2.5 Mukozuke He has done this in a thousand visual ways, topping even himself this week with the image of Beverly Katz cryosectioned and placed between human-size slides—a gruesome allusion to her own profession as a forensic scientist. While we are sad to see the alive version of her go (there are strong suggestions that she will replace Garret Jacob Hobbs this series as a recurring spectre), it’s hard to think of a more memorable way of sending her off. After all, while her character’s development has been cut short, we certainly cannot complain that we have not gotten a peek into what makes her tick. Brutally, literally. But despite having come up with such a powerful image, it is not actually the artistic masterstroke of Mukozuke (appropriately, “sliced sashimi”). The writing on Hannibal is almost uniformly brilliant, but this week’s episode is crafted so exquisitely, I look forward to watching it a fourth or even fifth time to see all its layers. Because it’s the writing that elevates this episode even amongst those of a show as good as Hannibal. One of the understandings established last series was that while Hannibal (the psychiatrist) and Graham were talking about his issues with the work the latter was doing for the FBI, Hannibal the psychopath was metaphorically listening in as well. And not just to those sessions…to the entire investigation. In yet another uncomfortable parallel, both the audience and the cannibal were there to see and hear everything. This week, we got conversation after conversation where, again, we are often not the only eavesdroppers. The difference is that in these cases, at least one of the speakers knows that and turns it to brilliant use. He (or they) conducts the conversation speaking simultaneously both to the person in the room and the eavesdropper. And in most cases, at least one of the three is a psycho or sociopath. Either way, this sets us up for a fascinating conversation between Graham and Gideon with Chilton likely listening. Gideon knows not only that Graham is not guilty of the murders but that Will was psychically driven by Hannibal in the same way he himself was by Chilton (with the difference being that Gideon was a killer long before Chilton got his hands on him). But Gideon the psychopath seems almost as interested in the workings of Will’s mind as Lecter (both are men of superior intellect, and Gideon has been limited to a cell; he’s likely dying for this kind of mental stimulation). So he uses the conversation to learn why he’s been brought here, to stick it to Chilton by reminding him what he’s done to the man on a surgical table, and to prod Will into trying to kill Lecter. Graham, on the other hand, tries to get Gideon to admit what Lecter really is not, as Gideon suggests, to use as evidence in court but more likely to flesh out his own swiss-cheese memory. And although both men know the essential truth of the situation, they must limit their discussion in such a way that if Chilton is listening, he will either not understand it or not believe it. But while we are not completely sure Chilton is listening, we know that someone else definitely is. More on that in a minute. We then get a wonderful scene in which Gideon and Lecter visit, this time with Chilton clearly eavesdropping. The two murderers put on an excellent performance of pretending this is their first meeting. But when Gideon says that he has never seen Lecter’s face before, he is both telling the truth and not: he has seen Lecter’s physical face, but he’s very aware that there’s far more to Lecter than meets the eye. The layers of meaning in a sentence so simple as “I’ve never seen yours before” are many, and since we know at least some of what those words communicate between the two psychopaths, it sends a chill through us. And Mikkelsen and Izzard’s performances are as complex as the dialogue, both of them able to strike the right balance between words and a tone that give away nothing and facial/body expressions that make up the difference in meaning. Their eyes especially make the game they are playing, both with Chilton and each other, palpable. What could not just one such mind but two working on Graham do? In fact, Gideon already has his hooks into Will, having pushed him into seeking not merely justice but actual revenge against Mikkelsen (which just adds to our rapidly growing respect for the “pretender to the throne,” as Graham has labeled Gideon to his face), leading the profiler into yet another conversation, this time with the shameless Freddie Lounds. In one of the most interesting performative acts, I’ve ever seen, Will strikes a deal with Lounds to give her exclusive rights to his “story” in exchange for her help in sending a message to his “admirer” making it clear he wants to open a dialogue. Lounds, who should be highly doubtful of such an offer from Graham of all people, all but leaps at the chance, even suggesting additional ways she can help beyond printing the invitation. But she needn’t have bothered since Will has already made the invitation—just by talking to her about it—to the one person listening: his guard. The same person who was party to the conversation between Gideon and Graham where Abel first implanted the idea. Working one such multi-layered conversation into a network television show in such a way that it substantially drives forward the action is a challenge. Creating an episode built almost entirely on this trope is more than a little awe-inspiring. While it is still early in the season and there may even better work on the horizon for this series, Bryan Fuller, Ayanna Floyd, and Steve Lightfoot certainly deserve Emmy consideration (preferably an outright win) for their writing in Mukozuke. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go watch it a couple more times. Like a great book, Mukozuke demands to be reread—and I can’t think of a better way to spend an evening. Follow our Twitter feed for faster news and bad jokes right here. And be our Facebook chum here.
