"Is Hannibal In Love With Me?" - The Construction of Queerness in NBC's Hannibal

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“Is Hannibal In Love With Me?” – The

Construction of Queerness in NBC's Hannibal

MA Thesis

Anna Schmieding

University of Amsterdam

MA Film Studies

04.07.2018

Supervisor: Dr. M. Wilkinson

Second Reader: Dr. T. Laine

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1. Introduction

“See. This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us.”

- Hannibal Lecter (3.13 “The Wrath of the Lamb”)

The final episode of the NBC series Hannibal (2013-2015) shows the two main characters, Will Graham (Hugh Dancy) and the titular Hannibal Lecter (Mads Mikkelsen), join forces to violently kill another character, before pulling each other into a blood-soaked embrace. This scene depicts the climax of the characters' relationship and at the same time summarises the careful construction of said relationship over thirty-nine episodes in three seasons. The above quote functions as a conclusion to the series, highlighting the carefully constructed, yet mostly non-explicit queerness of the characters' relationship, and of the series as a whole. The quote additionally points to the series' focus on ambiguity, since it may be read as referring to the characters' relationship on different levels: On the one hand, the quote stresses that Will, the series' primary detective figure, has enjoyed killing another character, thus fully abandoning the law, and with it the sense of order often associated with detective characters. On the other hand, the quote also directly comments on the characters' queer romantic attraction to each other, which is built up throughout the series and culminates in this scene's embrace.

Hannibal offers a unique perspective on the (re-)presentation of queerness in a television

series by addressing issues such as identity, morality, and (defying) normativity. These topics are approached in ways that reject “simplistic” narratives, undermine and dissolve binaries and boundaries, and instead favour ambiguity over straightforward explanations. Following the figure of a serial killer and cannibal well-known in popular culture due to Thomas Harris' novels and their filmic adaptations, Hannibal connects murder and cannibalism to queer love and sexuality in a way seldom seen in contemporary television series. Over the past century, queer representations in film and television have evolved in various directions following broader societal understandings of what it means to be queer. Villains are no longer portrayed as queer simply to underline their deviance, and attempts at providing audiences with positive queer representations have opened up new questions about how and why queer representation should be addressed (Davies, 46-70; Dyer, The

Same 1-2). Mirroring queer theory's argument that identities are inherently unstable due to being

constructed performatively in society, Hannibal is best understood as operating at the forefront of contemporary strategies concerning queer representation.

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following questions: How are the series' narrative, characters, and character actions used in its construction of queerness? In what ways does the series mirror queer theory's argument that identities are never stable but rather fluid and constantly in flux? And how does the series' construction of queerness question and challenge heteronormative systems and associated societal boundaries?

1.1 Queer Theory

Queer theory is generally understood to have developed out of Gay and Lesbian Studies in the 1990s, after Teresa de Lauretis coined the term in 1991 (Fryer, 3). Since then the term “queer” has been taken on by academics and activists alike to refer to both sexual and gender identities that fall outside the cisgender and heterosexual experience. Queer theory rejects the humanist idea that identities are stable and clearly definable. Judith Butler, one of the central figures in queer theory, argues that gender and sexuality are continuously produced rather than set in stone, and that the notion of being one's gender or sexuality is inaccurate:

[G]ender proves to be performative – that is, constituting the identity it is purported to be. In this sense, gender is always a doing, though not a doing by a subject who might be said to preexist the deed. […] There is no gender identity behind the expression of gender; that identity is performatively constituted by the very 'expressions' that are said to be its results (Butler, 33).

Butler questions and deconstructs the idea that the expression of one's gender is based on a fixed gender identity. In arguing that gender is performative – constructed through repeated actions1

– Butler reverses the cause-and-effect logic often presumed about gender expression and identity, echoing Simone de Beauvoir's claim that “one is not born a woman, but rather becomes one” (qtd. in Butler, 3). If gender identity is made up of individual repeated actions, such as wearing particular clothing or makeup, then such an identity is unlikely to be fixed or stable over time. This inherent instability of any individual's gender identity also links to gender being perceived and constructed differently in different (historical) contexts, and intersecting with other social markers such as ethnicity and class (Butler, 6).

Importantly, in western societies, gender and sexuality are inseparably entangled in their construction along binary axes (male-female, gay-straight) that disregard and exclude persons whose identity expression falls outside the either-or logic of these binary systems. Butler stresses

1 Butler states that gender can be defined as “the repeated stylization of the body, a set of repeated acts within a highly rigid regulatory frame that congeal over time to produce the appearance of substance, of a natural sort of being” (43-44).

