(S P O I L E R S)
In
which we are her fathers now.
“Because
any reservations I have about Abigail don’t extend to Hannibal. He has no reason to lie about any of this.” (Alana, to Jack.)
That’s the crux of the matter,
isn’t it? Alana’s assumption that
Hannibal Lecter thinks like the rest of us.
That, like any normal human being, his motivations lie in the pursuit of
truth. So well has he worn his
well-tailored person suit that no one would have any reason to see malice in
his actions, or his philosophy. And even
from the viewer’s perspective, Hannibal has no easily quantifiable reason for making
the fateful call to Garret Jacob Hobbs, for playing the grand game of chess
with Will, Jack, and Alana as the pieces, and for intervening when Abigail
Hobbs kills Nicholas Boyle.
Well, maybe that last part is a
bit more explicable. Or at least it is
after the events of “Trou Normand.”
Hannibal actually has the perfect
motivation for the sociopathic acts that propel so much of the show’s plot: he’s
curious. About the results of his
actions. About the way that the people
around him react. About what drives men
like Jack and Will, men who’ve given up their lives (and in Will’s case, his
grip on reality) to correct the wrongs perpetrated by psychopaths. In this way, Hannibal embodies the logical
extension of the psychiatrist’s imperative: to explore the psyches of his
patients (whether they be officially under his care or not.) And like a child holding a magnifying glass
over ants, he just wants to understand the mechanics of nature’s actions.
But as this episode shows (or
perhaps reinforces), his attachment to Abigail fulfills a latent fatherly
instinct in him. Or at least his vision
of a fatherly instinct, and all the fulfillment that it might bring. Nothing in this area is too certain, though,
as the question of fatherhood and its far-reaching impact is explored on
several different fronts.
As I’ve mentioned before, one of
the criticisms that can be easily levied against Hannibal in Season 1 is its tendency to adopt a killer of the week
approach to its storytelling. From a
practical standpoint, this is understandable.
A network show that dabbles in such avant-garde leanings (especially in
its maiden voyage) needs some kind of hook with which to draw in uncommitted
viewers. And as the season progresses,
it seems as if Bryan Fuller uses this tactic more as a MacGuffin than as
something to hang his hat on.
Take this episode’s portrayal of
Lawrence Wells, the totem pole murderer.
Played by the great Lance Henriksen, he’s an old man relegated to one
climactic scene (in which he never leaves his Barcalounger.) As a resolution to the main investigation
thread, it’s fairly pedestrian, and from a plotting standpoint it gives the
whole storyline the appearance of being shoehorned in between the darker
material between Will, Hannibal, and Alana.
What Wells’s appearance does provide is a cementing of “Trou Normand”’s
commentary on the often treacherous role of fatherhood. Will’s revelation to him, that he
inadvertently killed his own son in an attempt to cement his legacy, clearly
crushes a man who thought that he’d finally figured a way out of the loneliness
and anonymity of retired life.
He’s not the only father figure
who has to face the consequences of his parenting. Jack’s early episode meeting with Will once
again takes on the air of a stern father and his son, even as Jack tries to be
sympathetic to Will (in his own gruff manner.)
When Will and Hannibal try to advise Abigail on the problematic nature
of her budding partnership with Freddie Lounds, Abigail chastises Will by
saying “Just because you killed my dad doesn’t mean you get to be him” (a line
that both hurts Will and subconsciously reinforces his belief that Garret Jacob
Hobbs is taking over his soul.) And in
the end, it’s Hannibal who draws Will into a joint surrogate fatherhood of
Abigail, but one which is based more in an abuser’s mentality (the secrets they
all agree to keep between themselves) than anything else. Of course, for Hannibal, this is a perfectly
natural combination of intentions; he sees himself as Abigail’s savior, while
also damning her to even further retreat into crisis. But still, his embrace of her at episode’s
end has some genuine emotion attached to it.
The lead up to that embrace, in which she finally admits her complicity
in her father’s crimes, is a real gut punch of a scene, and having it play out in
a long single take allows Kacey Rohl to run the gamut of emotions, while Mads
Mikkelsen once again subtly underplays his muted reaction (which, because of
his mastery of the role, speaks volumes.)
There’s one other emotional
embrace in this episode occurs between Alana and Will, at the climax of an
unnerving scene in which she finds him alone in his classroom, hallucinating
about a lecture on the totem pole killer.
Her admittance of feelings for him is tempered by her concern for his
sanity, and even though she tells him that she doesn’t want to mislead or lie
to him, he’s so far gone down the path of his breakdown that the result is yet
another knife in his side. The look on
Hugh Dancy’s face as Caroline Dhavernas hugs him is heartbreaking. This lost man’s desperate attempt to connect
with someone else can only be met by a show of platonic friendship. Alana’s intentions might be honorable, but
she inadvertently sends Will even further into Hannibal’s grip.
If there’s one other important
role that Lawrence Wells’s appearance serves, it’s as an accelerator for Will’s
mental collapse. For what is the human
totem pole but the most grotesque, fantastical vision of death that the show
has offered so far, and another marker for the intrusion of the nightmare world
that Will sees into the waking hours. As
he enters his state of hyper-empathy on the beach, he utters the words “This is
my resume. This is my legacy. This is my body of work.” He’s tapping into Lawrence Wells’s mindset,
but also commenting on the toll of his own work. The descending God’s eye POV of him mirrors a
similar one in “Coquilles”, when he gazes upon the work of the Angel
Maker. And the small pool of blood next
to him on the sand is a disturbing grace note for his subconscious
self-assessment.
Will’s breakdown is also
reflected in the sound and visuals around him.
Brian Reitzell infuses most of his scenes with a disturbing ambient
drone, one that builds in intensity as he falls further into the darkness. When he first visits Hannibal, the normally
carefully controlled camera compositions break apart into a serious of circular
pans. And the closeups on Will’s tortured
face continue to proliferate, building an even more claustrophobic sense for
the viewer. But this descent isn’t
over. In some ways, it’s only begun.
As usual, we have some leftovers:
*In the opening scene, Zeller and
Price discuss the philosophy of puzzle assembly in relation to the human totem
pole. This is episode is finally the
point where Will takes all of the puzzle pieces he’s been collecting (and that
have been dropped around him) and starts to put them together. His vision of stabbing Nicholas Boyle, who
then morphs into Abigail is a major turning point. And his confrontation with Hannibal at the
end is going places before he’s led astray into his co-father/enabler role. You always have to be careful about what you
might see when the big picture is assembled.
*”This is possibly the finest
salad I’ve ever eaten in my life. A
shame to ruin it with all that meat” (Freddie Lounds, during the climactic
dinner at Chez Lecter. Which, in
retrospect, means that she’s one of the only major characters not to engage in
cannibalism during the first two seasons.
Watching the show again has made me realize how much I love Freddie as a
character, and how much I wish that she had more screen time.)
*As a huge Lance Henriksen fan, I
love seeing his cameo in this episode.
But man, what a way to earn a paycheck: sit in a chair for a three
minute scene and emote!
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