Reading my long treatise again now, having
approached the end of the second series, I find it rather strange and naive. As
I am now close to the end of series two which appears to be the culminating
point of the most important “horror story” and central part of the series: the
story about the relationship of Will Graham and Hannibal. That was the first
time when I “got stuck” and suddenly saw no point in watching it anymore. Not
because I was actually bored with it – though maybe the “fun part” unexpectedly
relenting after the adventure with the social worker inside the horse made me focus
on the “bone structure”, and, for the first time, SERIOUSLY asking myself if it
is morally acceptable - or “good for me” - to watch this … At least I didn’t
feel good watching it anymore, having probably arrived at a deeper level of
understanding of what all this might REALLY be about. But there are multiple levels,
and I don’t suppose I have arrived at the highest (or lowest) I am capable of.
At least I hadn’t then because the feeling that made me recoil has passed and
given way to a new bout of joy, and admiration, of the kind that happened with
Shakespeare about two years ago. This feeling that I am actually capable of UNDERSTANDING
something that is so far from what I could understand before. That I am capable
of understanding so much more than I can EXPLAIN. I’d just give an example
which has to be about something I can explain. I know I always wanted to
understand why people get pleasure from sadomasochist sexual practices. Not
because I want to be able to explain it – this might not be so hard because
there is no pleasure like the one when the pain, stress, or fear subsides. So
there must be something IN the pain … But explaining is no use to me here, and
I never knew how little use until now, because to UNDERSTAND it would mean to
understand WHAT IT FEELS LIKE. And, as I am a coward, I never will. And I am
not even sorry for it, I know it is not what I want, the “end product”, I just
somehow want to get the SUBSTANCE out of it – like in a poem. In this case it
is a poem about the “dark side” where it is REALLY dark, not seen through the
light the other side is shedding on it but the other way round: the ABSOLUTE
evil like a universal darkness swallowing up all the light. Maybe I understood
that IF I want to deal with it at all, THIS is the right way to do it. It HAS
TO be dangerous and partly disagreeable. Like “everybody” knows that a lot of
what makes life worth living comes from the dark side of it, but there are
probably not so many people who really understand this? Or want to. Myself
included …
Presently,
reading “Hannibal” reminds me a lot of reading “Hamlet”: There are many steps
on the way, and every step appears really high, and then, having taken it,
suddenly looks quite flat. Just yesterday, watching the unexpectedly boring
commentary on episode seven of series three, I was suddenly brought back to the
beginnings of my reading where I think I just groped for something I thought I
knew to somehow explain why I was so pleased with it. And realized that I have
come a long way. But I still don’t know if I am approaching the end of my
reading or if I am right at the beginning. Though, having now seen the biggest
part of the first series and getting increasingly used to the specificity of
the world, at least it appears that I can make better use of my, until now,
rather unspecific observations.
In
particular, it appears to have been useful to overcome my revulsion regarding
Will Graham which was instant and complete as soon as I met him for the first
time in the third series. But of course the first series is necessary to see
what this character really is about, and understanding him better certainly
helps to understand the series better. But it is interesting that – even though
I didn’t like any of these characters, probably with the exception of a
substantial part of Francis Dolarhyde and a smaller part of Reba McClane – I
was repelled in this way only by three characters: Bedelia Du Maurier, Alana
Bloom, and Will Graham. As if they had a particular smell about them which I
couldn’t detect on any of the other characters. And I just thought hard about
why this might be – because, wouldn’t it make a lot more sense to be repelled
by characters like Mason Verger, Abel Gideon, Dr. Chilton, or, by the way,
Hannibal Lecter? And I think I am able to name that smell: It is the smell of
the victim. Which is still strange because Bedelia Du Maurier is certainly less
of a victim than Dr. Chilton, but, strangely, appears to me more “damaged” in a
way. Maybe because Dr. Chilton – though he appears to lose almost every part of
his body to some kind of psychopath during the series - appears surprisingly
little involved. The reason I found out about this was my reaction to Alana
Bloom that was totally different when I met her again in the first series –
before anything has happened to her. In fact, the difference as to her
personality is striking, to the point of her probably being the third character
I might have liked, if only for her calmness and poise, whereas she totally
repelled me in the third series.
This
observation I set aside for the time being, for further use, as I expect.
