Another footnote on „Hannibal“ about “anticipation”, and one final thing about „The Crucible”

Investigating the phenomenon of participation, I realized that there was an important part of it which I called “anticipation” that I hadn’t examined yet. And I realize that I know very little about it though I have dealt with it before. But I have never felt its power like that, the way it probably drew me into the series and the perverse world displayed in it which I would otherwise have avoided. I remember part of the process distinctly in this case, and I described it at the beginning of my first blog on “Hannibal”. The obvious part is that it has to do with past experience. When I discovered that Richard Armitage was in this series I became interested right away, of course, but, just for a few minutes probably, I thought that, this time, it might be best to resist the temptation to watch it. Well, MAYBE for a few minutes because I knew I’d never be able to resist it. But I felt that I should. First of all because I usually try to avoid watching films I wouldn’t watch if there wasn’t an actor, or actors, I find interesting playing in this film. Sometimes it happens though, and I usually regret it. That is because I resent being bored and “dulled” much more than is reasonable. The way I was looking at things not so long ago, I would have considered it to be stupid to always expect I might find something to match the last great experience, or even something better. Especially after something like this last “period” of reading that started with “Romeo and Juliet” which I thought I wouldn’t like as much as the “histories” and “Macbeth” but which became instantly one of my favourite plays because there is, in my opinion, some of the greatest and most “poetic” writing in it Shakespeare ever did. And the dynamics of creating entropy and chaos – and making “tragedy” arise quite naturally - is unmatched in my experience so far. The next highlight was to watch the Baz Luhrman film with Leonardo DiCaprio, again one of these totally special experiences because it has probably never before happened that what he “saw” in this play was so exactly what I myself saw in it – although expressed in a totally unexpected way. Which is great, of course. After that I used my short holiday to finally read “Vanity Fair”: 800 pages in about two weeks, something I haven’t done … probably since “The Lord of the Rings” which was … almost exactly fifteen years ago. And I wasn’t bored by a single line of this book. I remember that I laughed out loud about three times during the first 30 pages being on the train. (Embarassing, but I enjoyed the feeling immensely being surrounded by all these “ordinary” people, thinking about their dinner, and their weekend, and probably Bundesliga, laughing myself stupid about something somebody had written almost 300 years ago, and which appeared to me a hundred percent more “real” than all that surrounding dullness.) And then the crowning experience of watching the BBC series of “Vanity Fair” (with Natasha Little as Becky Sharp). Which is definitely in the same category as “Middlemarch” – where I couldn’t believe that it was possible to “put” such an epic book “completely” into a short series. They just left out all the boring stuff, whereas in “Vanity Fair” there is no boring stuff. And it felt in fact as if they had “put in” everything because they got the important stuff so right. I should have thought there couldn’t be anything that would match this delight – as “Vanity Fair”, like “Middlemarch”, is one of the very few books that takes its reader completely seriously – confirming my theory that there is nothing more serious than great humour - and I really enjoyed that. But my delight in watching “Hannibal” was even keener, more momentous and compelling. And is still going on as I am watching it again and BEGIN to understand what it might be about. And I think that all the great reading BEFORE somehow added to the pleasure and made me more susceptible for experiencing something great. Which might be a totally unspecific but nonetheless important part of anticipating. Of course I discovered quite soon some very good reasons for enjoying the series which I described earlier. But I think the main reason why it went so well was that there was so much anticipation at work, EXPECTATIONS I couldn’t help having, and that WEREN’T DISAPPOINTED but SURPASSED.

Being disappointed was of course my main fear. I can easily survive being bored, or even disgusted, though it might be disagreeable. But, in some cases, I cannot avoid taking being disappointed personally. I know that this is stupid but I cannot help it. I remember how much I hated seeing Michael Fassbender play Mr. Rochester as if he was bored with this character after having been extremely pleased with him in “Hunger”, “Fish Tank”, “Inglorious Bastards”, and “A Dangerous Method”. Though he has had ample opportunity afterwards to make up for it with “Shame”, “Slow West”, and “Frank”( where I noticed for the first time what an amazing voice he has because you don’t see his face most of the time). But, though he was definitely back in my good graces with “Steve Jobs”, this “taint” stayed with him, and I resist the impulse to watch every film he is in. (I still think that it was probably a good idea not to see him as a mad slave-holder.)

