*hugs show forever*
@BryanFuller: THE #HANNIBAL SEASON FINALE IS TITLED "SAVOUREUX," OR A SAVORY DESSERT #EMMYALDENTE
My sweet tooth does not quite grok the concept of a "savory dessert," but I'll take the man's word for it.
EARLIER THURSDAY EVENING:
@cleolinda: I'VE HAD TWO GLASSES OF WINE AND I CAN'T REMEMBER HOW TO EMAIL
@aMoTPodcast: For the #Hannibal finale? I've already made peace with the fact that I'll be polishing off a bottle in a blanket fort by the end
@cleolinda: I was trying not to drink it all before the show even started!
@ThatAuntZelda: You're pre-gaming for Hannibal? Dayum, girl. That's hardcore.
Well, it seemed necessary:
@NBCHannibal: Everyone join hands. RT @ellievhall: Prayer circle for the @NBCHannibal fandom. #Hannibal #Fannibals
@NBCHannibal: You're not ready for what's coming... #HannibalFinale
@NBCHannibal: Preparation is futile. #HannibalFinale
@NBCHannibal: Tonight's #HannibalFinale in one word: NOPE.
@NBCHannibal: This is going to hurt. #HannibalFinale
Dude, last time a Hannibal said that, someone's hand got chopped off. DON'T DO THIS TO ME. Even the the official tumblr was trolling everyone all week long:
PREVIOUSLY ON: EMPATH AND CANNIBAL: We were given a strong (and confirmed) implication that Lecter saved Bedelia from her attacker by making him swallow his own tongue; Will is out of the hospital not getting treatment for the encephalitis that no one who is not terrible knows he has, and then got the genius idea to take Abigail back to the Cabin of Horrors, and THEN woke up on a plane in Virginia without her. Oh and also LECTER KILLED ABIGAIL AND IS FRAMING WILL FOR IT. Also-also, he arranged for Georgia to set herself on fire before the opening credits even ran.
@NBCHannibal: NEVER brush your hair with a plastic comb in a hyperbaric chamber. #TheMoreYouKnow
A very busy cannibal, he was. Turns out? We didn't know the half of it.
@DAVID_A_SLADE: @winston_graham gets a scene in tonight's #Hannibal season finale
@DeLaurentiisCo: Even if you think you're ready for tonight's season finale of #HANNIBAL, you're not. [sad picture of sad Winston]
@DireRavenstag: Someone needs a B A T H.....
@winston_graham: am i going to regret waking up today?
@BryanFuller: it'll be a hard day, Winston, but you'll be safe.
@winston_graham: tHANK YOU
I figured you guys would want to go ahead and know that.
So. Do you fish or do you hunt? Just as Abigail was a deer hunter who became a lure, Will's a fisherman now stalking the Dire Ravenstag in a nightmare forest. Also, as Miss Freddie (the real one) (wait) (this is confusing) noted on Tumblr, that terrifying tornado-siren-from-hell sound is made by a bullroarer, just in case you thought this was going to end any kind of well. (As the NBC tumblr points out, #Even the stag is like NOPE BYE.) Will fires and gives chase, following a trail of blood splashes on the trees--sometimes vivid red and sometimes gleaming black in the moonlight--and catching glimpses of something. Something that used to be the Ravenstag. Something that ain't right.
@BryanFuller: MEET OUR WENDIGO, #MANSTAG PHOTO COURTESY @DAVID_A_SLADE pic.twitter.com/PtN1g6s8Lx
SWIGGITY SWAG, MOTHERFUCKERS
@DireRavenstag: *looks down at self* Hmm. I have HANDS now. There's so very much potential in hands...
Welp, Tumblr was right:
@BryanFuller: WHAT'S A WENDIGO? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wendigo [illustration]
He also tweeted two concept sculptures of the wendigo, which, as you will notice, are sculpts of Mads Mikkelsen's face, although I presume he does not actually have three eyes and and an extra ear in real life.
