In
which when it comes to you and me, there can be no decisive victory.
And so it ends. Or begins.
Maybe this is the end of the beginning, the climax of the prequel to the
life of Hannibal Lecter: Incarcerated Mastermind. King of Chilton’s House of Horrors. Maybe it’s the beginning of the end
(literally in this case, considering NBC’s cancellation of Hannibal.) Of course, Bryan
Fuller’s view of time, chronology, and all things orbiting such states of
measurement has always been as vastly fungible as his takes on identity and
sexuality. This series began drifting away
from such concrete notions of linear judgment as soon as Will Graham
investigated the murder scene at the Marlow house back in the pilot episode. Even as the real life clock continues to tick
away toward potential obsolescence for this incarnation of the Lecterverse, Hannibal itself refuses to yield to
standard definitions of
Witness “Digestivo”’s
much-discussed climactic scene, in which Will effectively severs his wildly complex
relationship with Hannibal. As Fuller
noted on Twitter during the episode’s airing, the equations that we briefly see
in Hannibal’s notebook represent his attempts to reverse time, a natural
continuation of he and Will’s ongoing conversation about the shattering of a
teacup and the realities/dreams of reconstructing it (a metaphor that has been extensively
applied to the fractured psyche of everyone’s favorite FBI profiler.) Will might be putting a button on this thing
of theirs, but even his attempt at finality echoes his previous stabs at
such. Just as his near-death in the
Lecter House Massacre of “Mizumono” painfully brought his story full circle,
back to the initial trauma at Hobbs House, so too does he still seem trapped in
this relationship cycle.
Hannibal’s ultimate decision to
turn himself in to Jack Crawford and the FBI ensures this. We know from the established Thomas Harris
universe that the rise of Francis Dolarhyde and the Red Dragon will necessitate
the deployment of Lecter’s deductive skills.
But all the previous versions of that story gave Lecter a clear,
unambiguous motivator for his existence: rage.
The Will Graham of Manhunter
and Red Dragon (and the source novel)
was wily and insightful enough to finally capture Hannibal the Cannibal, but
only by surviving his nemesis’s attempted murder gambit. Held captive in his cell, the classic version
of Lecter brooded and plotted away, trying to destroy the man who took his
freedom.
The version of this endgame that
Fuller presents in “Digestivo” is a different beast indeed…and entirely in
keeping with the tone of the show, and of the Will/Hannibal relationship. Gone is the life-changing standoff between
these two men; that happened at the end of last season, a lovers’ separation
bathed in blood, yet lacking in the finality of Hannibal’s imprisonment. With Will left to wander the underworld in
search of his oppressor/obsession, the path to revenge seemed to be fairly
clear. But even that was obscured in the
events of “Dolce”, when hesitation and negotiation took over their museum
confrontation. The two men who strode
out into the courtyard were more deeply bonded soulmates obligated once again
to play pre-assigned roles than bitter adversaries. Not that that stopped Hannibal from
attempting to eat Will’s brain after he nursed him back to life from Chiyoh’s
assassin’s bullet. After all, in the
empathy-stunted ethical landscape of his mind, the calculus of survival rules
all. And even his soulmate stood in the
way of his freedom.
Which, when Hannibal surrenders
to Jack, makes his real endgame all the more powerful. And devious. And touching.
(You wouldn’t expect anything less complex in this show, now would
you?) His final words as a free man (“I
want you to know exactly where I am, and where you can always find me.”) are a
clear refutation of Will’s stated desire to never see him again, the spurned
friend/lover/confidante striking back in a nod to the classic literary Lecter’s
vengeance. But he’s also realized that
his only real fulfillment comes with Will’s participation in his life. And in a purely Machiavellian way, chess
master Hannibal also has to realize that this lateral move temporarily grants
him more power in captivity. Brian Cox
and Anthony Hopkins played the caged Hannibal as a sly and powerful man
deprived of any meaning in his life. Mads
Mikkelsen has spent two and a half seasons establishing his version of the
character as always being several steps ahead of everyone else, always deftly
playing the long game, always testing the dialectical results of his
sociological experiments. Confinement
for this Hannibal can’t be the crushing blow that it was for his predecessors,
right?
Maybe it’s because he dealt
confinement of all sorts to others with such great aplomb. Hence the end of Mason Verger, the paralyzed
plutocrat trapped in the prison of his own body. Mason has always been an acid commentary on
the gaudy, perverse excesses of the social elite. Looking back now, his repositioning in the pre-Red
Dragon storyline (he’s post-Silence of
the Lambs in the books) makes him the final extension of a long series of
stabs at the wealthy and privileged.
After all, much is made in the first two seasons of how seamlessly
Hannibal navigates the world of the rich.
Think back to the opera scene and subsequent dinner party in Season 1’s “Sorbet”,
in which the privileged patrons and associates fawn over his charms, only to be
fed harvested organs at the episode’s conclusion. Hannibal’s rarified tastes might play well in
the dens of the Baltimore brahmins, but his enduring connections come with the
mostly middle-class (at least in demeanor, if not entirely income) characters
surrounding the FBI. With the upper
class portrayed as self-absorbed and foolish (think also of the vainglorious
Frederick Chilton), it seems only natural to have Mason serve as their ultimate
avatar, a grotesque parody of the power of money.
So when, in a truly horrifying
moment, Margot realizes that the child he’s promised her as payback for her
loyalty has been stillborn inside the womb of a giant pig, it all makes sense
in the twisted logic of a man who’s lived a life of unbridled power and
privilege. I’ve noted this before, but
in his limited run on the show Mason has been one of the few characters to make
Hannibal smile and laugh. This surely is
somewhat based in condescension, but there might also be a bit of knowing recognition
in his reactions. For if Hannibal is an
empathy-bereft, childlike predator, then Mason’s total lack of moral and
ethical grounding must serve as some sort of funhouse mirror reflection. There, but for the grace of God, goes
Hannibal?
From a purely entertainment-based
perspective, it’s sad to see Mason meet his demise. As portrayed by both Michael Pitt and Joe
Anderson, he was one of the show’s great levelers, his riches allowing him to
cut the Gordian knot in ways both decisive and terrifying. And just as Hannibal’s personality infected
the show in meta-stylistic fashion, so too did Mason’s perverse desires serve
as a competing virus. “Digestivo” must
have set an unofficial record for most primetime references to dining on penises,
and Mason’s death by drowning/asphyxiation via eel (Chekhov’s eel?) is a
stomach churning moment and a metaphorical feminist deathblow enabled by two
women who’ve been traumatized by men.
Now the real question is what happened to his harvested sperm,
especially with the time constraints of this episode’s rapid plot
movement? But maybe that’s a question
best left for later. For now, the Red
Dragon awaits.