Instead I am taking up another thread about these characters being kind of like
“fairy-tale” characters because of their “unlikeliness” as real people and
their position within this web of second meaning which becomes more and more
apparent as I am “reading” on. I recently watched a film I had bought on dvd
after having seen it last year in the cinema: “The Tale of Tales” – which is a
strange Italian film, with a very international cast, about fairy-tales being
“taken seriously” as to the horrible content they entail. Being skinned alive,
or kidnapped by an ogre, raising a flee to the size of a calf, or finding
yourself in bed with a withered hag instead of the beautiful creature you expected
can prove rather disconcerting if you actually SEE it. I suppose that is in fact
THE POINT about fairy-tales because: who wouldn’t secretly have wished (and
feared!) to see the witch in “Hansel and Gretel” being so truly horrible as we
imagined her to be when we played that game where the witch chases the other
players to touch and immobilize them. (The whole point of the exercise probably
being to have a reason to run about like mad, screaming like banshees. A
healthy exercise we cannot even think of performing anymore when we are grown
up …) Well, the film gave me at least a taste of it – which was probably the
reason that I felt like buying the dvd. And, if you see actors playing these
things, a dimension is automatically added which we never take into account
reading fairy tales: the impact these things have on the people who are
affected by them. There is a lot of change going on in fairy tales, much more
than anyone could stomach in real life – though heartbreaking and wonderful things
“like this” might happen unexpectedly – but we never have to deal with the
psychological dimension of this change. And this is probably where the
successful amalgamation of these two dimensions – the fairy tale layer and the
“real world” of forensic and psychological nightmares – is most striking and works
the most on the audience. On the one hand you can “take” it because it is kind
of exaggerated and absurd, beautiful in a way, as is the violence of the fairy
tales, and even funny. (Maybe it reflects badly on me that I can at least understand
that people are amused by horror – not just dark, cynical humour but actual
horror! – more than I could understand that before. Even though it is still not
really my thing.) On the other hand, I have never seen this change in people
being so striking as if you compare these characters in the first series to
what they have become in the third series. Of course everybody became older,
and, in most cases, it is this age where young irrevocably turns into middle
aged, and it shows – to the benefit of the series. But I don’t think I have
seen anything like the change of Alana Bloom, being turned into some kind of
zombie from the very calm but very “alive” young woman she has been before she,
literally, gets broken. And the more subtle but no less horrible changes in the
case of Will Graham, Dr. Chilton, Bedelia Du Maurier, and, last but not least,
Hannibal Lecter. I let this stand, again, expecting to get back to it later.
The
reason I started to write this was that I had kind of a break-through lately
watching the first series because of something Hannibal said concerning Will
Graham. And there understanding this character and his role in the series
better proved important as he occupies in fact a typical “fairy-tale position”
which I’d call the position of “everyman”. The position that every reader can –
or is supposed – to take, which is again the reason that he stubbornly strikes
me as kind of the only person in this series who is “normal”, though I know
very well that he isn’t. Hannibal, having discovered how special Will Graham is,
has begun to care for him very much because of his ability to completely sympathize,
even where we usually shut down this process because we don’t want to
contemplate the workings of the “evil” mind and psyche. (Looking at him we
might see why – if we didn’t know that already. And, as to Hannibal caring for
you – you just pray that this doesn’t happen! If it does it will certainly
change your life …) At one point Hannibal explains what is “wrong” with Will.
When we are children our brain is swarming with mirror neurons which are
supposed to make us able to socialize and most of which will die, whereas Will
Graham has somehow kept them alive – probably to his own disadvantage. This
cynical explanation of the process of growing up might not even be strictly
true – though it is indeed a compelling question WHAT USE we make of our
surviving mirror neurons, lots of which are still there in most of our brains,
no doubt about that … And I think if we are able to shed our prejudices in an
area that is riddled with prejudices we might learn something about that - and
“us”! - watching this series …
First of
all, it is certainly not irrelevant WHO Will Graham is sympathizing with. Even
though it is important to realize that it is not exactly “sympathy” but that he
cannot keep his mirror neurons from firing – and he doesn’t experience that as
fascinating but mostly as horror. But isn’t it kind of strange that his mirror
neurons always work “for” the perpetrators and never for the victims, that he
always assumes their position? It might be a pointless question because he
probably trained his mirror neurons to do just that, even though we never learn
anything about it. Still, on a meta-level, the question remains relevant and
brings me back to what I have already realized about my own reaction to
victims. To put it crudely: Why aren’t we usually interested in the victim’s
point of view but in the killer’s?
