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Let’s get one thing straight immediately: “The Number of the Beast is 666” is a non-stop tour de force, from beginning to end. It is virtuosic in its scope, full of intimate scenes and juicy dialogue arranged around a lurid, stunning centerpiece that takes one of the most iconic, oft-parodied scenes of modern horror and makes it freshly terrifying. Make no mistake, Hannibal’s penultimate episode is perfect. It pains me that we have just one more week to revel in this brilliance.

That’s not hyperbole, either. The opening conversation between Will and Bedelia is, as is any conversation on this show featuring Gillian Anderson’s magnificent, lilting delivery, magnetic. A similar conversation appears later in the episode the episode, and taken together they are revelatory. Subtext has been becoming text for most of this season, but here we officially go there, with Will’s realization, at Bedelia’s suggestion, that Hannibal may in fact be in love with him. Leaving aside how very cool the notion of recasting the Hannibal mythos as a queer story is, the idea that the series has all along been built around, and in fact is building toward the conclusion of, this relationship provides context and weight to this final arc.

The discussion of Bluebeard’s wives, the idea that Hannibal uses Will as his agent in the world, and the return to the notion of participation—the suggestion that Will in fact chooses to be Hannibal’s agent in the world—all serve to recapitulate and to magnify the conflicts that have defined the series. Because with Hannibal behind bars, are not many of these conflicts beside the point? The devil is caged. And yet Jack is still a vengeful, manipulative, deceitful God. Alana is still cold and caustic, a far cry from the warm, nurturing woman we met three seasons ago. Will may very well be the murdering lunatic Freddie Lounds accused him being. Francis Dolarhyde may appear to be a wild card streaking through this assemblage, but it is all Hannibal Lecter’s design.

This is something Bedelia knows first-hand, knows instinctively, and perhaps this is why she seems to take such relish in laying it out for Will. Gillian Anderson’s addition to the cast has paid dividends this season, and her delivery here is as on point as ever; each word is clipped and crisp and fraught with meaning beneath the monotone of her voice. Bedelia is not the only who appears to be enjoying herself, either. Hannibal himself is a delight this episode, as Mads Mikkelsen’s performance edges closer to the rendition of the character with which we are most familiar. He has a permanent smirk plastered across his face, whether he is taunting Jack and Alana with their errors, lambasting Chilton one final time, or even, in a split-second gag shot, slurping up one of Chilton’s disembodied lips.

So much of the momentum here, then, is derived from long-standing character arcs coming to a head; from the continued twisting and turning and repeating of various motifs. Jack has always been manipulative of Will; now Will is aware of it and can call Jack on it, even if he continues to participate. Hannibal ribs at Alana, reminding her that he once tasted her lips, as well. Bedelia alludes to Bluebeard’s wives, but says with emotion that she would have preferred to have been the last (implying instead that she, like all of the others, has suffered some sort of death at Hannibal’s hand).

If the episode had just been a string of these sorts of scenes it would have been a series highlight. But it is the Red Dragon’s contribution to the episode that makes “The Number of the Beast is 666” the pinnacle of the series. (At least, one hopes, to date.) Dolarhyde’s abduction and torture and eventual murder of Chilton occupies an entire, extended twenty minute act of the episode, though it is unfortunately split by a commercial break (to give NBC credit, they did time it with a natural deflation of the tension, at Reba’s appearance). The entire thing is masterful, not least because this is such a recognizable, work-defining sequence. If you are anything like me, you cannot hear “do you see?” and not think first of South Park’s parody. But here we have a marvel of sustained a horror, a writer’s workshop in the slow ratcheting up of dramatic tension. Small scenes within the sequence fade to black and fade back in, mimicking Chilton’s consciousness throughout. Chilton is tied to a chair, shot from below, and above him the Dragon towers, his face obscured by a black mask that is more than a little reminiscent of our old friend, the Wendigo.

The writing and the direction are top-notch, but it is both performances that seal the deal. Raul Esparza plays Chilton with the perfect degree of smarm, but he turns that performance on its head here, parlaying Chilton’s fear into a considerable amount of audience sympathy. As for Richard Armitage, he is terrifying. His performance is so innately physical, from the jerking motions he makes as the Dragon, to the guttural growl the he modulates seemingly from the pit of his stomach. You are, in large part thanks to Armitage, on the edge of your seat for the full sequence, and only when you look up do you realize twenty minutes have gone by.

This is how great television is done, full stop—a textbook example of mood-setting, of dramatic structure, of thoughtful performance.