@BryanFuller: TEST PHOTO BY @DAVID_A_SLADE OF MADS MIKKELSEN FOR THE WENDIGO'S EXPRESSION #HANNIBAL [GAHHHHHH]
You know, I was going to call Manstag "the Dire Ravenstud," but that's terrible and also NO. Now I know how Ron Weasley felt when he found out that the pet rat he cuddled with every night was some creepy stranger-man.
But you're seeing more of it now than Will is; he only catches a glimpse of the wendigo rearing up just before he wakes up in a sweat... to find that his feet are crusted with mud. This is bad, you guys. This is so bad. The show itself is sort of twitching and shaking and All the Dogs are freaking out a little and Will's hands are covered in something, you guys, this is sooooo baaaaaaad, and then he tries to wash his face in the kitchen sink and slam down a handful of aspirin while the soundtrack is howling and throbbing and then he hworfs up his pills AND A SEVERED EAR
[ click through ] [noooo don't click through]
@cleolinda: ACTUAL SCREAMING OH MY GOD WHAT JUST HAPPENED
@cafecliche: OH MY JESUS WHAT'S GOING ON AM I DRUNK YET
@eruvadhril: *checks watch* Wow, that was fast.
THIS IS NOT A DRILL
THIS IS THE REAL LIFE
NOTHING WILL BE OKAY EVER AGAIN
So of course, you know who he calls for help. By the time Lecter arrives, Will's hugging himself on his front porch steps, and he's not shaking just because it's cold. "I went to Minnesota," Will manages to tell him. "I took Abigail. We went to Minnesota and... she didn't come back with me." "Show me," says Lecter, taking his hand.
Inside the house, he puts a blanket around Will before going into the kitchen and looking into the sink. (Severed ear. Still there, still real.) So: put yourself in the shoes of anybody but Hannibal Lecter. You walk into someone's kitchen; that someone is shaking and traumatized and appears to have hworfed up human remains and nobody knows what the fresh hell is going on. Do you recoil from the sink and gasp, "Oh my God, Will, what did you do?" Or do you quietly look back at him, hardly reacting at all? Which is to say--Lecter's very good at acting like he doesn't know what happened. But he's not very good at acting like someone who doesn't know what happened.
"I don't remember going to bed last night," Will's mumbling. "But... I must have. I... I don't know, maybe I got up... to let the dogs out, and, and, and then..." "When was the last time you saw Abigail?" "...I woke up, my feet were muddy..." "WILL. When was the last time you saw Abigail?" And so Will admits that he last saw her the day before at the Cabin of Horrors, where "I had... an episode. Uh... she said something was wrong with me. She was afraid of me. And she ran away." "What happened? Why was she afraid?" "I hallucinated that I killed her. But it wasn't real. I know it wasn't real."
Here's the interesting thing: Lecter now seems to have some kind of unstaged reaction--he looks down at the ear in the sink, turns around in a dizzy sort of circle, and finally walks away in something like genuine distress. I don't know--just because it was all ~his design~ doesn't mean he can't have (very compartmentalized) emotions about seeing Abigail's remains, I guess? In fact, the Mischa parallel we'll get to later suggests that some kind of real anguish is intruding here? Maybe he came to drink Will's pain and found out that he had some of his own.
So Lecter kneels down, hand over his face for a moment, next to Will--I swear to you that this looks genuine, almost like he has to collect himself before he can resume Project Absolute Fuckery: "Will? We have to call Jack. You can't run from this. It'll only be worse." And Will can only nod.
Red-wine scaryface credits: your reminder to go get a refill.
So here's the FBI swarming over the Nobark Home for What the Shit Just Happened. "What are we gonna find in Minnesota, Will?" Crawford asks him on the porch. Will doesn't know. "Go ahead and process him," orders Crawford.
(A SIDE-EYE AND A SIGH? THAT'S ALL YOU GOT?)
The Investigators Three file past Will to the house; Jimmy and Brian can't even look at him, and even Beverly gives him only a silent glance. Meanwhile, the last thing Will sees from the back of the FBI SUV OMG is a forlorn Winston watching them take Will away as All the Dogs are herded into an Animal Services van.
@winston_graham: @BryanFuller you used me as a weapon to stab the fannibals in the heart. i... really respect that actually. good job
Here is a picture of Hugh Dancy smiling with a dog. You're welcome.