There is
one obvious answer to this. If we are honest: WHO would we rather be? (If we
had to choose, I mean. As it is, we’d probably rather be who we are, not being
either of them.) The answer would explain at least why “we” usually don’t care
about the victims, in a fictional context, because to sympathize with them
would be so disagreeable. We only do this when they are not already dead – and
when there is hope that the story will be turned around. And, depending on the
context, we usually know when this is the case. (Though I cannot know if there
are lots of people like me who are much more satisfied with this kind of story
if these expectations are “unexpectedly” thwarted …)
Until
now, I didn’t really know if I was just collecting “evidence” or if I was
really getting somewhere with all this. But when I just left my computer and
went out shopping, as it happens, the whole thing came crashing down on me. And
there is so much of it that I have to apologize already for this to become
really long, and that I don’t know where to begin.
Maybe right
at the beginning. As I realize now, watching the first part of the third series
(episode 1-7) I didn’t understand anything about what was happening. From
episode 8 to the end it suddenly became much more consistent because, with the
Red Dragon, a new story-line begins which has not so much to do with what
happened during the two series before that. Still, understanding close to
nothing, I was fascinated. I think this can only have been because I had the
impression that this was something I had never seen before, and I probably
“smelt” opportunity. Maybe a challenge as well, to overcome my fears and
prejudices to maybe get at something “new”. For some reason “Hannibal” proved -
and still does - an especially fertile “dunghill” for all kinds of new insights
and questions to grow out of it. Especially, as I have remarked before about
emotions: questions I am NOT SUPPOSED to ask. And because I never liked this
kind of restrictions it has always been important for me to do just that. First
of all, I found - to my amazement! - that I had encountered a safe environment
where I could do dangerous things.
For not
letting this become too general - and because I have really missed this! - I
refer to something Richard Armitage said about playing Francis Dolarhyde. And I
should say something about the character first – which is this singular
construction that makes him so interesting to play. There is a real challenge
how to do that as he isn’t just some “commonplace” psychopath who imagines
himself turning into a dragon. He is this amalgamation of a human being that
remains a human being, and this strange creature “on his back” he has to deal
with. In a way he is wrestling with it – which is interesting to play – but also
embraces it as some kind of dream, and probably some part of his personality,
or opportunity, that has always been there and which he finds fascinating. As I
certainly said already, the performance is exceptional, as I think not least because
there is some really important experience to go into this character – or to
“come out” of playing him. An important part of it appears to be something
Richard Armitage said in his commentary in more general terms. He said that the
reason for him to become an actor was probably the opportunity to do things you
cannot do in real life, when you are grown up, especially being really loud and
aggressive and probably irrational – I specified here because he didn’t
elaborate that much on it. But I think this is what he meant. There is one
little scene in the series I totally loved which is about this. Just before the end, when Hannibal Lecter actually meets him face to face, he says something about the beautiful, "poetic" state Dolarhyde has created for himself by becoming the dragon, something with "the immediacy of childhood". And, for a
moment, it appears as if he “got through” to him. It might have been a split-second of truth for this character – though he cannot actually take this step
back and look at his truth through the eyes of other people. At what he has
become. Same as for all the “mad” serial killers: what has brought them where
they are cannot be undone – as only Hannibal is able to fully realize and to accept.
He sees them as a success not as a failure, a development from a powerless position
towards obtaining power and control over their lives (and the lives of others!).