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that the understanding of sex and gender as binary requires a definition of one gender via its opposition to the other (30). Hence, women are understood to be women to the extent that they are not men. Sex, gender, and sexuality constitute each other in this system, where the perceived binary opposition of men and women is reinforced by desire for the “opposite sex”: “The institution of a compulsory and naturalized heterosexuality requires and regulates gender as a binary relation in which the masculine term is differentiated from a feminine term, and this differentiation is accomplished through the practices of heterosexual desire” (Butler, 30). According to this system, sex is given, gender follows sex, and desire follows gender and sex, so that the categories of “male” and “female” are unambiguously defined through their opposition and sexual attraction to each other (Butler, 23-24). Butler rejects this line of argumentation and states that gender is not determined by sex. Rather, gender is constructed in an ongoing process in society and is not, in any “natural” way, related to sex2

(Butler, 10). Similarly, a person's sexual attraction cannot be deduced on the basis of their sex or gender, and the spectrum of sexual identities cannot be reduced to a heterosexual position, and a seemingly opposing homosexual position.

Queer theory understands gender and sexuality as inherently unstable and in flux in their relation to historically specific contexts and intersections with other social markers. This is further supported by insights Michel Foucault provides in his examination of the historical construction of sexuality. He argues:

Sexuality must not be thought of as a kind of natural given which power tries to hold in check, or as an obscure domain which knowledge tries gradually to uncover. It is the name that can be given to a historical construct […] (105).

Sexuality and how it is defined and understood is closely related to power structures that inform how a given society treats questions of gender and sexuality (Foucault, 116). These power structures are, according to Foucault, not limited to the power of the law, but function on a broader level of society, working through normalisation and control rather than punishment (89). Foucault further argues that “in the space of a few centuries, a certain inclination has led us to direct the question of what we are, to sex” (78). Referring to sexual practices rather than biological sex, Foucault highlights the importance of sex (and sexual orientation) to identity and practices of identity

2 Butler points out that, even if biological sex fit a clearly defined binary system (which is already undermined by the existence of intersex people), there is no sound reason to assume that the number of possible genders should be limited to two: “The presumption of a binary gender system implicitly retains the belief in a mimetic relation of gender to sex whereby gender mirrors sex” (Butler, 10). Butler continues: “When the constructed status of gender is theorized as radically independent of sex, gender itself becomes a free-floating artifice, with the consequence that

man and masculine might just as easily signify a female body as a male one, and woman and feminine a male body

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expression.

Both Butler and Foucault reject the idea that gender and sexuality are fixed and expressed only in binary terms. Queer theory understands gender and sexuality as categories whose meanings shift over time and between individuals. Expressions of gender and sexuality are better described as occurring on a broad spectrum than as fixed binary, mutually exclusive positions. In its exploration of the construction of queerness in Hannibal, this thesis builds on queer theory's core argument that identities are never fixed, tend not to be stable over time, and generally defy unambiguous categorisation.

1.2 Queer Media Representations and Queer Readings

Discussions about queer theory in academia are reflected on a perhaps more practical level in debates around queer representations in the media in general, and film and television in particular. The question of how to best portray queer characters on screen has been addressed in various ways over the past several decades, resulting in the opposing approaches of “politically correct” images of gay and lesbian couples that stress the normalcy of queerness, and a more openly sexual, subversive mode of representation (Arthurs, 123). Samuel Chambers argues that television is a powerful tool that can be used to uphold or undermine heteronormativity, pointing out that “on the majority of television shows heteronormativity operates in the exact same way it does in society: invisibly. That is, we assume everyone is straight, and, pretty much, everyone is straight” (35). Merely introducing queer characters into television series is thus not enough of an effort, as numerous authors argue (Arthurs, 117-23; Chambers, 35-36; Davis & Needham, 3-7; Donovan, 39-43). Davis and Needham lament the lack of diversity in queer characters (3) and argue that “the queerest programmes” might not be found among those that focus on queer characters, since they often still perpetuate heteronormativity (5). As Donovan puts it: “The dimensions of LGBT representation in contemporary television frequently take the form of absorption, queerness being shaped and structured specifically to fall in line with heteronormative standards” (42). He harshly criticises shows such as Modern Family (ABC, 2009–present) for destroying queerness by making it conform to normative structures (42-43). This supports Teal and Conover-Williams's argument that the legalisation of same-sex marriage in an increasing number of countries often appears as proof that queerness is generally more accepted in many societies, while in actuality, discrimination may only take on more covert forms (14-15).

