In
which you are already dead, aren’t you?
The seismic impact of the events
of “Mizumono” (Hannibal’s Season 2
finale) has cleaved the already fragile psychological landscape of the show, a
shattering that through two episodes of this third season has produced a
surreal new state of being for the main players. “Antipasto” saw Hannibal Lecter firmly
ensconced in a fairy tale existence of his own creation in Florence, Italy, the
tonal nature of the episode assuming his decadent mindset. So it only makes sense that “Primavera” would
offer a mirror image depiction of Will Graham’s post-“Mizumono” existence, a
nightmarescape to reflect Hannibal’s dream life.
The opening itself is as much an
indicator of this as anything, and serves as a bold stylistic gamble for Bryan
Fuller. For here is almost the entirety
of Will’s time in the Lecter House Massacre replayed, with only a few minor
omissions (Hannibal’s entreaty, “Come to me Abigail”, curiously among
them.) Viewers of last season’s
cliffhanger might wonder why they’d need to see this scene in such detail. In some ways, it can be seen as a gambit to
refresh new viewers (although there are easier ways to do so.) But upon some reflection, this wholesale
repetition makes more sense than I thought.
Hannibal has always traded in
a profound sense of cyclical torpor, of the guilt that so many of these
characters feel for the violence that they failed to prevent, and that
threatens to re-emerge at any time. And
the end of Season 2 brought with it the ultimate example of this cycle, as Will
was forced to witness Abigail’s murder immediately after realizing not only her
surprising survival, but also her fealty to Hannibal. Replaying these events in full places the
viewer, once again, in Will’s mindset, forcing them to experience once again
the trauma that haunts him. To have
their own Graham-esque empathic vision.
The difference, in this case, is
that we get to see the full force of Will’s trauma. Season 2 concluded with his POV of the
nightmare stag lying across from him in its death throes. In this version of events, it gushes forth a
river of blood that envelops Will and Abigail, sending him slowly descending into
its depths. Once again, Fuller uses the
liquid motif (as he notably did with Alana and Bedelia) to symbolize Hannibal’s
overwhelming and amorphous power, although those previous instances utilized an
inky black substance. And in this
seeming greatest hits of Hannibal
imagery, Will’s descent cuts to Lecter’s teacup crashing to the ground once
again. But this time, the cup takes the
form of Will’s face, and then reassembles itself as he emerges from
unconsciousness in the hospital. Only to
be visited by Abigail Hobbs.
As I mentioned in last week’s essay,
Fuller has been explicit about abandoning the procedural trappings that served
as the backbone for the show’s first two seasons in favor of a more surreal,
operatic approach. Thus, this episode’s
beats and pacing give the proceedings the feel of an extended aria of pain, the
plot mechanics of the hunt for Hannibal only popping up as mild flourishes. Until the climax, it’s never quite clear what
is real and what is a representation of Will’s shattered psyche, especially in
terms of Abigail’s presence. As always,
Will’s greatest fear is the intrusion of the ghosts of his nightmare visions
into the real world, and it’s here that Abigail finally springs forth from the safety
of his fly fishing dream into the role of inquisitor and constant reminder of
his failures. Her final acts of life
were to affirm her loyalty to Hannibal and to follow his orders into death; the
version of her that haunts Will continues to believe in Hannibal’s promise of “a
place for us”, an escape for the twisted family that they’ve formed. It’s only when Will tells her that “A place
was made for you, Abigail, in this world.
It was the only place I could make for you” that her neck wound reopens
and she disappears. But as we see in the
subsequent montage of his post-massacre examination and her embalming, which
culminates in an overhead shot of her corpse overlaid with his present day
figure reclining on the church altar stairs, Will seems destined to forever be
haunted by her, the one that got away (to use his own fishing terminology.)
