John Lucking reviews the ninth episode of Hannibal….
Hannibal doesn’t try to repulse its audience, it entices them with beauty – it just happens to use horror as its tool. The best example of this was in episode five (Coquilles), with its flesh angels suspended in various poses, but ‘Trou Normand’ manages to better that episode within its first sixty seconds. In truth ‘Coquilles’ and ‘Trou Normand’ were never in competition as both episodes shared a director in Guillermo Navarro. The totem of flesh seen here is pretty stunning, and despite a consistently muted colour palette of greens and blues throughout, this is a creation that would look most at home in Pan’s Labyrinth. It’s apparent how proud the show is of this particular creation as we glimpse it in a variety of environments, with Will’s empathetic ability showing him assembling it almost acting as a behind-the-scenes feature within the show. This is Hannibal’s (the show, not the character) monolith, and its reasons for existing are revealed to be as poetic as any other death so far.
While investigating this totem Will blinks and finds himself in Lecter’s office; rather than a jump cut this reveals itself to be another part of Will’s mental breakdown as he cannot remember leaving the beach and travelling to the office. ‘Trou Normand’ reveals itself to be an ensemble piece, but for Will this is an hour dedicated to his deteriorating mental state. He is still sleepwalking and hallucinating, but now blacking out is thrown into the mix, and Hugh Dancy manages to mine this for all the sympathy it’s worth. His panic as he tells Lecter about his blackout is amplified by some kinetic camerawork, but it’s Dancy who really sells this and makes it heartbreaking to watch. Lecter proves to be more than sounding board during this scene by suggesting concern for Will, noting that he doesn’t want Will to one day wake up next to a totem of his making; again attempting to nurture a family of killers. What’s even more appreciated are some of the smaller moments for Will, including a few seconds in which we see him steeling himself before going to talk with the lab technicians. While the larger dramatic scenes help show us an entire brick being taken from Will’s mental wall, it’s as important to show it being chipped away in the smaller moments to help prevent any kind of narrative whiplash.
If anybody takes the lead here it’s Abigail Hobbs in her first reappearance for several episodes. Running parallel with Will she is having her own nightmares about the girls her father killed, feeling the guilt for their deaths and that of Nicholas Boyle’s – the brother of a murdered girl who Abigail stabbed in self-defense after he attacked her. Abigail’s primary concern is the public perception of her – that she must have known what her father was doing, and that perhaps she was involved. She is given a chance to alter this perception via Freddie Lounds, who offers her a book deal giving her the chance to tell her side of the story. Lounds knows the power of narrative, but also knows enough to appeal to the ego of others, citing Will as a side-character in Abigail’s story, and in a sense this is true. In terms of judgement all that matters is perception; Lecter is the person he projects; Will is as normal as he can pretend to be, and Abigail is as innocent as others believe she is.
Fishburne’s performance is also of note in this episode, most specifically during an interaction with Dancy in which he manages to strike a balance between authoritarian in tone and human in empathy. Crawford is not an idiot, and when Will begins asking about Jack’s perception of him, he manages to be more than typical superior, picking up on social cues that characters would generally ignore as dialogue is all that matters in most procedurals. This also serves to add an element of levity that doesn’t feel forced, with Fishburne’s fatherly tone and shutting down dissent almost becoming his character’s running joke.
Will and Alana share another somewhat romantic scene, and in a lot of ways this feels like an apology -or a redo of- last week’s scene. Alana approaches him outright stating her position; that she would be with him if she didn’t consider him unstable. If the previous week’s scene hadn’t taken place this level of dialogue would feel incredibly basic and out-of-the-blue, but in that context it manages to feel much more like two adults talking as opposed to two characters. These are people stating their position to avoid prolonging week-to-week agony and indecision, instead acknowledging their incompatibility. Whether this changes is to be seen, but this is certainly a positive development over Will’s sudden romantic potential from the previous episode.
Jack calls in Abigail to identify a body believed to Nicholas Boyle, a scene which proves to be one of two stand-out scenes for Kacey Rohl. Jack’s aim is to observe the impact of seeing the body he believes to be her handiwork, but after an initial flood of guilt and disgust Abigail is able to put on a mask and reaffirm her story that she had nothing to do with Boyle’s murder. Alana tells Jack she knows Abigail is hiding something, but that any doubts she may have are washed away by Lecter’s reaffirmation that she is innocent. It’s more fuel for Jack’s suspicions and again hinting at an end-of-season confrontation between Crawford and Lecter. Abigail later admits to Lecter that it was her who dug up Boyle’s body to be found so that the worry of it one day being found was removed, but more importantly to take control of her story. Going one step further Abigail finally confesses to not only knowing what her father was, but actively helping him acquire his victims. Her reasons are ostensibly fear and self-preservation, as she mentions her father killed those girls to avoid killing her, but how much (if any) enjoyment she took from these killings is still unclear.
The procedural element of the episode is very much unimportant outside of the visual impact of the killer’s totem, but it’s a welcome cameo for Lance Henriksen as Lawrence Wells, a murderer whose reason are practical as well as poetic. The purpose for this totem was to construct a legacy from himself, but the reason for each individual killing was in altering the lives of those around the victim – the actual victims in this instance being a means to an end, rather than an expression of some twisted whims. Wells describes it as a legacy, Lounds describes it as a story, and Lecter lives it as a projection, but all of the characters are connected this week illustrating the importance of how we are perceived. Wells’ hobby is funerals -specifically those of his victims- and absorbing the solemn atmosphere that he is responsible for, but in deliberately being caught he intends to retire as a star in prison, rather than rot as a nobody in a retirement home. It’s an interesting motivation, but his significance is impacted simply by screentime. Henriksen is restricted to one scene and it would have been nicer to see him throughout, but this episode was already a delicately balanced ensemble, so it’s perhaps unfair to suggest cramming another character into the hour.
Will surmises that Abigail did in fact stab Boyle after revisiting the case, and after confronting Lecter with this information he is dissuaded from going to Jack with it. As Will informs Lecter of his initial intentions we see Lecter toy with a scalpel before deciding against it, and it’s a stark reminder that for all his fascination with -and affection for- Will, Lecter values self-preservation above all else. Lecter tells Will what Abigail’s story would be if not for their intervention, stating: “We are her fathers now,” with his manipulation of both only being possible due to their affection for each other. After Will’s acquiesces we’re taken to a dinner scene with Will and Lecter opposite Abigail and Lounds. The nature of truth is again discussed with concern for Abigail’s future triumphing over both her murder of Boyle, and in service of her story as told by Freddie Lounds. The truth is not inherent in anyone’s story, and Abigail’s admission of guilt to Lecter is only possible due to the trust she places in him. Lecter’s nature will be revealed, Will will eventually break, Lawrence Wells’ mistake will be known, and Abigail’s secret will eat away at her. Our story is our projection, and with the ability to manipulate this comes a power, but the true horror of Hannibal’s world is the certainty that this control will one day be taken from us.
John Lucking
