When people talk about The Silence of the Lambs, they usually start with Anthony Hopkins. His Hannibal Lecter is the sophisticated monster, the one with the quips and the Chianti. But if you really want to talk about the character that kept people from sleeping in 1991, you have to talk about Ted Levine as Buffalo Bill.
It was a performance so terrifyingly visceral that it almost derailed Levine's career before it truly began. For years, he couldn't get a role that didn't involve a knife or a dark basement. Most fans today know him as the lovable, slightly high-strung Captain Stottlemeyer from Monk, but for a generation of moviegoers, he will always be the man in the kimono, dancing under a buzzing fluorescent light.
Honestly, the way Levine inhabited Jame Gumb—the killer's real name—wasn't just "acting." It was a total, ego-stripping transformation.
The Preparation That Went Way Too Deep
Levine didn't just show up and read lines. To play Buffalo Bill, he went to some pretty dark places. He actually visited the FBI headquarters in Quantico. While he was there, he watched tapes of real-life serial killers. One of them was Gary Heidnik, a man who kept women in a pit in his basement.
Levine later described that experience as demoralizing. He saw a video of Heidnik talking to the camera, complaining about how he couldn't get a date. It wasn't some grand, cinematic evil. It was pathetic. It was a "little punk" wanting power. That realization changed everything for Levine. He realized Gumb wasn't a mastermind. He was a loser who found power in the most horrific way possible.
He also spent time in transvestite bars. This is where he found the character's voice. He met a performer who told him that as a man on the street, he was nobody, but as a "hot Latina mama," he was powerful. Levine realized that for Gumb, the "woman suit" wasn't about gender identity in the way we talk about it today. It was about escaping a self he absolutely loathed.
The Iconic Dance and "Goodbye Horses"
You know the scene. The makeup. The nipple ring. The blue light.
That dance wasn't even in the original script. At least, not like that. The book by Thomas Harris mentions Gumb looking at himself in a mirror, but the full-on performance was a collaboration between Levine and director Jonathan Demme.
They actually shot two versions. One was a striptease to Bob Seger’s "Her Strut." Can you imagine? It would have changed the entire vibe. But they went with Q. Lazzarus’ "Goodbye Horses." The song is about transcendence—rising above your own limitations. For Gumb, that meant rising out of his own skin.
Levine's movements were inspired by rock stars like David Bowie and David Lee Roth. He wanted that preening, stage-presence energy. It makes the scene feel like a private ritual, something we weren't supposed to see. That’s why it’s so uncomfortable. You’re intruding on a monster’s most intimate moment.
What Most People Miss About the Character
- He wasn't actually trans: The movie makes this point, but people often miss it. Hannibal Lecter explicitly tells Clarice that Gumb isn't a "true transsexual." He’s someone who hates himself so much he thinks a total transformation is the only way out.
- The voice was improvised: Levine’s natural voice is a deep baritone, but he added that weird, breathy cadence. He wanted Gumb to sound like someone who was constantly trying to "perform" a personality he didn't actually have.
- The real-life inspirations: Buffalo Bill is a "greatest hits" of real monsters. Ed Gein provided the skin-suit obsession. Ted Bundy provided the "broken arm" ruse to lure victims into a van. Gary Heidnik provided the pit.
The Struggle to Escape the Basement
After the movie came out, Ted Levine was basically the scariest man in America. It's a weird kind of success. You do your job so well that people are actually afraid to hire you for anything else.
He spent years playing heavies and thugs. He was the bad guy in The Mangler. He was a cop in Heat, which was a step in the right direction, but he was still surrounded by grit and violence.
It wasn't until Monk in 2002 that the general public finally saw his range. Playing Leland Stottlemeyer was the ultimate palate cleanser. He got to be funny, vulnerable, and—most importantly—a good guy. He’s said in interviews that he’s proud of the Buffalo Bill work, but he doesn't love talking about it constantly. It was a heavy weight to carry for a decade.
Why the Performance Still Holds Up
Modern horror villains often feel like they're trying too hard. They have elaborate backstories or supernatural powers. But Buffalo Bill feels real because he’s so grounded in human misery.
When Catherine Martin is screaming in that pit and Gumb mocks her—"It rubs the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again"—it's terrifying because of the total lack of empathy. Levine plays it with this detached, almost bored tone. He’s not a cackling villain. He’s a guy doing a job.
If you want to truly appreciate what Levine did, watch the scene where Clarice first arrives at his house. He’s trying to act "normal." He’s being polite. But you can see the cracks. The way he adjusts his glasses. The way his voice shifts when he realizes she’s onto him. It’s a masterclass in tension.
Next Steps to Revisit the Performance:
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If you’re a film buff or just a horror fan, there are a few things you should do to see the full scope of what Ted Levine accomplished:
- Watch the "Monk" pilot immediately after "Silence of the Lambs." The tonal whiplash is the best evidence of Levine's genius as a character actor.
- Read the original Thomas Harris novel. It gives way more detail on Jame Gumb's childhood and his obsession with the Death's-head hawkmoth, which makes Levine's "larva to butterfly" acting choices make even more sense.
- Look for his uncredited voice work in "Joy Ride" (2001). He plays the trucker "Rusty Nail." Even without his face on screen, he manages to be one of the most terrifying villains of the early 2000s just by using that gravelly, menacing voice.