So, the most important danger for me regarding “Hannibal” was not to be bored or put off by the series as such but to be disappointed with Richard Armitage because the serial killer story might turn out to be disappointing. Which I half expected because I find “the usual kind” of horror and serial killer stories boring and predictable. And, though I should know better in his case, I don’t take it completely seriously what actors say about their motivation for accepting a part or applying for it. He said that he wanted to work with Brian Fuller, and that he watched the series and liked it EVEN THOUGH it was horror. I should have known then that I would like it as well, or at least would not find it completely stupid and horrible – and I think I did. I know by now that we like the same things - definitely since I watched the “specials” on the tenth series of the “Spooks”. Because then the team made a synopsis of their ten greatest moments from the series (which I have watched completely), and they picked almost exclusively the bits I had hated. For a moment I wondered what was wrong with me that I had enjoyed it so much and then thought about what I had liked. And, apart from frequent “guest appearances” of such totally special actors as Simon Russel Beale or Brian Protheroe, two of my three favourite bits had been exactly the two things Richard Armitage mentioned in his interview on the ninth series as his personal highlights: the part about Conny James (most incredible acting by Gemma Jones!), and the episode where “the grid” is taken over completely by terrorists, and where everybody has to “act” all the time while finding ways of working together when regular communication has become impossible – which is, I think, in fact the culminating point of the whole series. After that it “declines” because they are overdoing it, and you feel as if you are constantly hit on the head with a hammer. – And this is by no means the only proof that there was no reason for mistrust on my part. For example, we apparently share a favourite series: “House of Cards”.

I am well aware that this is probably a rather ridiculous - maybe embarrassing?, maybe irrational? - part of anticipating. Which I tried to describe truthfully because it is a tremendously important part nonetheless. Maybe the most ridiculous thing about it is how I PERSIST to mistrust. Which makes me think that mistrust must be quite important for how I “anticipate”. (So, probably at least not irrational?) And it isn’t just a matter of reading fiction but of real life as well. Because being disappointed is a tremendously important part of growing up, and I know that it doesn’t reflect well on me how little I have accepted it. How careful I am not to be disappointed where it really matters. Having expectations is of course the central part of anticipating, but the most dangerous part as well for a reading-process because they cannot only be disappointed but might spoil your taste for  WHAT REALLY HAPPENS, on the screen as much as in real life. Though I don’t have the least idea how I am doing this, when it comes to fiction, I try to avoid having expectations AND to have them at the same time. And I probably do that in real life as well, which is more ominous. But watching the fourth episode of “Hannibal (3)” I suddenly understood that the bit about us living in the best possible world is no truism. It was when I first understood Will Graham, because when you have understood this – that living in the best possible world isn’t just our fate but something we HAVE TO ACHIEVE – you really understand that he is trying to do “the right thing”, given the perverse world he lives in. And suddenly he becomes a much more interesting character, and his story makes sense to watch – not as a stupid kind of pathological case study but as something that might regard me. Because he decides, and is trying to live, “where” HIS best chance of happiness is. Under completely perverse circumstances, which is probably what makes it interesting to watch. - So, we decide for ourselves if we live in the best possible world. Which would be impossible without having expectations and being able to BELIEVE in them. But, somehow, I think that it would be impossible as well without the ability to MISTRUST them. So, where there is really something at stake, mistrust is implicit.

I tried to get this as clear as I could, but maybe it is still bollocks … ? Be this as it may, I remember having been extremely relieved to have come up with a SOUND reason for wanting to see “Hannibal” when I realized that I was looking forward to seeing Mads Mikkelsen as Hannibal Lecter. I knew this at least wouldn’t be disappointing, ANTICIPATING from what I had seen of him so far. In Richard Armitage’s case this was different because even he himself did certainly not anticipate playing a serial killer in a horror series – which was in fact something he thought he would probably avoid. So, there are two different kinds of expectations – specific and non-specific - both of them important for how my reading will play out. And which work quite differently, I suppose, maybe the non-specific ones being more important because, unlike in real life, when I read I love it to be surprised. But the specific ones might usually decide if I’ll “risk” it. And there are two different kinds of mistrust as well, mistrusting the “text” and mistrusting myself, respectively my motives for reading it. And I suspect that both kinds are tremendously important, somehow, for seeing the TRUTH about myself AND about the “best possible world”. Without this grain of mistrust, I think, I would have to read “with my eyes closed” and might miss my only chance of “getting it right”, that is, of reading as if I lived in the best possible world?

