So here we sit, flood-grade flashlights in hand, for whatever this episode has to offer. I have to admit, I have not seen this one at all before. It's all shiny and
[+] Opening shot of Hannibal's office/house. I'm not sure, maybe I missed something-- but it's never really established for me whether they are two entirely separate buildings, or if he's just divided the space of an old manor-house to suit his needs. Regardless, the building in this shot looks like an art nouveau architect decided to try his/her hand at redesigning Thornfield Hall. X_x;;
[+] "Tell me, Will, do they speak to you?"// "With noise and clarity."
When Hannibal talks to Will, he sounds less like a doctor (of _any_ kind) and more like a spurious king questioning his oracle-lover or caged idol g-d.
Oh dear, this is going to be one of _those_ recaps. ^^;
Will is naturally more absorbed with the internal pain he's experiencing, but OH MY LORD YOUR PSYCHIATRIST SHOULD NOT SOUND LIKE THAT.
These two are way too intense. It's almost like they're having a mutual channeling or seance together. They feed off each other as the conversation evolves. Folie a deux, indeed.
[+] Hannibal even goes so far as to ask repeatedly about Marissa, almost hungering himself over Will's pain.
I don't know which version of Emily Post you're reading, Doctor Lecter, but I'm pretty sure it's rude to jack-off during someone else's therapy, hmmmkay?
[+] So, since that scene wasn't dark enough, let's move to a cheerful tableaux of rotting food, rigor mortis and family values. ^____^ This is the first of Will's trances I have found actively frightening, instead of just disturbing.
On the other hand, I have a watercolor pencil the color of Will's eyes. It's called 'pale hydrangea blue'.
[+] JACK: What do you see, Will?"
WILL: Family values.
Oh, yes, this is gonna go just fine. NOT.
[+] Meanwhile, Will is apparently okay with lending his house keys to cannibals, so they can come over and feed his doggies people-sausage.
Conscientious dog ownership: +1000
Life choices in general? MINUS INFINITY.
And, of course, Hannibal can't resist fiddling with Will's things, piano, and his underwear drawer. X_x;;
[+] Cut to a shot of Port Haven from an angle we haven't seen before. Now it looks like the Lowood School from Jane Eyre. No matter what it looks like, it NEVER stops being creepy, or giving the general impression of the very _last_ place I would want to convalesce.
[+] *deep breath* Feel free to skip this, because I'm about to spew emotional vomit all over the general personality type Alana is channeling at the moment.
ALANA: (to an Abigail who isn't too keen on group therapy) "Sharing will help you normalize."
No, no it won't-- because guess what? Everything that has happened to Abigail in at least the past few months (probably the last few years) is so far from normal as to exist in a separate layer of space and matter. IT IS NOT NORMAL. IT WAS NOT OKAY. Talking about it is not going to make it into a "garden variety trauma" (as if there is such a thing). Alana says she's going to help Abigail 'feel normal' again. Don't know what the hell that would entail but, hey Doc, don't make promises YOU CAN'T KEEP.
And then, _then_, because this porcelain-and-sugar bitch with her sad doe-eyes and her trim, modern femininity can't keep her damn mouth shut, she spouts some nonsense about "broadcasting victimhood". Oh, thank g-d you were there with your easily-obtained but incredibly expensive education, Dr Bloom! I am so glad that you went through all the proper training and sorority parties and internship under Hannibal fucking Lecter so you could tell us all about our responsibilities as "victims". Clearly, the girl who is stalked by a man twice her age, the victim of rape, the victim of domestic abuse…. clearly they have broadcast some sort of willingness to be subjected to this pain. It can't possibly be the responsibility of the excrement-riddled parody of a human being who actually perpetrated the crime.
LISTEN. I do not care if you walk down the street in broad daylight, wearing nothing but a thong made of candy floss. I don't care if you stand there shouting your unpopular opinion (educated or not) over a bullhorn. I don't care if you filched change out of the offering plate for _years_, or if you don't fit someone else's definition of a good [insert group requirement here].
NO ONE "DESERVES" to be raped. NO ONE "deserves" to be beaten, or bullied, or targeted, molested, tortured… any of the kaleidoscopically horrible agonies human beings can inflict upon each other. EVER. There is NO SUCH THING as someone who "asks" (via body language, beliefs, dress, or otherwise) to be a victim. Are there people who act like every little ill to befall their cushy little life is an insult to human civilization? Yes. But no one who has ever been hurt, _really_ hurt, would ask for that.
*shudders* I need to calm down now, because I'm actually trembling. So I'm just going to close with the most valuable piece of advice I have ever been given. It sounds trite, but it was a relief to hear it from an older, more experienced woman than I:
"You are not a stalking "victim". You are a stalking survivor."
Okay, tell you what we're gonna do. I'm gonna shower, calm down, and lie down. Tomorrow morning, I will reply to the much-more-coherent posts of my brilliant colleagues. THEN, in the evening, I'll try to write a real recap that doesn't involve me shouting and waving my arms like I'm possessed by a giant green rage monster. It might even be
Good plan? Good plan.
Dudes, I love you guys, and I shouldn't be so mean about Alana because I _know_ people like her character, sometimes _I_ manage to like her character…. but sometimes things just press my buttons, and I have so. many. buttons. to be pressed.
So, lots and lots of love, and tomorrow night we'll all pile on the carpet like Will's dogs and have a sleep over and braid each other's hair. ^_^