Over at Forensics, Will is in his undawears, and everything is terrible. He hears the Investigators Dude going through his personal effects, their voices echoing over and over: "Right rear pocket. A leather wallet containing 17 dollars cash..." "Right front pocket... One folding knife." *SHAKING MY HEAD.*
And there's poor Beverly scraping tiny--but vivid--red flakes out from under Will's nails, until finally she cracks: "I can't do the silent treatment. I can't pretend I don't know you and I can't pretend we both don't know what I'm finding under your nails." Can I not go to court for TWO DAYS without you getting accused of murder, Will? "You called me once because you didn't trust yourself to know what was real. This blood is real, Will." "I know," he says, but "not with any certainty" how it got there. "Certainty comes from the evidence. I didn't want to find any evidence on you. I wanted to be certain about who you are, but you can't even be certain with yourself." ("Not anymore," he whispers.) "If you weren't certain with yourself, you shouldn't have been here. This is the FBI." Motion to promote Beverly to Head of Behavioral Sciences, all in favor? "I thought I would get better," says Will, having assumed that he was not living in a world of infinite fuckery. "You always said you interpret the evidence, so do it, Will," she retorts. "Interpret the evidence." "According to the evidence," he says, with one of his heartbreaking tremble-smiles, "... I killed Abigail Hobbs."
Over at the Crawffice, fuck everything. "We analyzed the tissue. It matched Abigail Hobbs," Crawford's telling a stunned, stricken Alana. "It was her ear, her blood under Will's fingernails. Scratches on his arms are all defensive wounds, like she fought back."
"Shut up," says Alana.
"Stop talking," says Alana. "'He won't get too close.' You said you would cover him. You could see he was breaking."
Get him, Alana. Get him for Will.
"Yes, I could, and I kept pushing him--BECAUSE HE WAS SAVING LIVES, ALANA." "Not Abigail Hobbs' life." Oh, burnt. Retorts Crawford, "YOU LOOK ME IN THE FACE AND TELL ME THAT YOU COULDN'T SEE THAT HE WAS BREAKING?" And Alana gets up on her feet because OH NO YOU DID NOT: "Of course, I could see it. I TOLD YOU NOT TO PUT HIM OUT THERE!!" GET HIIIIIM. Crawford: "EVERY DECISION I MADE CONCERNING WILL'S MENTAL HEALTH I MADE UNDER ADVISEMENT OF A RESPECTED PSYCHIATRIST, WHO YOU RECOMMENDED
And then she goes out and pitches a righteous grieving fit du shit in her car.
And in that moment, we were all Alana Bloom.
(#EVERYTHING IS HANNIBAL AND EVERYTHING HURTS)
So here's Will in jailhouse orange, sitting forlornly in an interrogation room, when Alana comes to visit. "Hi," he says. "Hi," she says softly. So... this is sublimely awkward. He notes that she's flushed--"You been yelling?" "Screaming is more like it." "I could use a good scream," says Will. "I can feel one perched under my chin." "Let it out." Uh, Alana, I really don't want to find out what a Will Help Scream would sound like right now. "I'm afraid that if I started... I wouldn't be able to stop." (I'm saying, y'all.) "I'm surprised Jack let you in here," he adds, "given my romantic overtures." "Jack doesn't know about your romantic overtures," she says. Then she looks over at the one-way glass. "Didn't know." (*FACEPALM.*) Bearing that in mind, Will whispers, "Guess you dodged a bullet with me." "I don't feel like I dodged a bullet. I feel wounded," Alana says, tears running down her face... then changes the subject: "I've been in touch with Animal Services. I'll go pick up your dogs in a couple of hours." BLESS YOUR BOOTS, ALANA BLOOM. "I'll take them back home with me... and I'll take care of them until... ... ... whenever." "Whenever could be a long time from now," Will says. "I'll take care of them until then," she promises. And then my heart grew three sizes.
Meanwhile, "We have to do some tests. They'll be the standard psychopathology tests." "I suppose you're gonna ask me to draw a clock while you're at it," says Will bitterly. "
Maison du Maurier. "Seems hard to find words today," says Lecter.
