Very quickly, for any one who missed it, I posted another piece of Hannibal fan art Abigail Vs The Zombies. Let it be noted that, unlike Alana, Abigail dresses stylishly and sensibly for the apocalypse. So there.
Not beta'd. You Have Been Warned. ^_~
[+] When last we left our intrepid heroes, Agent Crawford was taking his bag of troubles to the door of the worst person possible-- the author of said woes. Okay, so Hannibal didn't give Bella cancer, but he certainly wormed his way into her confidence in a manner that effects Jack most painfully. Not a conflict of interest, my ass.
[+] Fishburne actually does some really great acting here-- his voice is congested with tears, reaching a rough and gravely register in a way that isn't at all over-done. I actually feel for him here. It's not that I hate Jack's character as a person… it's more that I hate the person he is to other people. It's akin to not hating the stone thrown in the water, but being really pissed off by the ripples. X_x; That made more sense in my head.
[+] And flash back to Miriam Lass inspecting one of the Ripper's crime scenes. Earnest young FBI trainee is earnest! It strikes me as weird/odd that she identifies the Ripper as "not white"-- at what point in Europe do you draw a line differentiating? The term 'Caucasian' refers to an geographical area in Eurasia, near the Caspian Sea. It's actually in the modern-day country of Georgia. So that doesn't help. I don't know why this grates on me so much, but it has since the first time I watched. There was a time when the Irish weren't considered "white"; Western Civilization enshrined Ancient Egyptian and Greek culture while looking down its nose at the actual inheritors. If Miriam had just stuck with 'exotic' or 'non-American', I think I'd be okay… I just don't like this 'othering' of Hannibal, in the sense that he is definitely a villain that survives by exploiting all the tropes and inherent privileges of being a 'sophisticated' white male. It's a lovely patina very a maggot-eaten corpse and, whether Harris intended it or not, an interesting commentary.
[+] On a lighter note, I am really fascinated by the sea-blue moire chaise in Hannibal's office. It's such a nice color.
[+] Moving on, Jack-- already on edge-- has the pleasure of being fucked with even _more_ by the Chesapeake Ripper. It's a phone call… from beyond the grave. Team Science shows up, professionally doing their thing, but Zeller's logical monologue is Very Much Not Appreciated. Crawford tells him he might need to leave "while it's still safe for [him] to be here."
… How nice! I get to check off another box on my List of Things Jack Does That Even A Novice Retail Manager Wouldn't Do.
It's gonna be a long list, so I think I need a shorter title. ^^;
[+] Will says he 'sees' the Ripper in Gideon's work, but doesn't 'feel' him.
… Will, darling, I hate to say it, but the Ripper would love to feel you. In more ways than are comfortable to contemplate, actually. X_x;;
[+] Will is also running on very little sleep-- dozing at his desk, presumably grading the papers of unimaginative students who fell for his trick question in 1x03. The nightmare stag saunters in, bold as you please, as if to say "hey, buddy, I know I don't have an appointment, but I thought we could head down to Shakey's for a beer.
… My what big *cough* antlers you have. Snerk.
[+] Oh, look-- Jack wants to poke the Chesapeake Ripper. It's okay! It's all in the service of the Efa Bee Eye. If more people lose their lives, it is totally not his fault. In some way that he hasn't… quite… figured out yet.
[+] So they call in Feddie, who is all about showcasing her love of fur and gloves. She's really into this Lois Lane/My Girl Friday thing she's got going. Rosalind Russell, she ain't.
And then everyone plays a game of "my profession is more appealing to sociopaths than yours". Apparently journalism ranks at Number 6, with Law Enforcement coming hot on the heels for Number 7.
[+] Incidentally, Freddie's article actually makes Hannibal look honestly put out. It's not rage, by any means, but it's a hell of a lot more genuine irritation than we've ever seen before. My theory is that Freddie also grossly misplaced some commas and turned off her spell-check, just to make sure she got on his nerves.
[+] Meanwhile, Papa Bear Jack isn't happy, even though he gets exactly what he wanted. Someone has been sleeping in his bed, leaving
[+]Hannibal has Chilton and Alana over, and serves them dinner. Dr Lecter, this is one of those occasions when you should have gone all-out and served both of them for dinner. Though I doubt there are enough Tums in the continental United States to help one successfully digest Chilton.
Chilton also proves that he is far more fashion-challenged than Will. Will exists in a sphere entirely separate from these notions, and thus achieves a sort of bohemian picturesqueness. Chilton is trying… way too hard. From the tips of his spray-paint beard to the lapels of his clashing brown coat.
(We will not discuss Lecter's print-on-print issues, mostly because I like my tongue exactly where it is. And McDonald's is closed. ^_~)
[+] There are a lot of distressing things about the Observatory. Not the least of which is the fact that, the last time I was in one, it was for a truly lovely avant-garde wedding. A good friend of mine rented it for the ceremony and the reception-- it was almost magical, complete with white flowers and candles floating in mason jars. And, because Kristin does whatever the hell she wants, the cake-topper was a Lego bride and groom.
… Sorry, brief detour there. I do like the fact that we see Beverly and Will coming up the walk together. She's one of the few people we see casually interacting with Will's personal space; walking shoulder-to-shoulder with him, propping herself against his desk. It makes me simultaneously found of Beverly, and very sad for Will.
Oh, and Jack? That's the sound of one hand clapping. Just for you.
[+] So, Jack ends his day pretty much where he started-- emotionally exhausted, lurching into the 'shelter' of Lecter's threshold like someone numb from the cold. Hannibal LOVES this. He may not have been a Boy Scout, but he is always prepared. (Apparently with enough storage space to preserve body parts of for lengthy periods of time. Whatever brand he uses should get him to endorse them-- "it's not just a meat-locker". ^_~)
[+] And, of course, the final flashback shows us what we expected all along: Miriam Lass paying the price for doing Jack's dirty work. I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about Hannibal and his artwork. I'll try to keep it succinct. ^^ I find it interesting that even though this is the second time we've observed his work, there are definitely some dominant themes. Both times, his pieces have been rendered in monochrome, using dry media. Hannibal is fastidious; a man of sharp pencil points, exact angles, minutely rendered shadows. No blur of the Impressionist, no romanticism of the Pre-Raphaelite. He is a relentless, unforgiving realist. Look at the details in the female nude. She is not a full form; we see her back, the suggestion of a face in profile, limbs extending out of frame. Every detail is anatomically perfect-- no extra rounding of the buttocks or lushness of lip to suggest even the faintest sexuality of an artist who is attracted to the gender of his subject. She is in no way idealized, but her full figure also isn't celebrated the way Neo-Rocco lovers of flesh (even when it's covered) prefer.
… maybe I'm letting my knowledge of the character color my perception of the picture, but… she's a slab of meat. Right down to the fold of skin above the waist, and the faint cellulite on her rear. In contrast, the Wound Man image seems almost a clever little wink, or a smirk hidden behind the hand.
I'm sure I sounded _really_ pretentious above, and I apologize. I really spend way, way too much time thinking about the relationship between Hannibal and his art. Which is funny, because I don't remember what (if anything) Harris specifically had to say on the matter.
And with that, we're out! ^_^