A tale of two Lecters
This article’s dedicated to Colin Harker, Gothic horror expert, author extraordinaire, and friend. Check out her work immediately.
Colin, thanks for convincing me to finally watch this masterpiece of a show.
A Lecter marathon: that’s what was on the cards earlier this year. 1986’s Manhunter, followed by Silence of the Lambs, Red Dragon, Hannibal (the film), and finally Hannibal Rising. I say ‘finally’ because I still had no plans to consume Hannibal (the show).
I see now the folly of my ways.
I came out of my mini-marathon with, as usual, a recharged appreciation for Hopkins’s portrayal of Lecter, mostly in Silence of the Lambs. He’s top of the pile for me, likely my all-time favourite actor, and Silence being Silence, I was left stunned. In awe.
Could this be the best performance I’ve ever witnessed?
Could this be the best film I’ve seen?
Could anything top this?
These absolutist, somewhat hysterical musings are not a rarity for me. Movies, music, books – it matters not. If a piece of art moves me to a certain degree, I get carried away. But for some reason this particular viewing of Silence just did something to me.
Then it happened. So inconspicuous, so unassuming was my decision to at long last watch the Hannibal TV show that I didn’t even stop for a moment to consider the possibility that it might actually be…well…really rather good.
The decision was likely born of a completist tendency I sometimes have. I’d done the rest, so I might as well get round to doing this.
And, just like that, a new favourite piece of art entered the chat.
Where to begin?
Gaumont International Television
Set before the events of Red Dragon, series one of Hannibal (the show, not the film – this could get annoying) sees Dr Hannibal Lecter pre-notoriety, still operating under the radar as a highly respected psychiatrist. Will Graham of Red Dragon fame begins consulting Lecter as he, Jack Crawford, and their team play a game of cat and mouse in the hunt for the Chesapeake Ripper, a rather imaginative serial killer on the loose. But a whole new game of cat and mouse will evolve through the course of the series, one both psychological and gruesome in nature – and I mean gruesome. Minds are brought to the brink of insanity. Victims are turned into grisly art installations. And, needless to say, dinner is served.
This piece will be strictly spoiler-free, since my goal is simply to convince you to watch the damned thing, as Colin did for me. But similar to the reluctance I feel in recommending some of my favourite movies depending on the person’s disposition (Threads/Martyrs/…the August Underground trilogy?!) Hannibal may well prove too extreme for some. And believe me, it gets graphic. But if you’re reading this, chances are you have at least a passing interest in my own work. If that’s the case, it’s likely the gut-wrenching images this show offers will be to you a feature, not a flaw.
Regardless, my feelings on our beloved genre remain consistent: everyone can benefit from horror. Consume this show now.
Anyway, as I was saying, one decade after its debut I finally devoured Hannibal. So, without giving anything away, what the hell is this show about?
It would be fair to say its central focus is character, character, character, with generous lashings of blood, brutality, and insanity. Ultimately, the show is about Dr Hannibal Lecter and FBI profiler Will Graham’s relationship, whose dynamic through the course of the all-too short series evolves and devolves through phases of mind-boggling psychological complexity. Their push-and-pull, mind games-ridden relationship has been described both as a kind of Batman/Joker pairing and a yin and yang spiralling, magnets capable of repelling and attracting. My circuitous language here is deliberate, yet probably not even necessary: I’m trying not to give anything away, but there’s so many twists and turns in the rich, surprising, and terrifying developments of their relationship that I’m sure nothing could stifle the enjoyment guaranteed from watching it yourself.
Ultimately, Lecter is Graham’s White Rabbit, leading him further down a psychological rabbit hole for no reason other than his own amusement – in his own words: “To see what will happen.” I found myself leaning a little too close for comfort into Lecter’s point of view. I, too, wanted to see what would happen. And see I did.
Hannibal is some kind of twisted love story set against a grisly police procedural. As I said earlier, a game of cat and mouse – but who’s the cat and who’s the mouse? As I also said, the axis around which this show turns truly is character. Even through the somewhat killer-of-the-week format of season 1, the deepest recesses of the characters’ minds are consistently the focus of the show, and yet the horror paired with these meditations is at times hard to stomach even for one as seasoned in the depraved as I. Hannibal truly boasts some of the most nightmarish imagery I’ve seen in either film or TV. There’s stuff in here that’ll haunt me forever, and I’d have it no other way.