Check the tags: #Nogen behage holde mig Jeg ønsker ikke at leve på denne planet længere
"Someone please hold me I do not want to live on this planet anymore"
In Danish, of course. This tumblr gives me life, y'all.
@BryanFuller: THIS SCENE FEATURES ONE OF MY ALL TIME FAVORITE MADS MIKKELSEN #HANNIBAL PERFORMANCES
@BryanFuller: #HANNIBAL'S FEELINGS FOR ABIGAIL HOBBS ARE REFLECTIVE OF HIS ATTACHMENT TO HIS SISTER MISCHA AND HER LOSS
@DAVID_A_SLADE: This I already posted but it bears repeating, Mads from my other favourite scene pic.twitter.com/zLzIjTZSbz
(Slade's set photos have always been really great, but this one in particular has a really interesting, silvery Old Hollywood look to it.)
Lecter sighs. "Despite the overwhelming evidence, I find myself... searching for ways that Abigail could still be alive." (I suspect he means this in terms of "ways I could have done this differently," while letting it sound like your traditional "I can't believe she's really dead" denial. I do think he's come down with a genuine case of the feels for Cannibaby. Some kind of feeling, anyway.) "Grieving is an individual process with a universal goal: the truest examination of the meaning of life and the meaning of its end," says Bedelia, having thawed to "cool kindness." "I know what life means," he replies. "We've existed for a hundred thousand years. In that time, a hundred billion human lives have had beginnings and ends." "A hundred billion lives haven't impacted yours," she says (perhaps grasping how self-centered his emotions are), "but clearly Abigail Hobbs' life has, and you seem surprised by that." "I never considered having a child," he says. (I'm not sure why this line made my blood run absolutely cold. Possibly because I started imagining a world where Hannibal Lecter did consider having children. Like... what the hell does that baby shower look like?) "But after meeting Abigail, I understood the appeal. The opportunity to guide and support and, in many ways, direct a life." "You were having influence on her?" asks Bedelia (with perhaps a... perceptive expression). Lecter: "I was hoping I was." (Well, family can have a contagion effect on some people.) "Young people are supposed to be the lenses through which we see ourselves living beyond this life," she says, but he replies, "I think of my earliest memory and project forward to what I imagine will be my death. I never think about living beyond that span of time." I actually hope they show us at some point what his earliest memory (in this continuity) is, and even how he imagines his own death. I've wondered about that before, writing some of these recaps--what does he want out of life, beyond a comfortably murderous present? Where does he see his life going in the next ten, twenty years? How does he think--or hope--it might end? And now the show actually brings that up... and perhaps echoes the Totem Pole Killer's fixation on his "legacy": "I never think about living beyond that span of time. Except by reputation."
"Even after this loss?" "More so... after this loss." "Will Graham is a loss, too," she says, and "you might grieve him as a loss." "I haven't given up on Will." "If they do find him guilty of killing Abigail Hobbs..." Cannibal real talk: "When. Let's be honest." "...I don't recommend you participate in any rehabilitation effort," finishes Bedelia (she had to give it a shot, I guess). "I was so confident in my ability to help him," says the Best at Worst at Helping, "... to solve him." "To... save him," she corrects him uneasily. Lecter: "Saving him, I lost Abigail. It's hard to accept that I could fail them both so profoundly."
So: The Ballad of the Sad Cannibal, second verse (same as the first). Part of me wants to be like get the actual entire fuck out, but you know, these don't actually seem like crocodile tears. I think this has to do with the self-centered feelings thing--"I am so sad that I have lost my adopted daughter and my closest friend." But, as a trickster type who's just "curious what would happen," he's detached himself from the consequences of his actions. You lost them because you killed one of them and framed the other. You have a sad, sir, because of things that you did. It's an almost childlike inability to acknowledge cause and effect; all's fair in love and chaos for Hannibal Lecter right up until it starts to suck for him. And while Abigail kind of signed her own death warrant by impulsively digging up Nick Boyle's body, it really seems like he chose Will over her--perhaps thinking he could hold on to both of them right up until the moment when Will dragging Abigail back to Minnesota forced his hand. He wagered high and lost it all, assuming the whole time that he could keep it under control.
