(The following review contains spoilers for the first half of Hannibal’s third season. It also contains some very grotesque descriptions of events)
I know that I’ve written about Hannibal a number of times lately, but there’s been a good reason for it. There is not a more beautiful or more grotesque show anywhere on television, and Hannibal’s growing apathy for traditional storytelling and “relatable” characters sets it apart from anything that may otherwise approach its visual prowess. And somehow, at least through the end of the current season, Hannibal airs on network television.
Even if Hannibal’s ratings weren’t in the toilet, it would be easy to see why NBC finally threw in the towel this year. While previous seasons at least pretended to follow a procedural arc, with a number of case-of-the-week murders, the first half of season three completely dropped any pretenses and became a manhunt for Hannibal Lecter. It also threw any concerns about character relatability to the curb. No longer are Hannibal and the weekly killers the lone madmen in a world ruled by the normal. This year, every single character, from Will to Hannibal to the Vergers to Bedalia to Alana to Chiyo, is insane. Hell, even Jack Crawford, the rock that typically holds everything together, eventually meets up with Will Graham and assists in a completely off-record pursuit of Lecter.