I don’t
think that Francis Dolarhyde knows that he is still this child, but it certainly
was a key element in playing him, and, as usual, I was impressed by the level
of detail Richard Armitage used on this aspect. For example he said that he
removed hair from his legs because he wanted Francis Dolarhyde to have an “innocent-looking
body”. I suppose as well that it makes a bigger contrast – between the
innocent, childlike part and the horrible, dangerous, though kind of
accomplished and beautiful, “dragon part". And this contrast is actually why
this character came out so great. It is what makes him stand out more, be more
of a fairy-tale character, but, at the same time, it is about some elementary part
of human life. Because this contrast is there “in” everybody for a time, when
we are children. At least I suppose so, I can’t really know. But I remember
this about myself, and find it irresistible in children, especially male
children where it is usually more pronounced. They can be these lovely and
caring little boys AS WELL AS really big, scary dragons. My best evidence for
this was my nephew Felix who was – and still is! – exceptionally well equipped
with mirror neurons. Nonetheless, at the age of seven he decided that he wanted
to become a head-hunter – actually meaning by this that he wanted to kill
people for a living. And he actually built gallows to hang his lego-men – and I
didn’t see anything strange in this because I REMEMBERED to have done things
like this when I was a child. Until his mother saw it and was appalled. - There
are certainly many degrees of this aggressive part found in children, and she might
actually have been this “good little girl” – despite my bad influence as an
elder sister – which I never was. At least there was still this opportunity to
be what YOU JUST FELT LIKE being. And I remember “him” very well – that
violent, aggressive, loud, and uncompromising part of myself. (I even remember
very well that I might have caused somebody to be hurt, or worse, when I was a
small child, KNOWING IT – as this is the reason it is one of my very few
genuine childhood memories.) Which is probably why I understood so well what
Richard Armitage meant, and why I was so pleased with it. I know that, until I
was ten or eleven, I was convinced that I would somehow turn out male – even
though of course, had somebody asked me, I would have said that I would become
a woman. But that was just a fact, it didn’t MEAN anything yet. I suppose it
must have come as a shock when I suddenly and irrevocably turned out female – the
kind of shock that is so horrible that it has to be deleted … I am making fun
of this now, a bit, but it is about something quite serious. Because, if you
actually turn out male, that’s lucky for the little dragon as you don’t have
automatically to let go of him. You might get lucky and become a violent criminal,
or a professional footballer - or an actor. Something like this might happen as
well if you are a woman but it is much more unlikely. The odds are – if the
“dragon” part has to be permanently suppressed - that you will turn out very
unhappy, embittered, even mentally ill or suicidal. I know it took me far too
long to realize this, but, luckily, the little dragon wasn’t quite dead yet.
And, looking back, I know what kept him alive …
So, one
of the attractions of this series for me is certainly that a context is being
created where I can actually experience and imagine things that are very “far
out” from what “we” are supposed to feel, experience, and do. The farthest
point certainly being to kill and eat our fellow men and women. And, of
course, it is impossible to accept that, which means to accept Hannibal. Now,
this is of course where the series becomes really mean and sly if we allow it
to draw us in. And, as I realized examining Will Graham, it does this
“stealthily” by the way these pivotal characters, namely Will Graham, Jack
Crawford, and Hannibal Lecter, are set up. Resisting both Will Graham and
Hannibal Lecter to a certain degree, in my case it happened in a slow and
controlled way. Jack Crawford I didn’t resist, nor was I drawn to him – or drawn
by him - in any way. Not because this character isn’t convincing. He is exactly
right and duly impressive the way Laurence Fishburne played him. But, even
though he is in the most powerful position, he doesn’t have any real influence
on what is happening. Having seen how he just “drops out” in the third series I
think I will be able to uphold this opinion. He has no part in Armageddon (or
Ragnarok?) at the end. And that is for me so far the most interesting aspect
about this character, that he is so isolated. Still in the third series he
pretends to wield some influence over Will Graham but this is just how it
appears. In truth Will Graham is not driven by him in any way but by other
considerations – and, of course, manipulated by Hannibal. So, the most
interesting aspect about this character – who is formally in a god-like
position of power – is that he has no real power because he is in fact isolated
and aloof. I wondered for a while what this story about his dying wife is for.
I thought probably to make him appear more like a proper human being. And maybe
it is. But on me it doesn’t work at all in this way, it doesn’t change anything
about him “into” human because he is as unable to reach her in this
relationship as he is to influence anything else that is happening, especially
where Will Graham is concerned. And to lose her, in the end, just emphasizes
that he has finally lost EVERYBODY. Seen as a metaphor, he is the image of a
powerless god.
And, as
I said, from a symbolic point of view, Will Graham is “everyman”, set into a
very strange spot between the opposite “powers”. I usually never take the
position of “everyman”, and am even less tempted in this case, probably because
I don’t like Hugh Dancy as an actor. Maybe this is unfair because his character
is “unsatisfactory” in this respect, requiring the kind of acting I dislike, with
little variety and development even though a lot is going on emotionally which
is so “huge” and gross that it is impossible to play convincingly. It is
probably exactly right as he does it, but I am soon tiring to constantly see
the same emotions on his face appear really “big” and obvious as an appeal to
sympathize with him. I rather like actors who are reluctant to invite me in but
make me guess at what is just happening. (This
assessment has been partly subverted, watching the second part of the series.
