Sequel on „Hannibal“: about „participation"

I should have known that I would never again write anything of what I had planned in my blog but might instead write an endless sequel on “Hannibal”. Though, in a way, I might already be “through” with it, which is of course a real pity. But I enjoy the experience of writing these things “as they come”, watching it again. I know it would have been better to watch the first and second series before taking the third up again, but I was too keen on seeing this again and checking on my first reading. And I am not quite sure if I’ll buy the first and second series though I’ll probably want to see the “beginning” of Hannibal Lecter. But I already spoiled it, as I knew I would, watching the third series first. I enjoyed watching the first episode again, more than I did before, because then I hadn’t understood ANYTHING. And for another reason which this blog will be about. But watching the second episode was a set-back because I realized that the main story, about Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham, had already become stale and predictable. Which is what usually happens to series – maybe one of the reasons why they are such a good “substitute” for real life. But, as I said, I enjoyed the first episode immensely, and it provided me with one of the climactic moments of my reading-experience.

I wrote that I loathed the way people talked, but I have got used to it by now and, of course, understand a great deal more. Watching the first episode again I was rewarded for REALLY listening because the dialogue partly works “in two directions”. That is, there are DIRECT messages to the audience “hidden” in it. (At least I suppose that there are more of them, but I don’t know yet.) The moment I discovered this was when Hannibal Lecter is about to kill a young man who has found out that he is an impostor,  and his “partner” Bedelia inadvertently drops in. And only just now I realized that this scene is the culminating point of a strand of irony which was a special treat even after having been spoiled. I just finished “Vanity Fair” – for the first time! – which is 800 pages of the purest and sanest irony I ever came across, so, practically “reading in heaven”. If I still needed an answer to the question why an intelligent person with a refined taste of humour might enjoy this series I have found it.

The “strand” I am referring to starts when Hannibal meets this young man again in Florence and perceives that he is dangerous because he knows that he is not who he says he is. He invites him to his house for dinner, and they dine together with his wife – who is no more his wife than he is professor Fell but his ex-therapist who stepped into the role of Mrs. Fell. The guest remarks on her diet, and she answers that her husband is very particular about how she tastes. Which induces him to ask if it was “that kind of party”. And Hannibal Lecter answers that no, it was not THAT kind of party. The irony of his reply isn’t even visible on the surface because “the innocent” doesn’t get killed and eaten right away. It lies almost exclusively in the incomparably matter-of-fact Danish way Mads Mikkelsen says that sentence. Which cannot be honoured here, of course. But he certainly knows then that he will kill the young man and is looking forward to it. - When it finally happens Bedelia is just coming home and becomes a witness of Hannibal killing a man, probably for the first time. And he asks her if she is “just watching or PARTICIPATING?”- It wasn’t just the cute Danish accent which instantly made this word ring in my ears. (To do him justice, he doesn’t have much of a DANISH accent in this series. As Hannibal Lecter is Lithuanian he is supposed to have a strange accent of some sort, but “participating” suddenly reminded me of what he sounds like in Danish.) Right! I thought, even before I grasped his explanation of what he meant. Right! I am not just watching, I am PARTICIPATING.

His explanation of “participating” I remembered right away, and I don’t have to check on it. He didn’t mean that she should actively partake in the slaughter. But “just watching” would have been despicable in his eyes, I think, being submerged by feelings of dread, horror, sympathy maybe. (Just what “average” people would feel – and the “average” audience of course!) Whereas “participating” means to have YOUR OWN expectations about what might happen, being conscious of YOUR OWN PART (feelings, reactions, expectations …) in what is going on, and to enjoy a feeling of achievement  when these expectations are met. (You win, or loose sometimes as well, but you are DOING something.) “THAT IS PARTICIPATING.”

And that is what my blog has been about – the “bigger” half of it. I couldn’t have  described it any better – to tell the truth, I could’t possibly have described it as well as that. Which might already be the main reason why I enjoyed watching this so much. I was thrilled that I EXPRESSLY was given that freedom to decide for myself how much I would get involved. I don’t think I understand half of what happened yet, but, whatever it was, it worked, as I was never “submerged” by whatever amount of blood or beauty they “threw” at me, and, on the other hand, I never “dropped out” but invariably stayed “on the inside”. From the beginning, everything was part of an aesthetical experiment - even MY OWN FEELINGS were! In that way I can “have” them as much as I want, which is: AS FAR AS THEY GO. Without any danger of getting involved in something I shouldn’t get involved in – which means: something that would only “throw me back onto myself” and make me miserable. I have known now for some time that I know how to do this, but I am constantly trying to find the ways and means for doing it over and over again.

And I don’t find it strange anymore that one of my three favourite moments so far was rather a low-key moment. It was a little speech the blind woman makes after she has escaped from the “dragon”. I don’t want to “jump ahead” now and check on it, but I remember that she kind of complains that people always take advantage of her and think they can do whatever they want with her. It is more THE WAY she says that, and, of course, the context, which makes it memorable. She is one of the people who, through no fault of their own, have no idea of what is going on. And, due to the dodged, miffed, and strangely confident way she says it, it doesn’t read as self-pity. It reads as: “I know that I am damaged and have no real value for anybody. But this is who I am. I know it, and I stick to it.” - I was strangely delighted, and, though it is impossible to translate my feelings at that moment, I’ll try: “How ignorant she is”, I thought, “and how persistently stupid – and how RIGHT!” And this was probably the moment I “dropped out” and leaned back, and watched the big slaughter at the end quite relaxed.

And I think there will be a different story like this for everybody who has taken the bait at one point and “participated”. Of course it is like this with every text, to a certain degree, but “Hannibal” is certainly the kind of fiction that actively encourages such intercourse. Not least through the character of Hannibal Lecter himself whose perception of freedom is completely uncompromising – a freedom he achieves for himself by making people fall under his spell! There will probably be an INDIVIDUAL place for everybody who liked watching it where they became “captivated”, and probably an individual place, or places, where they dropped out. And I think this is great.