While Davis and Needham's argument in favour of finding queerness in non-explicitly queer series and characters is an adequate temporary solution for dissatisfied viewers, it should be noted

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that this is not the ideal. Queer characters are still too often reduced to their gender or sexuality rather than being depicted as complex, well-rounded individuals (David & Needham, 7). As mentioned above, the tendency to portray queer characters as power-hungry villains or jokes to be laughed at has mostly been abandoned. Nevertheless, this practice, common throughout the first half of the twentieth century and into the 1960s and '70s continuously affects the treatment of today's queer characters in film and television (Davies, 46-70). While many queer characters are still written to die at the end of their story arcs, perpetuating the “bury your gays” trope3

, queer villains have become less and less common, perhaps out of a fear of criticism for negative portrayals. Trends and counter-trends such as these point to the fact that equal representation of queer characters is far from achieved. At the same time, it is important to remember that historically, many characters in film and television have been coded as queer without verbal confirmation or sexual physical contact between characters. The Motion Picture Production Code (1930-1968) that censored the portrayal of openly stated queerness on film, made less obvious depictions of queer characters necessary, and its effects carry on into present-day representations of queerness (Messimer, 176-78). Hannibal is aware of this part of cinema history and “relies on antique methods of queer coding to hide its central romance in plain sight” (Donovan, 39). The ambiguity of Will and Hannibal's sexual orientations is thus not to be read as a sign of their heterosexuality, but rather as one aspect of the series' modus operandi.

Dhaenens, van Bauwel, and Biltereyst argue that the fields of queer theory and film studies can benefit from each other, pointing out that queer theory can be applied in research on queer representation in film and television, while film studies can provide queer theory with concrete objects to study (340). In the case of “straight” films and television series that do not prominently feature queer characters, queer readings of the narrative and characters can help in identifying and undermining heterocentric views presented in media (Dhaenens, van Bauwel & Biltereyst, 341). Such queer readings should be understood in connection to specific historical and societal power relations and contexts (ibid.). Queer viewers may find queer readings of non-queer media content appealing since it allows them to see themselves reflected in a media environment where more accurate representation is scarce. Dhaenens, van Bauwel, and Biltereyst additionally point to slash fiction4

as being a fan-driven equivalent to academic queer theory: “Authors of slash fiction

3 The website TV Tropes describes the “bury your gays” trope as follows: “Often, especially in older works [...] gay characters just aren't allowed happy endings” (TV Tropes). This tendency of not allowing for happy storylines for queer characters often results in those characters dying: “if they do end up having some kind of relationship, at least one half of the couple, often the one who was more aggressive in pursuing a relationship, thus 'perverting' the other one, has to die at the end” (ibid.).

4 Dhaenens, van Bauwel, and Biltereyst define slash fiction as describing “same-sex relationships between male protagonists in some textual world” (342). It should be noted that relationships between female characters, as well as relationships between characters of non-binary genders may also be addressed in similar fan-produced fiction.

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approach the textual material in a similar way to how certain queer readers approach classic Hollywood cinema; they deconstruct traditional narratives and reveal the queer from reading between the story lines” (343). Not only do such queer readings encourage a critical engagement with, and questioning of, heteronormativity, they also empower fans to produce versions of the source material that better fit and reflect their personal circumstances (Jenkins, 278-79).

Critical readings of portrayals of explicitly queer characters may uncover “underlying normative themes” in these depictions, such as when queer characters are shown to perpetuate rather than undermine heteronormativity, such as in the case of Modern Family (Avila-Saavedra, 10; Teal & Conover-Williams, 14-15). Nuanced portrayals of queer characters and issues provide information about what queer lives can look like, and allow queer viewers to see themselves represented, validating their experiences5

. Non-queer viewers can become more familiar with queer topics through adequate media representation, which may help in raising awareness and acceptance of queerness. At the same time, it is important to remember that the acceptance of some members of the queer community is often effected by the rejection of others – an example being that white gay middle-class men are generally more accepted in society nowadays, while transgender individuals are still systematically denied rights and protection against discrimination and harassment (Marshall, 86-87). Diverse and complex queer representation in film and television may contribute to social changes that are still necessary in order to achieve full legal and societal equality for queer people (ibid.).

Through its construction of queerness, especially in the portrayal of its titular queer protagonist-villain, Hannibal questions many contemporary strategies of portraying queerness in television series, and proposes its own approach. The series continuously rejects heteronormativity, and constructs queerness along multiple story-telling axes, creating complex queer characters and storylines.