There is definitely more interesting change going on, and more subtlety, than
in the first series.) The important and gratifying part about this
character is probably interacting with the other characters because Will Graham
affects - and is affected by - everybody. So, his key position – which “we”
have to adopt – is probably not so much about UNDERSTANDING HIM and taking him
seriously which, at least for me, is impossible. But this position I can still
adopt disliking him. It is the position of a medium that makes us understand
other people better. And to understand the series better, and to enjoy it, because
its horror is definitely less about hurting our sensibilities than about
UNDERSTANDING things we are very reluctant to understand. And it is in fact a
very subtle kind of horror which unfolds itself reluctantly, at least in my
case, as taking the position of Will Graham helps us to understand and accept Hannibal.
And this
sentence was actually one that was difficult for me to write. Though I should
say: difficult to READ because I love writing things like this, but I had a moment
of asking myself if I have definitely become mad now, writing something like
this, MEANING IT. Though I never think in that way about actors playing these
characters AS IF they understand them and believe in them. I don’t think I ever
really wanted Mads Mikkelsen to become one of my favourite actors, though I have
always found him fascinating, because he spooks me. But now he has obviously
overwhelmed me. And, when this happens, there is nothing I can do … And maybe
even BELIEVING this: that Mads Mikkelsen understands and accepts Hannibal, does
it for me? I don’t have to do it myself …?
That was
the next moment for me when I suddenly stood on the brink of some territory I
never meant to leave, looking onto country I was never meant to see … But this
is, of course, why I stayed with this series. It was the moment I understood
that I really believed this: that Mads Mikkelsen understood and accepted
Hannibal. It still is a theory, and a very preposterous one, and I will never
know if I am right. Because I am sure that it isn’t NECESSARY to really
understand a character – as a human being – to play him convincingly. I even
think that this is a very commonplace truth that everybody, thinking about it for
a minute, would accept. But: where is the fun in that? I even suppose that
there can be enough of great work in the process, working out all these things
you have to do. But it is probably not what the kind of actors I like so much
really WANT to do. And, maybe more preposterous still: the reason I came to
this insight about Hannibal is that I am convinced that every time I got
genuinely interested in one of these characters, and could see something I
hadn’t seen before, was when the actor really BELIEVED in them. This insight
about actors convincing me is one of the things I must have known for a long
time but never realized how important it was. As it explains the crucial part
of my relationship with actors – which, obviously, is unduly intense sometimes,
not to say strange, as probably just now … The first time I consciously
realized it was about Viggo Mortensen playing Aragorn in “The Lord of the
Rings”. When I first “met” Aragorn he didn’t convince me at all but I NEVER
STOPPED TRYING. It might be rather childish and ridiculous how much it meant
for me that ALL of these characters had to be totally convincing, but at least I
think I shared that craving with lots of people. (And I am still impressed how
much of a priority this has been for the people making these films!) And Viggo
Mortensen is not one of the actors I really like, though he is certainly
charismatic in a way. The reason he convinced me that “this” was Aragorn was
the way he BELIEVED in this character. And this is a strange example, of
course, because it is so simple. There will be very few examples where there
isn’t much more you need than to believe in the character. But that is what
Aragorn is about, so one simple experience may bring you right to the core of
the character and make him “radiate” it and bring it to the audience. And this
is of course what all this is about. What I need actors for. It is to bring me
to the place in the story, and the “world”, where I want to be. Which usually
is “inside” these characters.
And it
is, of course, very strange that Hannibal has been the key to fully understanding
this – not the exception! And preposterous, as I said, to uphold this theory:
that Mads Mikkelsen “believed” in Hannibal. Why it is so preposterous I would
never be able to explain convincingly but I have again Richard Armitage to help
me out. I just remembered two things he said in his commentaries … No, just
thinking about it for a moment, I realize that there is A LOT more. Mads
Mikkelsen didn’t do any commentaries, at least not in the third series, and I
am probably not really sorry that he didn’t, though it is unlikely I would have
found out too much about what I (do not?) want to know. But Richard Armitage
has a way of not only telling the truth where others would probably just say
what people want to hear, but of actually telling it “in a good way”. He didn’t
own up to not really having known the series, or the “world”, before he began
his work on the character in so many words. Though he had become very fond of
the book and worked with it in his usual meticulous way. And he had seen “The Silence
of the Lambs” – which was the first film he remembered being so scared watching
it that he would have wanted to clap his hands over his eyes and just not look.