So, this isn’t very satisfying so far, as I tried to describe the phenomenon of anticipation as far as I could – and without leaving out the things you don’t talk about. But I haven’t really understood how it works. So I might as well add a little chapter about “The Crucible” that has been sitting at the back of my mind for some time. Not very satisfying either because there is no way I can see the production again. So I obviously “closed” my reading-process - which was still kind of going on for about a year after I had seen it. But I suppose I wanted to provide myself with an explanation why I liked the production so much and probably experienced the keenest delight I ever felt immediately after having seen something – followed by three days of feeling like shit. The delight I can explain “rationally”, I think, because it was very close to what I felt just now, reading “Vanity Fair”. It is about a completely successful and satisfying reading-process. Where there is nothing left to wish for. Reading it I felt in fact as if I had read and understood EVERY SINGLE SENTENCE of the book – which is not only impossible, considering the 800 pages, but untrue, as I remember having read too fast sometimes to grasp everything and encountered sentences, even whole paragraphs, I found too complex and difficult to analyze. But it FELT like that – and this was, I realize now, because I always knew WHAT TO FEEL when I read it. This was as well the reason I didn’t need to watch the series twice – which I did nonetheless because I loved it so much, but it was a bit disappointing because my experience was so complete the first time that I wasn’t able to see MORE than that. And I think it might even be good that I cannot watch “The Crucible” again because it will never again be as good as when I first saw it. And the explanation is probably the same as in the case of “Vanity Fair”. I understood COMPLETELY – on an intellectual and on an emotional level – what was going on. And I think this was the first time this ever happened - or at least that I became conscious of it - which accounts for the singular delight and sense of achievement I felt immediately afterwards, and which I probably felt already watching it. And – amazing! – I might have just found a very simple explanation for the three bad days afterwards, because I realized then that this was over FOR GOOD. I was of course really interested in what Richard Armitage had to say about playing John Proctor, but MY OWN READING was over, and I would never “be” like this again. (Which was a bit premature, but how was I supposed to know?) I was probably just desolate that I would NEVER FEEL THE SAME WAY again.

And I became aware only recently that I had a theory as well WHY this reading-process was so singularly successful and enjoyable. Of course, what I enjoyed FIRST OF ALL was that Richard Armitage was so good – better than I could have imagined. And this drew me into the play – as in the case of “Vanity Fair” the writing is so good that you kind of “anticipate” the content as being great without knowing much about it yet. I suppose it is the emotional content that usually draws me in so fast that I have a FEELING of understanding everything. But only if it is not just expressed strongly, but in a way that it appears to me original and true, and not commonplace.  And this is, I think, where the first level of complexity set in. And complexity is probably even the most important thing to have this sense of ACHIEVEMENT reading something because it gives me the satisfaction that I perceive the text to be complex AND that I understand it. So, I had this experience of something not commonplace that I very much wanted to read.

And it became very soon even more interesting because I suddenly remembered having watched the film about 20 years ago. It was in this first scene between John Proctor and Abigail Williams which I realized I had been expecting. This was the only scene I really remembered from the film because of a single sentence which had obviously gone “under my skin” twenty years ago, and remained there. But when the scene came, the sentence wasn’t there. I am rather sure it was there though, just not the way I remembered it, the focus was elsewhere. And from this moment, I think, I got definitely interested in the story as well and started to compare WHAT I HAD FELT watching the film – because apart from this single sentence and the memory of Winona Ryder playing Abigail I had no clear recollection of the film, only of MY FEELINGS watching it – and this was one of the most interesting reading-experiences I ever had. I was fascinated that what I felt watching the stage production was so DIFFERENT.  And even though I remembered so little about the film I clearly perceived how much more “right” the stage production was because there was much less commonplace and cliché. But the main reason for the difference was probably that I was so much more right myself, more able to understand what this REALLY was about. My best example is the character of Elizabeth Proctor about whom I knew exactly how I had felt watching the film, and I was so pleased that I had been SO WRONG. And this might have been because they had it wrong in the film, but, at the same time, there is no way I would have understood this character twenty years ago. And this was basically a rewarding experience, although a bit painful as well, in this case.