Even in that moment of apparent
finality, there’s still an ocean of ambiguity enveloping the action. Will seems to be describing the place he made
for Abigail in his visions and dreams, although there’s the possibility that he’s
describing the safety that he thought he was providing her in the aftermath of
her father’s death. And the tone of
their conversation is still that of the lost lovers of a great Casanova figure,
which might disappoint viewers expecting Will to clearly turn on Hannibal once
and for all. I’ve praised the show
before for embracing this ambiguity, but it bears repeating that fully
committing to such a complex dynamic between protagonist and antagonist is such
an audacious move in the modern network environment…or the modern media
environment.
The prime setting for this
episode (and for a good chunk of “Antipasto”) is the legendary Cappella Palatina
in Palermo. In my essay for “Mizumono”,
I argued that Lecter’s house ended up assuming the psychogeographic dimensions
of Will and Hannibal’s shared mental landscape, and thus trapping anyone who
entered in a whirlpool of death. The
Palatine Chapel takes on these same dimensions for Season 3, serving as a sort
of psychological nexus point for not only the characters, but the show
itself. The famed mosaics, a combination
of high elegance and more base aspirations, reflect the show’s deft mixture of a
refined aesthetic with grittier and gorier matters. Indeed, the combination of such varied
architectural styles and designs in its structure further cement the very sui
generis nature of Hannibal.
And beneath the artistic glory of
the chapel lies the old chapel upon which its built, which also doubles as a
crypt, a further nod to the darkness lurking underneath the glossy surface of
both Hannibal and Hannibal. It’s put to great use in this episode, as
Will deduces that Hannibal is still at the scene of his grisly “valentine
written on a broken man” tableau, and descends into the crypt to find him. This climactic scene toys with our
perceptions once again, turning the crypt into a fugue zone in which temporal
boundaries are stretched to their limits.
It also recalls the many permutations of the labyrinth, with Hannibal
possibly serving as the minotaur at its center.
It seems somewhat strange that he would still be right there, and it’s
never 100% clear if the Hannibal we see is meant to be his corporeal figure of
a manifestation of Will’s desire. But in
keeping with the Chapel’s symbolic status, Hannibal hiding in plain sight would
be appropriate, while also emphasizing his status as King of the Underworld
(befitting the fallen angel status that Fuller has bestowed upon him in several
interviews.)
Will’s final words to Hannibal
are “I forgive you”, the answer to his request from eight months hence. What this means, and whether it even matters
now, is unclear. But the final image, of
Will fading into the darkness, speaks volumes about his current state. As Rindaldo Pazzi notes in the quote which
opens this essay, he’s for all intents and purposes a ghost haunting this
world. Whether his hunt for his
nemesis/friend/partner in existential romance can restore his humanity once
again remains to be seen. But for now,
Will Graham remains a man lost between two worlds.
To the leftovers we go:
*The introduction of Rinaldo
Pazzi (Fortuanto Cerlino) is, of course, a nod to that character’s role in
Thomas Harris’s Hannibal. As in that version, his hunt for Hannibal as Il
Mostro, the Monster of Florence (his own one that got away) is his main
motivation. But in introducing Will and
Rinaldo to each other, Bryan Fuller gives his FBI profiler another twin figure
to complement his more cannibalistic one, a man haunted by crimes left not
properly punished.
*“Hannibal doesn’t pray. But he believes in God. Intimately.”
(Will)
*This episode contains some of
the show’s most surreal imagery, but Will’s vision of Dimmond’s decapitated
corpse sprouting stag horns and feet surely ranks as one of the most strange
and disturbing in the series’ run. Here
again, we see a most ecstatic combination of the sacred and the profane, the
desecration of death cohabiting with the religious beauty of the Chapel.
*It’s notable too that aside from
the opening flashback, Hannibal has no lines in his brief cameos. Whether this means that he’s merely a part of
Will’s vision or not is delightfully unclear.
* “We didn’t have an ending. He didn’t give us one yet…..If everything
that can happen, happens, then you can never really do the wrong thing. You’re just doing what you’re supposed to.”
(Abigail, to Will)