Which is an experience he certainly shares with many people. It cannot be
coincidence that both Claudia and I remembered it when we talked about
“Hannibal”. I think, for me, it was when I finally decided that I don’t like
horror films. Still, it made a lasting impression of some kind, apparently, on
everybody who kept watching. But it doesn’t sound like the kind of impression you
might want to “renew” and intensify … And he wasn’t really “invested” in this
world – to the point of not even having watched the whole series before he
began to work on his character. Which he said to have been an advantage because
Francis Dolarhyde doesn’t really know the other characters either and he would
have had to “unknow” things. Well, there might not have been time, but I think,
if he had really enjoyed the “world” as I did, he would have kept watching. - At
one point during the episode he said: “O, I don’t know if I really want to see
this!” and, on another occasion, admitted that he wasn’t at all “good with
blood”. And he appeared to have been kind of unpleasantly surprised about what
his character had really done to these families - even though in the book it
must be even worse! – because, on screen, it is Will Graham who “does” it. He
even said that, if this had been in the script for him to play, he would have had
found it difficult to commit to. In which case, I think, it is safe to assume
that “difficult” is an understatement. - What this means as well is that he
couldn’t really be bothered with the rather important aspect of Francis
Dolarhyde being a killer of families. He said something to the effect that he
“assumed”(!) that the state his character was in when he murdered these people
was the same, kind of unreal state of frenzy and aggression he was in when he
was “with” the dragon. Well, that was certainly safe to assume, and I guess I
did that as well … And he probably assumed – correctly – that this aspect of
Francis Dolarhyde as a murderer would be taken care of independently of what he
did, and rather tried to “counteract” it with other, basically more human and
subtle, aspects of his character. Very successfully, I’d say. But he got lucky
being in a position where he could do this. And it is very interesting as well
what he said when Bryan Fuller asked him if he could just shed his character
like a coat after the shoot was finished. (And he must have known why this was
a question that made sense to ask! At one point he remarked that he had found
it fascinating how different people reacted to Richard Armitage as Francis
Dolarhyde and as Richard Armitage on the set. And Richard Armitage said that it
helped him that people saw him as Francis Dolarhyde!) The answer was typically
candid, and was for me like a key to understand this relationship
actor-character which is, as usual in his case, exceptionally intense and
personal. He said that he had been lucky that the more vulnerable part of
Francis Dolarhyde – which he was obviously so much invested in – wasn’t really
needed anymore from episode eleven to the end. So, he said, he just kind of “eased
out” of him. – Now, I am certainly impressed at what I remembered on this
subject without watching the commentaries again. And how much there is about
what it takes to play a character like this – if you are THIS KIND of actor. And
it might serve as SOME KIND of measure to BEGIN to understand what it might
mean to play Hannibal.
Now, I
cannot know what kind of actor Mads Mikkelsen is. Certainly actors on this
level of accomplishment and commitment to their work are individuals – not to
be put into any kind of categories. Though, basically, great actors shouldn’t
be that different as to the AMOUNT of mirror neurons still “active” as the rest
of the population because they really need them. But they might be as different
as the rest of us as to HOW THEY USE THEM. And I don’t know anything about how
Mads Mikkelsen works – though I suspect him of feeling a similar kind of
“responsibility” for the characters he plays as Richard Armitage does, just
judging from THE KIND of work I know he has done. Meaning that, if he feels
that the character isn’t “right” for him, or he for the character, he wouldn’t
commit to it. Which includes that it is some kind of work he really WANTS to
do. Be this as it may, if I had to choose I would say that Hannibal is the
EXTREMEST instance of acting I have ever come upon. And I am sure I have never
seen an actor who can convey that much WITHOUT ACTUALLY DOING ANYTHING. Of course
you can see these MINIMAL changes on his face, and these MINIMAL reactions, and
the way the expression of his eyes suddenly changes – but I cannot understand
how they can make such a big effect. I almost think that making us wait for
them – sometimes in vain! – makes them become so “big” in the end? I remember
that he permanently impressed me as Michael Kohlhaas, showing fear of death in
the most convincing manner I have ever seen without actually moving one muscle
on his face. And I think, somehow, it is the almost mathematical exactness – as
if he could calculate the effect of what he does in milliseconds or
millimeters. Or “milli-ounces” of emotions? The exact amount he needs to get a
certain result and which doing just a little bit too much would have ruined. I
had suggested as much, maybe without really knowing what I meant yet, when I
referred to him playing the character that was ELEVEN PERCENT bull … And I
realize that I could go on like this indefinitely, speculating about what he
does. But I shall never know – which is good! - and that is why he spooks me.