Meanwhile, the Investigators Three have been investimagating the Nobark Home (Motto: None of the Dogs, All of the Tears), and back at Forensics, Jimmy... has some bad news for Crawford. "Um... as you know, Will is a big fly fisherman, and he designs all of his own lures. Most anglers use feathers, fur, twine, bits of shell. They design each lure to catch a specific fish." "This one caught my eye," says Beverly, fiber analyst extraordinaire: "I noticed the hair color. Took me a few to accept what I was seeing. I ran a chem-set to confirm the connection." "What connection?" asks Alana. Beverly's the one to drop the bomb: "Four of the lures are made from materials including human remains. This one is Cassie Boyle. Bits of bone fragments and pieces of lung. Marissa Schuur: antler velvet, a fingernail, wound with her hair. Dr. Sutcliffe: crushed teeth, soft tissue from inside his mouth, bound with cartilage from his jaw." And finally, says Jimmy, "This last lure was made with hair and fiber that matches Georgia Madchen."
are you fucking goddamn shitting me
EPISODE 4, CEUF
But then he sits down at a table by a row of fishing poles and--is he--is he sitting there making a fishing lure? I am sure this is deeply symbolic, but also, is Will going to come home and wonder what the fuck kind of fisherman elves finished his lure while he was gone?
EPISODE 10, BUFFET FROID
@neoprod: Fishing lures are so key to what tells the story of Will. And the great thing is you guys don't know half of it!
OH, THE FACEST OF PALMS.
"So now Will Graham's a serial killer who takes trophies?" Crawford asks incredulously; Alana insists, "Something's wrong with Will physically, neurologically. He's not a serial killer."
Back in the interrogation room, Will sees the wendigo through the one-way glass--but wakes up back at the table when Crawford comes in: "You're sick, Will." "I--I wasn't consistent with taking my antibiotics. The fever came back," says Will (oh, God, this is going to be terrible). "We're gonna move you to a secure medical ward," Crawford tells him. "We're gonna get to the bottom of whatever it is that's wrong with you and we're gonna make sure that you get whatever kind of treatment you need." "And then what? Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane? Have Chilton fumbling around in my head?" That's... about the way of it, yeah. Crawford: "This job doesn't generally lend itself to optimism, all right? But I desperately want to be optimistic about an alternative to what every fiber of the evidence is telling me you've done." Will insists that he can't confess to something he doesn't remember; Crawford points out that there may be a lot he can't remember: "We found your fishing lures." Bless his sweet innocent heart, Will says, "Yeah, I should hope so. They were on my desk right by the front door." And then Crawford tells him what was in them: "The human remains of Cassie Boyle, Marissa Schuur, Donald Sutcliffe, Georgia Madchen." Will stares at him for a small eternity, finally whispering, "No..." Oh, but yes. "I wasn't... I wasn't sick when Cassie Boyle was murdered. I wasn't sick when Marissa Schuur was murdered--" "That's not an argument you want to be making right now. Not with me. My biggest fear is that we'll learn that you knew what you were doing the whole time." "Because then, I'd be a psychopath," says Will. But for once, he trusts himself: "Hey, you don't have to be afraid of that, Jack. There is something you should be afraid of, though." O rly? "Whoever's doing this to me. They'll be close to you. It could be someone here. Working with you." "So that's it. It's a setup," says Crawford, unimpressed. Will: "They know the cases. They know forensics... they know that I'm unstable." Oh my God why don't you people sit down and get some process of elimination started up in here. "Can you hear how paranoid you sound?" says Crawford, because somehow Will murderizing five people is the only logical conclusion here. "Or," says Will, "it could just be you. Then I'd be reaaaally screwed, wouldn't I?" Well, that cuts it: "I wanted to be the one to do this. Will Graham, you're under arrest for murder. You have the right to remain silent..."
So now Will's in handcuffs and chains being led out to an asylum-bound ambulance, and I began to gather a pile of shoes for convenient throwing.