Stray Observations:

• “Quantifiably bitchy!” Chilton gets one last sick burn in before he, well, you know.
• “Are you a small or medium? Small, I bet.” Freddie Lounds, national treasure. TattleCrime is still a stupid name, though.
• The makeup work this episode is phenomenal, as well; Hannibal has never shied from gore, but the work on Chilton’s lipless face is among the grossest things the show has done.
• We have been advised to watch the final through the credits. Will there be a tag teasing Silence of the Lambs? Some other sort of Easter egg? My fingers are crossed for an eleventh hour renewal.

As Hannibal has adapted Red Dragon proper, it has been as consistently great as we’ve come to expect from the series, but it has also been something new: conventional. Up until now, this final stretch of episodes has been a fairly straightforward adaptation of the source material, and while it has been an undoubtedly skillful adaptation, it has also been something of a transliteration. Given the series’ earlier inventiveness—it’s willingness to subvert and sometimes wholesale alter the source material (a key plot point from Red Dragon, for instance, was exhausted some time ago)—these episodes can feel a little by-the-numbers, even if the quality itself hasn’t dipped.

Perhaps it is this sense of security that lends the middle sequence of “…And the Beast From the Sea” its palpable urgency. Dolarhyde’s attack on Will’s family, as prompted by Hannibal, is, in the novel, a final flourish, one that gives Thomas Harris’s story a typical thriller conclusion, which establishes Hannibal as a lingering, unkillable threat to Will’s well-being. By moving this sequence to the middle of the story, having it occur before Will and company even know who the Tooth Fairy is, Bryan Fuller has deftly moved us back into uncharted territory. The hunt for this new killer is distinctly more personal now. In terms of macro-narrative, the conflict between Will and Hannibal is now, once again, directly related to the plot of the season.

This is a sort of invention that we expect from Hannibal, and the sort that I hadn’t realized I was missing until that pulse-pounding chase through Will’s darkened house. We may know the general shape of things to come, but the emotional impact on our central characters is properly foregrounded once more. The big shift, the final narrative turn, will no longer bill the capture of Dolarhyde, or even his final, fitful attempt to harm Will as Hannibal’s surrogate—it will instead be the final shift of Hannibal’s relationship with Will, and on what note the show will leave their dynamic.

With that reshuffling in mind, the various pieces of the Red Dragon story fall into clearer relief. As Alana, Jack, and Will discuss Will’s run-in with Dolarhyde, which constitutes the first solid lead they’ve got. The focus is instead on Jack’s less-than-honorable approach to the investigation, as it becomes increasingly obvious that he is repeating the same mistakes that led Will into such a mess in the first place. When Molly takes a bullet, the consequences of Jack’s callous manipulation are all too clear. And yet—and Molly knows this—Will won’t say no anyway. He will always take Jack’s call. He will always go to Hannibal’s cell.

Alana’s arc, too, becomes more about playing the emotional fallout of the preceding series than it is about the particular plot mechanics at play now. When she strips Hannibal of his cell’s various amenities, she isn’t just punishing him for his interference in the investigation. She’s also inflicting on him the same indignities that he

has inflicted upon her, Will, Margot, and upon everyone he has ever come into contact with, to some extent or another. It’s no mistake that this scene, in which Alana’s staff strips Hannibal’s cell bare, is the first to explicitly confirm that the space was never real at all, just a figment of Hannibal’s imprisoned imagination. The constructed relationships between all of these people have collapsed, either under the weight of too much tragedy, or under the stress of being rent totally and purposefully asunder.

All of that brings us back around to Francis Dolarhyde, who in this episode begins his own conflict of identity. The Great Red Dragon begins to manifest itself as its own being, separate from Francis, and it calls into question for Francis his very sanity. This is new for Francis—for all he’s done. His sanity has never been in question. But how can he continue to murder, when he also feels this love for Reba? Hannibal’s solution, of course, is simply to feed the dragon elsewise—this was Hannibal’s solution to his love for Will, as well. In a way it’s a simple analogy: the Great Red Dragon is to Francis Dolarhyde as the Wendigo is to Will Graham. The common thread is Hannibal Lecter.

 

Stray Observations:

• Molly really is a badass. I love that in this adaptation, they’ve given her much more agency than she had in either the novel or in the film.
• There is a particularly great shot of Will confronting Hannibal—a clean line dividing them, Hannibal in a field of white, Will succumbing to darkness.
• Potential spoilers for the final two episodes: the major plot point of Red Dragon that has previously been exhausted is, of course, Freddie Lounds’s fiery wheelchair death, which was presented in season two as a ruse, but which in the novel leads directly to the discovery of Dolarhyde’s identity. Given that many of the newspaper communication games from the novel have been elided entirely from the show, I imagine that the conclusion will be markedly different from here on out.