But it is of course extremely convenient for Hannibal.
I have
probably written something about actors playing enigmatic characters quite a
few times, but Mads Mikkelsen is certainly THE extreme in this respect as well.
So that, for the first time, I can specify where the enigma comes from. In most
cases it is probably about being able to incorporate extremes, or even
opposites, as we see them here. Because Hannibal has to be extremely repulsive
and kind of extremely attractive at the same time. Both of them not in a
physical way but as a person. Of course physical features – as his really
“special” Danish face - have a big part in it, as they have in any acting, but
the crucial part is probably how much aware the actor is of them, and with how
much skill he uses this awareness. And if you have got all this a hundred and
fifty percent right – as Mads Mikkelsen has – then you don’t have to worry
about the surplus of meaning this will create because “we” will never cease to
ask ourselves what is REALLY going on with this character. Even if our
suspicions have already been confirmed. As to the other actors, especially Hugh
Dancy and Laurence Fishburne, I would always concede that they got it “dead
right”, but Mads Mikkelsen, in fact “doing” very little, always does more than
I could have expected.
And there
is another opposite working “within” the more comprehensive one of
repulsive/attractive: the one between sublime confidence and vulnerability. In
the case of Hannibal the confidence and total efficiency with which he does
everything from killing to cooking elaborate meals (I cannot imagine a botched
job from him in the kitchen nor anywhere else!) is certainly attractive, AND
repulsive under certain circumstances. But even though, on the one hand, he is
“himself alone” within these walls of
secrets and deceit, on the other hand, in his professional function as a
psychiatrist as well as a private person, he has some rather intimate
relationships with other people. More so, he successfully reaches out to other
people, inviting them to “play” with him – though it must always be him who
calls the shots! But this reaching out, sometimes even visible as craving other
peoples’ trust and understanding, makes him appear vulnerable, and, of course,
more interesting. He doesn’t have to be “officially” in this absolute position
Jack Crawford has to be in – always ABOVE everybody else. But he assumes this
position stealthily, drawing other people into his orb. And this is, of course,
fascinating to watch. This is probably what makes “us” follow him over the
whole period of three series, without ever being bored or disappointed. Which I
think we wouldn’t do if there wasn’t this brittleness as well, the constant
danger that he might lose, as everybody does eventually …
Now I
have conveniently found a place from where I am able to catapult myself into
the end of the series – because I was afraid I would never arrive there! - and
to the beginning of my “reading”. Of course there are not really any winners at
the worlds end (Armageddon or Ragnarok, maybe there isn’t actually such a big difference?).
Conveniently, everything and everybody has to come to an end, even Hannibal. (I
tried not to worry about Bryan Fuller mentioning a 4th series??? Two
or three times even. Else, it might have been a joke? We have had so many
“resurrections” in this series as I haven’t seen anywhere else. Well, I’ll
believe that when I see it …) But his end isn’t such a “bad” one as “we” would
wish it to be? At least it certainly isn’t a defeat, having had the occasion of
killing the “dragon” by actually biting his throat – which is something Mads
Mikkelsen’s Hannibal does a lot less than Anthony Hopkins’ (which may be why
“we” like him better …?). But I take it he enjoyed it. (Hannibal, not Mads
Mikkelsen!) And, of course, being reunited with Will Graham.
One of
my first reasons of becoming so involved with the series was when I became
aware that it made me get in touch with the “absolute”. Something I usually
rather stay clear of, but in this case I liked the way of it very much, and just
recently a few coincidences allowed me to find a shortcut again to maybe understand
why. The first one was that, after having had a great time with all this
reading – especially “Hannibal” of course – I fell into a hole. I usually like
my work (at work!) though heaven knows why, unless I temporarily notice the
total pointlessness of it. Usually I have at least the impression of creating
some kind of result. But on that day I realized that all I had achieved after
nine hours work was to create MORE WORK for me. I already knew that I could
empathize with Sisyphos, and, for years, the squirrel-like creature Scrat from
“Ice Age” was the film character I could relate to the most. (I think, from
this point of view, the dwarves were a BIG improvement! Though maybe not THAT
different after all …) And, at times, I cannot help thinking that the only
reason I am not depressed must be that I am just too delusional to GET IT. That
I like my work, and my life, because I am lazy and stupid. Well, that was one
of these days …
When I
escaped my prison for a short while to get a proper coffee I came to think
about “Hannibal” and struck a relation with something else I have done lately.