EARLIER THURSDAY EVENING:
cleolinda [main entry]: Wait, [Hugh Dancy] turned thirty-eight yesterday? THIS WEEK ON EMPATH AND CANNIBAL: Crawford finds a portrait in Will's attic, damn.
ivy_b : That's the real reason Will has that scruff and glasses--without them he'd look about a decade younger. Seriously Hugh is way too pretty, has a charming accent, an adorable smile and definitely a portrait in the attic.
mokie : That's how Will escapes to hunt down Hannibal: after a fresh shave, he convinces a guard that he's supposed to be in juvie, then pulls a flying squirrel on his handlers during transport.
So Will's taking a page out of the Generic Off-Brand Hannibal Lecter playbook, either remembering what he empathed of Gideon's escape--dislocating his thumb, wrenching off the handcuffs, and jumping the guard--or involuntarily channeling Gideon. I tend to think he's consciously using what he learned. (But maybe not? If he is channeling Gideon, who had Lecter's criminal mindset psychic-driven into him... does that add to Will's growing awareness?) I mean, as Crawford then tells Lecter at The Best Office Ever, Will only disarmed the guard, threw him and the driver unharmed from the ambulance, and abandoned it in an alley. Rather than, you know, turn them into Christmas tree ornaments. But "these are not the actions of an innocent man," Crawford declares (OH COME ON! Give the man some credit for declining to murderate!). "They're the actions of a man who's impaired," counters Alana, revealing Will's latest clock sketch. "That is extreme," says Lecter, despite the fact that the numbers are actually clearer and straighter than before, when Will was staggering around with a fever of 105. "Now, this is the clock he drew for me two weeks ago. It's normal." YOUUUUUUUUUU CLOCK FAKER. "What disease progresses gradually but plateaus for lengths of time? Could be some form of encephalitis," suggests Alana, and then I hugged her in my soul. "It's hard to diagnose," she adds. "There are no tumors, no lesions, it wouldn't even show up on a brain scan--unless you were looking for it." (DON'T YOU GIVE HER THAT LOOK! I SEE YOU GIVING HER THAT LOOK! ALANA IS NOT FOR EATING!!) "Look, just tell me if he could kill five people and not be aware of it," Crawford says impatiently, pointing out, "This doesn't feel like dementia. This is an intelligent psychopath. Look, this killer called the Hobbs house. He warned Abigail's father." To which Lecter replies that he was with Will the whole time... although Will did have a few minutes' opportunity to make a phone call when he dumped a box of files onto the receptionist's head so that he could go back to the construction trailer-office alone WAIT NO THAT WAS YOU. "Dumb luck and bad bookkeeping," says Crawford, snapping his fingers--no longer believing it was a hunch or coincidence at all. Indeed, says Lecter (not untruthfully), "We were looking through the files and it was as if Will plucked [Hobbs'] name out of a hat, based on little more than an incomplete address." Meaning that Will supposedly had... some kind of prior murder-acquaintance with Hobbs and chose that moment to throw him under the bus...? "Let me play the devil here for a moment, doctor," Crawford says, turning to Alana (oh, but you're not the devil, Jack). "This clock test, could Will fake something like this? Would he be able to do that?" Well, "YES," she finally admits, YES HE COULD FUCKING DRAW A CLOCK WRONG ON PURPOSE, WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?
Nice pile of shoes I've got going here, by the way.
@BryanFuller: MISSING SCENE: Will Graham's first stop wasn't #HANNIBAL's office, it was Alana Bloom's home. #DVDBLURAY pic.twitter.com/VTBFNT8pol
I have thoughts.
1) What in the world was that conversation like?
2) DOGGIES, WHO IS GOOD DOGGIES? YOU ARE.
Back at The Best Office Ever, Which Is Far Better Than You Deserve Because YOU ARE THE WORST, Lecter looks up from his desk and says, "Hello, Will. How are you feeling?"