Given its parallel title, it should be no surprise that “And the Woman Clothed in Sun” is, more or less, a direct continuation of the preceding episode, even more so than this highly serialized final run of episodes. Mostly, what’s here is further explication of Francis Dolarhyde, specifically and more generally, a further explication of exactly what goes on in the mind of a psychopath. Much of Hannibal has been concerned with the finer points of sanity, ever since Hannibal asked Will to draw a clock. Where does sanity end and insanity begin? How fuzzy is the line? Is it a gradient? a cliff? Are you born into it, or can it be cultivated?

Not that the episode offers any outright answers; in fact, the overarching argument seems to be that there are no answers. But in keeping with its subject matter, what Hannibal does offer is case studies. We spend much time with Dolarhyde this week, as his strange courtship with Reba McClane rounds home base. One of the eeriest scenes from the novel, in which Reba fondles an anaesthetized tiger, junk and all, causing Dolarhyde’s audible arousal, is here basically intact, and it’s lovingly shot, even if it is sometimes a little too obvious that that’s a tiger-patterned rug (maybe). Immediately after, Reba cozies up to Dolarhyde in similar fashion, feeding into his ever-growing ego as the “Red Dragon” begins to possess his mind.

With this continued focus on Dolarhyde, Richard Armitage continues to be a standout member of an already stacked cast. He plays the duality of the character with an unsettling ease. At times, he is vulnerable, even scared; at others, he is menacing. The combined effect is one of confusion and disorientation, which is never more effective than at the episode’s end, when Dolarhyde steals and eats the creepy Blake watercolor from which the novel takes its name. It falls just short of a punchline, which is just where the scene should land for maximum effect.

Another welcome case study is of Bedelia Du Maurier, who makes a triumphant return here as a speaker, capitalizing on her experiences with Hannibal, in which she has recast herself as a victim. Will is obviously unappreciative of this decidedly radical reinterpretation, and their back and forth throughout the episode is a highlight, providing the delightful repartee so many of the pairings on this show share. Bedelia steps almost gleefully into the Hannibal role, poking and prodding at Will as best she can. Hasn’t he learned his lesson? “Or do you just miss him that much?” she teases, raising that homoerotic specter once more. Her best line: “I don’t lie; I obfuscate.” If that isn’t a rationalization right out of Hannibal Lecter’s playbook, I don’t know what is.

The centerpiece of this story is Bedelia’s extended flashback to her first murder, of the patient whom Hannibal “manipulated” her into finding dangerous. The patient is played by Zachary Quinto, who is subdued and effective. It’s no stunt cast; a serious actor is necessary, even for this small role, to give the scene the weight it requires. This scene is beautifully edited, crossing back and forth to her appointment with Will, so that without a careful look at Bedelia’s wardrobe, it’s never clear to whom she’s saying what. This is a moment that we’ve heard about before, but to see it dramatized here, especially in such gory detail, puts a fine point on the dialogue that Bedelia has with Will. She harps about his exceptional empathy, and argues that it is just as empathetic to end a life as it is to save one; in some cases, it is perhaps smarter. Will refuses to believe this, and it’s that basic good nature (or is it naïveté?) that will ultimately undo him.

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, this is a typically excellent episode of a show that is ending far too soon, and yet, I suspect, also at exactly the right time. The themes are coming full circle; the plot, building to a fever pitch. The effect of the Red Dragon arc is to take one of the “killers of the week” and make him a central figure on the show, and by placing Dolarhyde into relief with these other incredibly damaged people, we see the spectrum of sanity of which Bryan Fuller wishes to convince us. It’s all of a piece, and for that thematic consistency to remain as flawless as it now is, the piece must come to completion. Better a little perfection than a lot of mediocrity, and with this episode, we are one step closer to a perfect version of Red Dragon.

 

Stray Observations:

• I love the way this season plays with time and space, in a manner that surely was fueled as much by budgetary concerns as by artistic intent. There are the flashbacks with Bedelia, but throughout the season, characters have been in multiple places and multiple moments simultaneously; each time Hannibal sees himself in his office, rather than his prison, is another little pang, a sense of justice served to a mad man, for now.
• Dolarhyde seems himself, like Will, in a fractured mirror.
• Will gets more help from Hannibal, and there’s a great shot of them staring at each other through the glass, and Will’s reflection merges with Hannibal’s body

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.