Oh boy. I know why we are here, for a review on tonight’s episode of Hannibal. But full disclosure: I have recently been working on research about the figurative castration of certain X-Men characters. As a result, I have spent all week thinking about men and their naughty bits. Do not think about naughty bits while watching Hannibal. Do not think about naughty bits while watching Hannibal. Focus on the show. Write the review. Hey, is that Mads Mikkelsen in his pajamas and a dressing gown? Do not think about Mikkelsen’s naughty bits. Do not think about Mikkelsen’s naughty bits. Oh look, there is Hugh Dancy in his undies and a size smedium t-shirt. Is it hot in here or do I just have a thing for weirdoes?
You can do this Gerri. Not everything has to be about naughty bits. You are not a devotee of psychoanalysis. Just get your mind out of the gutter. Focus on the something in the show that is really, really, depressing. Like cancer.
Oh yeah, that did it. Nothing kills sexy time feelings like cancer, which this week’s killer knows only too well.
This particular psycho sees his victims in one heck of an interesting light: an angelic light, to be precise. He watches them walk by, and to him it looks as if their heads are on fire (I wonder if that is supposed to be a metaphor for STDs). Imagine that? Watching people walk around as if nothing is happening, yet you are seeing them on fire. Well, they don’t burn long. He kills them, he vivisects them, he transforms them into angels by flaying the sections of skin over their lungs and then he uses fishing wire to string them up, “wings” raised, either in kneeling or traditional crucified poses. Oh, and then he goes to sleep. Because, hey, what could be more peaceful than having angels watch over you as you lie in the bed?
What does all this have to do with cancer? It quickly becomes apparent that our angel maker is not playing with a full deck. The FBI lab nerds deduce he has a brain tumor, for which he is taking a crap load of medication. Note to self: do not get a brain tumor. Not so much for the dying or the going crazy and killing people, but for the self-mutilation. And here I was trying not to think about men and their naughty bits when the angel maker goes and discards his testicles on a dirty mattress in a dank alley, under the scaffolding on which he strung up one of his victims. You know, because angels don’t have junk and he has to prepare himself for his ascent.
Oh yeah, sexy time feelings are all gone now.
Although it is pretty awesome that the angel maker is a vigilante, who only kills criminals. He is like a little Dexter. A little, neutered, Dexter.
While all of this is going on, we find Lecter and Will delving back into their bromance. They use Lecter’s office as the setting for their intense bonding which occurs under the guise of research, but is really Lecter tip toeing through the tulips in Will’s brain. You get the feeling he’s pleased that the tulips are steadily turning into brambles as Will’s crazy takes on a whole new dimension in the form of sleep walking. And sleep climbing out onto the roof of his house. That’s a bad sign. You know what else is a bad sign? Hallucinating conversations with dead killers.
But neither of these story lines are the real poetry in tonight’s episode. No, I have to say that I think I owe Fishburne an apology for doubting his skill. When I look back at my reviews I find that Crawford’s character development (or my perceived lack thereof) has dominated the content. Dude hit his stride, then took off running like the motherfucking Flash! Shit, if things keep progressing this way, they are going to have to rename the series “Crawford”. Seriously.
So what happens? Crawford brings his wife Bella, played by Gina Torres (Fishburne’s actual wife) to dine with the good doctor. Lecter serves her a delicious looking plate of fresh figs and cold paté, which Bella declines to eat because she is a dirty hippie, I mean vegetarian. She objects to the paté on the grounds of animal cruelty, but need not have worried; Lecter insists on employing an ethical butcher. He also indulges in sniffing Bella. To be fair, I bet Torres smells fantastic. Side note, he also sniffs Will, who probably smells like a sweaty beet farmer, and they engage in a quick dialog that made me SQUEE with fangirl delight:
“That cologne smells like something with a ship on the bottle.”
“I keep getting it for Christmas.”
Go watch “Red Dragon” and get back to me.
But back to Bella. Turns out what the doctor smelled was erosion. She returns to his office, not to have an affair (although who could blame her), not to try the pate, not to complain about her husband, but to receive counseling. She has cancer. She does not want to tell her husband and have him see her in a diminished capacity. But Crawford eventually makes the connection anyway, coming to the realization while listening to the angel killer’s wife explain how her husband became withdrawn after he was diagnosed; angry and incommunicative. The scene where Crawford confronts Bella was brutal to watch, and I can only imagine, brutal to film for an actual couple. I wouldn’t want to pretend my spouse had cancer; not even for TV.
We knew from the novels that Crawford had long been a widower. We know that he never remarries. We know that he reaches for her side of the bed when he finally dies in Harris’ novel “Hannibal”. We know he loved (loves) his wife. And for the first time we see the love Will has for him, as the two men finally just sit together in silence in Crawford’s office and contemplate their personal tragedies.
No more sexy time thoughts this episode. No, I think what I really need is a stiff drink, a good cry, and a goddamn hug.
(Editor’s Note: *hug*)
Body parts consumed this week:None (damn it!), but there were plenty of cute little vivisections.
Hey, how do I make that?Just be happy I am including a link on how to make crafty angels, and not on what to do with testicles you find lying on a dirty mattress in an alley.(Fuzzy Dice for the car?)http://www.ehow.com/how_2075112_make-paper-angels.html