(S P O I L E R S)
In
which he is the devil, Mr. Graham. He is
smoke.
(With the clock ticking down to Hannibal’s third season premiere next
Thursday, I’ve decided to combine the next two episodes of Season 2 into one
essay. Hopefully this double feature
will still serve much the same purpose as the other essays in this series.)
In the grand, thirteen course,
cinematic meal of Hannibal’s second
season, “Mukozuke” and “Futamono” serve as a critical crossroads for the main
characters and the narrative arc in general.
Allegiances shift, motivations become vague and cloudy, and the very
fabric of the show’s reality begins to split.
And the genesis point for all of this is the murder of a supporting character
not known for eliciting passionate sympathy.
Bryan Fuller’s choice to kill
Beverly Katz is an interesting one. All
credit to Hetienne Park, who brought a steely, analytical reserve to her
portrayal of Katz, one which served as a welcome corrective to the fog of
deception that often envelops the other characters. But that reasoned pragmatism (and a screen
presence that was often limited to autopsy exposition with Zeller and Price,
where she was the straight man…er, woman) wasn’t designed to form a strong
connection with the audience. At this
point, she’s the most prominent character to be murdered, and that memorable
moment at the conclusion of “Takiawase” when she discovers Hannibal’s
sub-basement layer, only for him to discover her, grips the viewer as any good
suspense beat would. Still, the pure
fact of her death isn’t an emotionally shattering experience.
Maybe Fuller’s intent all along
was to use Beverly’s death as a blank slate upon which the other characters
could project their burgeoning guilt.
Because the grief that Jack and Will display at her death scene is some
of the most shattering that the show has depicted up to this point. And it’s so affecting because of the buildup
we’ve had with these characters, to the point that the subdued nature of their
actual reactions comes across as seismic.
I’ve discussed the guilt that
eats away at Jack extensively in this essay series. Laurence Fishburne’s naturally stoic,
fatherly presence is such a boon to his portrayal of the character. In a show that thrives on some all-time great
faces, his deep set, brooding features are a perfect canvas for all sorts of
subtle emotional shifts and nuances, while still maintaining a constant sense
of pensive contemplation. The establishment
of his long-term pain over sending Miriam Lass to her apparent doom, and then
repeating it with Will (as well as the pain from Bella’s slow death march) has
sometimes been expressed in his short bursts of anger. But this is a man who internalizes his grief,
the pressures of paternity both personal and professional tamping down any true
catharsis. So when he doubles over in
agony upon seeing Beverly’s corpse on elaborate display, the audience feels
that pain acutely.
Will’s moment of agony is even
more gripping, for entirely different reasons.
Hugh Dancy is often such a livewire in this role, alternating between
moments of near disintegration and semi-autistic coldness, that it can take a while
during Season 1 to latch onto him emotionally.
He hits a real peak in the S1 finale, especially in his moments with
Alana, but Season 2 requires him to take on a much more smoldering presence as
he calculates an exit strategy while also struggling with his growing interior
darkness. As with Jack, his reaction to
Beverly’s murder is motivated by guilt; Jack implicitly gives her permission to
continue visiting Will, while Will essentially sends her off to Hannibal’s
house of horrors. The real crushing
moment of his reaction comes when he attempts to enter his empathic vision of
her death, but is overcome with sadness and heartbreak. Dancy’s brief, simple
convulsion of pain is so affecting coming from a character who has always been
able to view these visions as exercises in formal inquiry.
And the true weight of Beverly’s
death sources back to Hannibal himself.
His character arc through the first seventeen episodes has been so
complex and deftly shaded in ambiguity that even when we see him actually
committing a murder, his childlike, amoral sense of inquisitiveness almost
seems to balance things out. But almost
all of those murders (save his apparent slaughter of Abigail Hobbs) have
involved the guilty or the relatively anonymous. Murdering Beverly is his step beyond that
barrier and into a world that both we and the other characters intimately
know. For the first time (aside from
Will’s grief over Abigail), his murderous instincts have touched a raw
nerve. And the synthesis of her murder
and his Machiavellian frame job from Season 1 is what drives Will to realms
that he’s long feared.
Hurling Will headlong into the
abyss during Season 2 is a bold move on Fuller’s part. He’s clearly meant to be the audience
surrogate, especially in a classic dramatic sense, so the depths to which he
plunges in the name of catching Hannibal can often be wildly alienating. His visions of his transformation, the black
Wendigo-like antlers sprouting forth from his back, are potent, disturbing
stuff. And his manipulation of Matthew
Brown, his guard and the murderer of Andrew Sykes, into attempting to murder
Hannibal is certainly not standard heroic narrative material, even in revenge
sagas. The chilling image of Will’s
blank expression overlapping with his vision of a blood-saturated sink,
blending with the rivulet of Hannibal’s blood entering the drain at his spa
(featured at the beginning of this essay) is a powerful image of a man becoming
completely lost in his own private hell, the black handles of the sink becoming
the inky recesses where his eyes should be (and another callback/foreshadowing
of the eye imagery that dominates the classic Francis Dolarhyde storyline.)