And there's Will, huddled against a bookshelf in the Cannibal Library Paradise loft--where he stood back in episode 2, but maybe more directly comparable to the way Abigail ran away in episode 3 and hid up there as well. "Self-aware," he says. Lecter: "You frightened Alana Bloom." (Oh, this line makes more sense now.) "She's confused about who I am," says Will, "which I can relate to." Lecter, for his part, says that he's not confused about who Will is: "I'm skeptical. Meaning I'm willing to change my mind, should the evidence
"If it was just Abigail, I would have believed," says Will. "I would have believed that I got so far inside Hobbs' head I couldn't get out." But throwing all the non-Hobbs murders in just strains credulity (I'M LOOKING AT YOU, FANCY CANNIBAL): "I know who I am." "No," says Lecter, turning on the gaslight, "all sense of who you are has been distorted by your illness. You know who you are in this moment. That's not always the case, Will." "I didn't kill any of them. And somebody" (Lecter carefully looks down and away) "is making sure that no one believes me." Well, then, "if we're to prove you didn't commit these murders, perhaps we should consider how you could have. And then disprove that
Psychic driving, Chilton: this is how it's done. "If you are this killer, that identity runs through these events like a thread through pearls," Lecter tells Will; they're sitting in their usual therapy chairs at first, but Will gets up when he says, "Cassie Boyle would have been your first victim. You said her crime scene was practically gift-wrapped." "It told me everything I needed to know to catch Garrett Jacob Hobbs," says Will, wandering over to a stylized, statue-like version of Cassie's body on the taxidermy stag head, painted black and not cut open.
@BryanFuller: @DAVID_A_SLADE WANTED WILL TO SEE SHADOWS OF THE CRIMES AND NOT THE CRIMES THEMSELVES
Lecter reinterprets the logical exercise in murder that he provided Will: "You had seen one of Hobbs' victims. You knew how he killed. You may have been exploring how he killed to better understand who he was." But Will wasn't in Minnesota at the time...? "She disappeared on a Saturday. She was found on a Monday. You would've had the weekend to do your work." I was sad for a moment that this time frame explained away the murder wizardry teleportation, but then I remembered that Lecter still had to get Cassie's lungs past the TSA, and imagining that cheered my love of absurdity up a little. And then I was cheered right down again because THERE'S THE WENDIGO STARING AT WILL. P.S. It is gaunt and skeletal and terrifying because the idea is that no matter how much the wendigo eats, it's never satisfied. And it looks pretty hungry right now.
"I know I didn't kill her," whispers Will, but Lecter replies, "How do you know? What did you think when you first met Marissa Schuur? How much like Abigail she was?" And there's the Paint It Black version of Marissa, impaled on the Cabin of Horrors antlers, like a ghastly art installation on the red office wall. "Same height, same weight, hair color, same age." "How could I resist?" mutters Will (noooooo), as Lecter continues, "So much like his daughter--you may have wondered why Garrett Jacob Hobbs didn't kill her himself." And now I feel really unnerved that I had wondered that. Lecter also points out that Sutcliffe wasn't killed in a Hobbsian way (and there's Sutcliffe's painted-black body sitting at Lecter's desk, the ear-to-ear grin carved into his face but his head otherwise intact, because I imagine that paint doesn't taste very good), but rather "how you imagined yourself murdering a woman only days before." "How Georgia Madchen killed," says Will, increasingly alarmed and sucked into the mindfuckery: "She dreamt she saw me killing Sutcliffe--but she couldn't see my face. And then she was murdered." "You catch these killers by getting into their heads, but you also allow them into your own," Lecter intones, AND THERE'S THE WENDIGO STARING AT WILL OVER HIS SHOULDER NOOOOOOOOO. "I'm trying to help you, Will." YES, WE KNOW, BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT YOU'RE WORST AT.
Then Will seems to wake up--he's back in his therapy chair. "Then take me to Minnesota," he says. "I want to see where Abigail died."
@cleolinda: Why is everyone's brilliant idea always "Go to Minnesota"?
@SevenCorvus: I'm really not sure, but I almost want to ask the show what Minnesota ever did to it.
So--somewhat to my embarrassment--the recap's running over just enough that I'm having to break it into two parts in order to get it to post. Don't worry--just click on through; the second half's already up. I'd rather keep commenting all in one place, so discussion will be over there.
CONTINUE: PART TWO.