Black stag-antlers pierce his flesh and erupt from his back; the Ravenstag, emblem of the violent desires shared by Will & Hannibal. Will’s transformation is inspired by a short film retelling Titian’s Metamorphosis, made for The National Gallery in London [x].
I knew that’s how we should open the second season. Because there was a talky scene and a talky scene and then there was another talky scene and I was like, oh my God, we need energy. So I thought, let’s just start with the end. [...] A) I think the audience knows that Hannibal Lecter’s going to be captured eventually, and B) we have so many other cards to play in the season that I wasn’t nervous about giving that one up. It felt like, well, we tell the audience this is where we’re going. This is what’s going to happen. It’s going to be a huge clash between these two guys, and how we get there is going to be part of the fun. We’re breaking the finale right now, and it’s interesting to look back and say, “Okay, this is where we started and where in the arc of this story does that fight happen? [Laughs.] How much do we have to play beforehand? How much do we have to play afterwards?” And we have such big moves in the finale that the fight is actually one of the smaller events in the finale."
On the other hand, you might take a close look at the show’s opening credits, which suggest a simpler tale: one about heroic male outlines and closeups of female asses. The more episodes that go by, the more I’m starting to suspect that those asses tell the real story.
Banging again. [Gumb] opened the door a crack on the chain.
"I tried the front but nobody came,” Clarice Starling said. “I’m looking for Mrs. Lippman’s family, could you help me?”
BF: Yes. It just seemed like it was going to be perfect, because if Hannibal takes her and does all of the stuff that he does to Clarice at the end of the book Hannibal, sort of brain-washing her, seducing her, and manipulating her, it felt like that was a great opportunity for us to do our spin on that story.
It is known that a 16th-century amusement was to place live birds in a pie, as a form of entremet. An Italian cookbook from 1549 (translated into English in 1598) contained such a recipe: "to make pies so that birds may be alive in them and flie out when it is cut up" and this was referred to in a cook book of 1725 by John Nott.
Yes I am in a cage, but that is the result of a wager that I made with full understanding and I have accepted the result. Yes in this particular cage there are odd protocols and the hand truck and the mask and you think that those things will annoy me, but really a cage is a cage and what those things say is that you are afraid and right you are to be afraid of me. You did slip up that time and that nurse was delicious, and you know I won't miss your next mistake. Which you will make, because you are merely you and I am me.
As for my correspondents, yes most of them are little people fumbling to touch a bit of my glory, but isn't it amusing that when I was respectable and free only a few people knew my name, and now that I am in a cage the whole world knows me, parents whisper my name to frighten their children, grown men tremble like little girls as they regard my life's work. And in that mountain of letters, once in awhile there is one who is worthy. A Pilgrim. A Pilgrim who shares my vision and aptitude and who is not in a cage, now isn't that an amusing thing?
Dignity is not a thing you buy. It is a thing you make. If you think that dignity is a thing you buy and show off with fashionable affectations then it is a thing you will never have. If you want to know why I still smile, consider: Only one of us needs to put the other in a cage to feel safe.