Which was to visit an exhibition about the Viking Age. In this exhibition there
was a part where they played some of the tales about the Scandinavian Gods in a
dark room and at great length, so that it became kind of boring, and ruminant
at the same time. And this might have been why I suddenly REALLY understood
Loki. His disbelief and distress at seeing all these morons shooting at Balder
all day long, thinking that was fun! I suddenly understood that he must have
been bored out of his mind, and that he finally HAD TO come to the decision:
There now, let’s have some REAL fun! – And I think THIS is the existential horror
Hannibal Lecter experiences. This distress, or panic, which is at the bottom of
what he does. A kind of panic I can understand very well. How can it be that I
have lived my life and suddenly realize that nothing I did made a difference?
That there is no way I’ll ever get anything of what I really want … There is a
great moment in the series of this kind when we see Francis Dolarhyde for the
very first time, sitting in the cafeteria, looking at his hands. I don’t think
that I really understood what this was about before I listened to the commentary,
apart from this state of isolation and distress which comes across so clearly
that just this moment is somehow sufficient explanation for what he does. And
though Hannibal doesn’t let us see this – which he has put past him probably a
long time ago – it is still what he is constantly feeding on. It is there all
the time, like a “colour” of his personality, some kind of ubiquitous sadness. (Which
is again something I know very well, so that I infallibly get involved with
these characters …) Maybe preposterous as well, but the way Mads Mikkelsen
played this, we understand why he HAS TO do “Loki’s work”. - Of course, good
people can make a difference as well – and do, as I think mostly in a very
unobtrusive way, totally different from what “we” usually think about it. And I
have dealt with this already on behalf of the “Hobbit”. In fact, EVERYDAY
goodness is usually what keeps us from despair and nourishes EVERYDAY hope. Which
is, of course, the most important thing. But sometimes it is just NOT ENOUGH,
and “we” come to think about these fundamental things, mostly probably at the
beginning of adult life or approaching the end. And this is certainly something
that turning fifty has brought on – so far the only change I noticed: a REAL
understanding that “this” will not go on indefinitely. And this realization of
a void - even as some kind of “space” that is there and which we didn’t notice
before, leading to this belief that there HAS TO BE something else still, is,
in my opinion, the “embryonic” form of the absolute. And I definitely thrive on
the kind of stories where people decide to deal with it, and find all kinds of
creative solutions for the problem. Did I ever really wonder why …?
And I
know I am not one of these “good” people. To some extent I even agree with
Hannibal about us having to BECOME who we are. (Maybe even to a large extent,
being quite honest about it …) It is of course tempting sometimes to do good –
to see the result of goodness, and, of course, to be liked by other people. But
somehow it is not enough because there doesn’t appear to be a break-through. Even
Hannibal, I think, is “tempted” more than a few times but he actively resists
the temptation. Because: what is actually the point of all these bleak efforts
to save lives and restore order? At best we’ll just be where we already were in
the beginning. At best everything will go on as it always has. Taking lives and
creating chaos might be much more fun because WE DON’T KNOW WHAT WILL COME OF
IT. (And there is something again which I REMEMBERED watching the series: what
it is like to do something JUST because I want to see what will happen.) I probably
shouldn’t contemplate much further how well I can in fact understand Loki – and
Hannibal. Without having to bother personally with some aspects of what he does.
(Though it is of course crucial that they are represented convincingly, so that
it is necessary that Mads Mikkelsen does. So much about what actors can do “for
us” …) Without Loki, everything would have gone on just the same for ages and
ages. And, even if we tend to think so: it is not what we want. I don’t know, but
where “the end of all things” is concerned, maybe “we” are slyly reverting to
where the heathens already were, just shedding the insincere Christian faith
inconspicuously like an old coat which wanted to make us believe that we could
all be winners. The Vikings knew that there would be no winners, only
temporarily, but that the end would just be CHAOS. And that only from chaos and
destruction there would inevitably arise a new world – in a similar way as this
world was created from the torn and bloody limbs of a dead giant … Well, this
is not exactly uplifting, I still don’t really know why I enjoy it so much –
but isn’t it great that we still know, or can rediscover in this way, what
these ancient tales meant? Using modern characters, and science, and psychoanalysis,
playing with these, just TO THE SAME END? And, of course, our own feelings and
thoughts and experience … Isn’t THAT just great?