dialogue, but that wasn’t her fault.)
And Pippin’s singing to Denethor while Faramir and his troops threw away their lives? Damn near perfect.
That said, once I am emperor of the Earth, Peter Jackson will still be among the first put against a wall and shot.
Assuming you mean the sequel to Silence of the Lambs–which I too think is execrable–the very beginning, with Clarice leading the task force to capture the drug-dealing mother, is pretty good. I prefer to think that the ending
in which Lecter captures Clarice, brainwashes her, shares a human brain entree with her, and drinks champagne off her boob
was just the doctor’s fever dream in the moments
before his death, as he was being eaten alive by the pigs.