This was already rather complex – and “participating” – reading. But I think what happened – for actors as well as for the audience – could only happen because the play as such is so well-written and complex. Strong acting requires strong writing, and it is not only that Arthur Miller “knew” so exactly what he was writing about. The continuing success of this play – which obviously “works” for a 21^st century audience without any apparent “modernizations” – is probably due to its complexity. Not only on a metaphorical level – where there is this dramatic pattern of the “crucible” which can be used to “experience” the witch-hunt from the seventeenth century as well as the political harassment of the McCarthy era, and probably other phenomena of this kind going on in the 21^st century. But I think even more because within this “political” framework there is room for two other story lines, either of which would make a proper play. Though, of course, neither of these plays would be half as good as when all three story-lines work together. One of them is the purest instance of a “Greek tragedy”: the part about John Proctor whose “aberration” brings about the catastrophe. The other a timeless drama about a relationship, and about “true” love being put to the test. (Which is the point about – I exaggerate! – making Elizabeth Proctor a heroine, not a nuisance!) And the way I was able to read ALL THREE story lines at once was probably why I enjoyed watching it so much.

The one I followed least, though, was the most obvious one about the witch-hunt. And I think this wasn’t coincidence or only due to where MY focus was. I think it was inherent in the production that the “inner” stories came out stronger. They certainly tried to make all three parts come out as strong as possible, but the part about the “crucible” was probably more impressive in the film. (Though, having seen it in the cinema, I might underestimate the immediacy of the stage experience. And I didn’t smell the incense!) There were certainly good features in the stage production to make it impressive, but, at some point, I think, the director and the way the production develops “decide” which story line will “take the lead”. And they really had it right about Elizabeth Proctor – which is crucial for the relationship drama to work. (Probably because the director was a woman?) But the way Richard Armitage played John Proctor, and the way he went full length with the tragedy (which, I think, is what he called “opera”) it was his performance that carried the whole production. And, in this case, this wasn’t at all a bad thing. Though it might have been, if the rest of the production had lacked the potential to “climb” to the same level. Isolated from its context the strongest truths will come out as commonplace or even pathetic.

It was a good thing because, in my opinion, the tragedy part is the most important for how this play still “works”. Even though, as I had the opportunity to observe looking into “Macbeth”, genuine tragedy is extremely difficult for a contemporary audience to deal with. I don’t think “we” usually understand the point of it anymore. Maybe on the opera stage, but there people have the “excuse”  of the music for “not listening”. Seeing “The Crucible” I probably understood for the first time that it works though, the way it is supposed to. And I have a theory why it might have been the most important part of the experience for Arthur Miller as well. I just stumbled upon “Rammstein” using a good old German proverb in one of their songs: You have to dig really deep to get CLEAR water. (“Tiefe Brunnen muss man graben, wenn man klares Wasser will.”) Which, I think, contains a fairly good description of the process. And it doesn’t matter what you call it. I called it “Greek tragedy” because the impact made me remember what I had heard about “catharsis” at school, and probably never understood. But it must have made an impression on me that, by this kind of process, you should be able to clean yourself of all the accidental stuff, and maybe get back to what you essentially are, and what you cannot lose. Being personally involved in the McCarthy “crucible”, Arthur Miller probably knew that there was no way of staying clean. Shit would rub off on you whatever you do. Maybe even WITHOUT having done anything you perceive as “guilt”. And Richard Armitage is certainly an actor who can come extremely close to a cathartic process like this – even without being afraid of being “changed as a person”. Which might be the whole point about tragedy, and which, I suspect, was exactly what Arthur Miller needed.