There’s more to say regarding structure, story, and writing – far more than this piece can contain. You’d be right to anticipate some of the most seminal plot points from the Hannibal Lecter stories, but, like a shuffled pack of cards, they won’t quite land where you think they will. Never will your favourite moments from the books or films manifest predictably, and the pack will never quite throw up the exact sequence of cards you expect. Prepare for some serious sucker punches.
Don’t ask.
(Gaumont International Television)
And then there’s Mads Mikkelsen’s interpretation of Lecter. What can I say that’s not already been said? You’ll recall the trance-like stupor I found myself in following my Hopkins rewatch, my disbelief that anyone could deliver a performance of such chilling charm, such understated psychopathy, such nuance. Well, Mads gets three seasons to explore this fascinating character, and he feasts on the opportunity in startling fashion.
Mads’s Lecter is at moments both a figure of incomprehensible evil, and at other times unnervingly sympathetic, even compassionate. Behind those pitiless eyes black as a shark’s, we catch glimpses of a mind that truly sees itself as some kind of god, and we’re sold. The only thing we’re left wondering is whether this mind is godlike or devil-like.
“He sees the world differently than we do. He’s like a fallen angel. He just sees the opposite. He sees love where we see something horrifying, he sees beauty where we see something very, very ugly. For him, life is most interesting and most fantastic when it’s on the threshold to death. Right in that moment, there’s something beautiful happening in his world.”
-Mads Mikkelsen
The OG himself.
(Orion Pictures)
Given the time setting, we’re gifted the opportunity to see Lecter having his fun before anyone else knows what we know. We watch him play the FBI like a puppet master, arranging and rearranging the pieces on a grand chessboard for nothing other than his own casual enjoyment. He’s an antagonist with both motivations and a lack of motivations. Going back to the Joker metaphor, he revels in chaos, and – back to the shark comparison – he demonstrates a veritable hunger for it. Sometimes he desires to paint the waters red for nothing other than the sake of chaotic curiosity, and other times literal hunger is at the forefront of his motivations. What’s undeniable is that, like the Joker, he desires most to throw up the car bonnet of certain minds and screw around with the wiring.
There’s so many reasons to watch Hannibal. It boasts one of the most varied soundtracks in any TV show I’ve seen, the cinematography lends copious clues both to subtext and mythological references, and the writing respects the viewer, refusing to spoon-feed and instead prompting you to make up your own mind about these complex and challenging characters.
This crime drama/psychological horror/blood bath is as artistic as the meals Lecter prepares out of his victims, and that is to say pretty much as artistic as you can get. The writing explodes out both the core components of the Hannibal Lecter mythos, as well as the more mundane, exploring both avenues rich and ambitious in possibility, as well as seemingly banal. Every reimagining, as well as every faithful recreation, is captivating.
I was pleased to see a couple of parallels with my own debut novel For Rye. I’ve had a viciously great time mixing the psychological with the grotesque in my work, and after Hannibal’s unjust cancellation following season 3, I can only hope that there’s substance to the rumours of a potential continuation. I see hints of my own strange stylistic blend in Hannibal, and although the three seasons work as a contained piece, I – like the rest of the show’s zealous fanbase – pine for more.
If this article has to have a point, I suppose it’s that in this cynical age of one-or-other – of picking sides and blindly fighting for your chosen team – one doesn’t actually always have to be crowned the victor. Both Hopkins and Mikkelsen delivered interpretations as brilliant as they were different from each another, and that’s call for nothing other than celebration.
So set the table. Sink your teeth into both of these artistic triumphs. Taste talent we’re lucky as hell even exists.
I’d wager that it’s more likely for you to have seen Silence of the Lambs than Hannibal (The show, not the film. See? I told you that would get annoying.) so I’m going to go out on a limb and end this by simply recommending you go and revel in the brilliance of this show immediately.
Mads Mikkelsen’s Hannibal Lecter transforms, elevates the ‘rude’ (in his words) into art, and then into dinner.
Don’t be rude. Don’t be dinner.
Watch Hannibal.
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