Perhaps the most significant
shift in alliances during this two episode run occurs when Alana Bloom sleeps
with Hannibal, and subsequently serves as his alibi when Jack questions him
about the disappearance of Abel Gideon.
Alana can be such a frustrating character during these first two
seasons. She’s the ultimate voice of
reason and empathy when she reports Jack to the FBI’s IA department following
his handling of Will, but her romantic rejection of Will drives him even
further into his insanity spiral. She’s
clearly a very sensitive person, one driven by a deep sense of insecurity about
the influence of her professional duties on her personal desires (which
strongly connects her to Will and Jack.)
Trapped in a cycle of bad timing, she tries to serve as her own
psychiatrist when she wants romance with Will, but when she finally decides to
follow her gut instinct it leads her right into the arms of Hannibal, the
ultimate manipulator. Will’s central
conflict is often driven by how he’s manipulated by Jack and Hannibal; Alana’s
desire to do the right thing inadvertently makes her just as vulnerable to
manipulation.
But being manipulated by Hannibal
Lecter is not a permanent mark on anyone, so expertly has he honed those
skills. His psychological experiments in
Season 1 left a trail of carnage in their wake, while also serving as master
classes in subtlety. But this two
episode run shows a Hannibal who is beginning to relish his role as puppet
master. He spends so much time in the early
parts of this season mourning the absence of his friend/lover interest that
when Will orders his murder it almost liberates him from those concerns. In many ways, he’s the jilted lover who
decides to gain revenge on his ex by sleeping with his lover and going on a
debauched rampage. And that sense of
liberated decadence also extends to the stylistic aspects of these
episodes. I’ve mentioned before how
Hannibal has a viral effect on both these characters and the audience. “Futamono”, in particular, offers a cavalcade
of surrealist fancy, as his sheet music crossfades into Will, the notes later
blossoming into the flowers of Sheldon Isley’s remains in the autopsy room. When he tells Alana that he’s famished from
the trauma of his death scare, the imagery shifts from a close up of his eye to
a psychedelic montage of flowers blooming.
It’s rebirth on several different levels, but leading toward the death
of the city councilman. But these
avant-garde leanings are only the tip of the iceberg as far as the madness of
Season 2 goes.
As always, the leftovers:
*Aside from his subsequent cameo
as a corpse, this is the last call for Eddie Izzard as Abel Gideon. The Hopkins-esque delight he took in this
character made him a memorable foil to Hannibal, and in this two episode sendoff
he’s given a real sense of emotional grounding to complement his
sociopathy. Gideon might be a nutjob,
but he’s a passionate nutjob.
*Brian Reitzell really outdoes
himself with the score for these two episodes.
His extensive use of a bronze slit drum throughout “Mukozuke” creates a
nightmare soundscape that is both atmospheric and completely unnerving
(particularly in the immediate aftermath of Beverly’s murder and Will’s
investigation of it.) Following such a jarring
auditory experience with the stylized, almost soothing harpsichord tones of “Futamono”
is a great contrast, as well as a reflection of Hannibal’s growing power over
all aspects of the show.
*Seeing Will strapped down in a
gurney with a revised version of the classic Silence of the Lambs Lecter mask is such a bizarre, delightful
sight. And to hear him echo Hopkins as
Lecter when he grills Jack about the Chesapeake Ripper’s motivations (as Jodie
Foster receives in the film) is also a nice touch. It’ll be interesting to see how far Bryan
Fuller eventually advances into the Lecter mythos. All of these references to the pre-existing
works create a fascinating hall of mirrors that might only get more compelling
if Jame Gumb ever shows up.
*And speaking of Silence
references: “The last time someone rang my doorbell this early, it was a census
taker.” (Hannibal, to Alana.)
*“All the things that make us who
we are. What has to happen to make those
things change?” (Gideon, to Alana.)
*Freddie Lounds gets the prime
gig of discovering Beverly’s body, while also playing quid pro quo with Will
for the rights to his story. She also
gets a rare, completely human moment when she pleads with Jack not to enter the
crime scene. Lara Jane Chorostecki is
such a pleasure to watch as this decidedly prickly character, so her eventual involvement
with the further machinations of the plot to catch Hannibal is a welcome treat.
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