Hannibal Review: “And the Woman Clothed with the Sun…” (3×09)

By now, the project of what is essentially Bryan Fuller’s version of a Red Dragon miniseries is abundantly clear: Hannibal is portraying two parallel and intersecting stories about the lasting effects that a man like Hannibal Lecter and his various, horrible misdeeds can have on the world around him. That’s a thread that runs through the novel and the film adaptation, as well—in a take on the well-worn trope, Jack calls Will back on the job for one final case. But in all the previous takes on this story, that trauma was implied. Here it is text. And we are reminded of it over and over again.

“And the Woman Clothed with the Sun” takes great pains to remind us of perhaps the greatest trauma Hannibal inflicted upon Will: his grooming and eventual murder of Abigail. In stealing Abigail away from Will, he perverted the one healthy relationship Will had managed; he called into question his ability as a friend, father, and his basic humanity. In murdering Abigail before Will’s eyes, Hannibal must have thought he was making some grand gesture of love. Instead, he ruined Will nearly beyond repair.

Knowing all of that and flashing back to Hannibal’s time with Abigail to give even more (super, super creepy) context to the whole affair, makes Will’s status quo in these episodes all the more poignant. He has managed to put himself back together, to find a wife and a son, and to live a relatively normal life. Hannibal inherently threatens that, and Jack knows it. His disregard for Will’s well-being, which was the engine of much of the early half of season two, is back in full force here. Jack seems to think that Will would say no, if he truly were unable to come help. Hannibal knows better, and he knows that that’s the avenue directly into Will’s head.

This is one of the greatest improvements that Hannibal makes upon the source material: these are all good friends. Will, Jack, Hannibal, and Alana have history, and it informs their decisions now. Alana worries about Will and about Jack’s manipulation of him as well as about Hannibal’s: “I’m not just worried about you. Last time it didn’t end with you.”

It’s fitting, then, that the episode hinges around each of the three protagonists paying Dr. Lecter a visit. Will is nearly crippled by just one conversation with Hannibal. Alana takes pleasure in toying with Hannibal, and she clearly revels in his reversal of fortune—check out the great blocking in her conversation with him, as the camera holds close on Hannibal, with Alana out of focus in the background; she only comes into focus when she gets a particularly good jab in about his imprisonment or Will’s utter indifference toward him.

As for Jack, he spends his time trying to justify himself to Hannibal—he recognizes the mind game but still falls victim to it, and, in fact, he leaves, opting out of the conversation rather than winning it, once he realizes that Hannibal has pulled what is essentially a trump card. The best thing any of these people could do is leave Hannibal to rot in his indignity and forget him entirely, but only Will really managed to begin to do that, and now he’s lost his chance. Look at the toll that this is already taking on him: away from Molly, his nightmares return, and his bed is once more drenched in sweat; when he looks into a mirror, his reflection shatters before him.

Of course, throughout all of this, the FBI continues its investigation into the Tooth Fairy murders, and they’re getting nowhere fast, even with Lecter’s help. Francis Dolarhyde is just as theatrical as Hannibal ever was, but the geographical distance between his crimes is a stumper. Seeing Dolarhyde in his daily life, it’s unsurprising that a man so reticent would be so careful in his insanity. Richard Armitage doesn’t speak his first lines until well into this episode, yet even in silence, he is thoroughly magnetic as Dolarhyde. There is a brief, as-yet unexplained flashback to his childhood; there are glimpses of him splicing together horrifying film of his handiwork, paralleled with Will’s study of the families’ home movies. There is the revelation that he kills the family pets prior to killing the families themselves.

And then there is his courtship with Reba McClane, played here by Rutina Wesley. Reba is blind, which adds a particularly unsettling element to their scenes. His awkward nature plays to her as almost charming, but we can see Dolarhyde and know that he’s anything but. That kind of blindness to certain aspects of one’s character is one that’s been a major theme throughout the series, but especially this season; we see it in Bedelia’s relationship to Hannibal, in Alana’s with the Vergers, and, of course, in Will’s with Hannibal.

By the end of the episode, Dolarhyde has placed a call to Hannibal, beginning another different courtship. Their collusion here links the past and present of the show, as well as giving Hannibal another avenue to inflict further trauma, even from within his cell. Why do the characters continue to subject themselves to him? Perhaps it’s something akin to charm. But it appears it’s quickly becoming too late for them to extricate themselves.

Stray Observations:

• Once you see the gay subtext on this show, you cannot unsee it. The opening scene is two ex-boyfriends talking to each other, word for word.
• Alana is still with Margot! As a matter of fact, this episode marks the first time that I feel like the new characterization of Alana is clicking. They’ve sort of merged her with Chilton from the books (making you wonder why they kept him around at all), but it works quite well.
• Another great shot—Will calls home to Molly, and, for a moment, they’re sharing the same bed.
• So does Hannibal’s cell really look like that, or is he imagining it? It’s never quite clear.
• Freddie Lounds is back! She called Will and Hannibal Murder Husbands! “Well, you did run off to Europe together.”
• NBC Doesn’t Care About Fannibals: In my market, Hannibal was pre-empted for a Phillies game and was then joined in progress. There’s making a sound business decision, and then there’s being downright rude.