1.3 Detectives, Murderers, and Monsters: Hannibal

Traditional detective stories generally focus on the restoration of order to society after its disruption by a crime (Dyer, The Same 36; Rafter, 213). Authors such as Markowitz (11-17), Sim (2-3), and Brownson (159-61) argue that over the course of the last century, the typical presentation of the detective figure has undergone significant changes. Detective characters have developed from

5 Dyer summarises the need for queer films on a political level - “Lesbian/gay movements, like any other, need films that tell people who is speaking (who the movement is) and what to do” (From and For 285) – as well as an artistic and philosophical one, stating that there is a “simple need to express in order to survive, to be seen to be believed” (From and For 286).

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almost omniscient solvers of puzzles, to the cynical heroes of hard-boiled and noir tales, to being flawed, even criminal, themselves, struggling to bring truth and justice to victims (ibid.). At the same time, contemporary crime fiction pays more attention to villains such as serial killers, as well as their psychopathologies, their ideas about morality, and their ability to blend into society to remain undetected (Gillis, 1-9; Peach, 150-53; Gates, 194). The seemingly contradictory trend of films and television series focusing on serial killers as main characters, such as in Hannibal or

Dexter (Showtime, 2006-2013), may be understood as a continuation of the long-standing

fascination of U.S.-American audiences with serial killers (Blake, 198). Admiration of characters such as Hannibal Lecter or Dexter Morgan does not only point to conflicts within American culture, but also leads audiences away from comfortable identification with morally “clean” heroic detectives. Questions of morality, justice, and identity are complicated by those serial killer characters that are created in ways that encourage sympathetic reactions from audiences. This move away from traditional narratives that outright condemn criminal characters distorts traditional black-and-white stories of “good vs. evil”. Complex characters who cannot be understood in terms of such narrow terms are well-suited for queer readings, since queer theory rejects binary notions of identity and argues for more complex understandings of human subjects.

Sandten and Süß point out that detective fiction “often reflects the anxieties and fears of its respective society and its moral and ethical codes that are epitomized in the binary structure of good and evil” (2). This connection between fiction and reality points to changes to how (western) societies understand complex questions of morality and identity. The construction of queerness in detective fiction is particularly suited for commenting on and contributing to society's treatment of non-normative characters and persons since queerness is linked to detective fiction, both through historic portrayals of villains as queer (see above), and the criminalisation and pathologising of queer people in the past (and, in many societies, in the present). The concept of morally flawed detectives and intelligent psychopath serial killers is at the forefront of the narrative in Hannibal, and adapted in ways that often function to undermine viewers' expectations. Alexandra Carroll argues that the character of Hannibal is a “monstrous-human”, a gothic double of Will, the series' main investigator figure (41, 45-56). As such, the character of Hannibal demonstrates the arbitrariness and brittle nature of societal boundaries between monstrous figures and the rest of humanity (Carroll, 42-44). In this way, Hannibal points to the instability and fluidity of identities as argued for by queer theory, since a rejection of rigid boundaries undermines viewers' perception of differences between criminals and detectives as clearly defined and unambiguous. The transgression of normative boundaries is also addressed in Casey's analysis of the series, where he explores the queer aspects of the main characters' relationship, and argues that “Hannibal creates identification

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with a quasi-queered and psychically non-normative protagonist who […] is powerfully attracted to an aberrant male other” (562). He points out that the character of Will undermines many of the conventions of traditional crime fiction by blurring the boundary between what society considers normal and what it deems deviant (ibid.). Similarly, Donovan links the series' focus on concealment, display, and detection of crimes to what he refers to as “queer unknowing”, where ambiguity becomes a rejection of traditional knowledge structures, with the series portraying “a radically unknowing detective-protagonist, blurring labels of good and evil, romanticizing a villain, and avoiding a decisive labeling of homoerotic infatuation” (55).

Food plays an important role in creating the monstrous in Hannibal, and Fuchs and Phillips argue that food and the preparation of meals are used in the series to build relationships between characters (211-14), as well as as a tool for Hannibal to demonstrate his dominance over others (209-10; 215). Fuchs also explores food as a liminal object used to emphasise the series' focus on transgressing boundaries, and argues that the series' depiction of food and cannibalism aid in creating Hannibal as a character who defies easy categorisation (99-102).

1.4 Corpus and Method

Since this thesis addresses narrative, characters, and actions in Hannibal in its exploration of queerness in the series, developments in the portrayals of characters and their relationships are of interest. The analysis focuses on nine episodes, three from each season, while the series' remaining episodes will be considered for additional details6_{. Since they address major plot point, especially}

with regards to characters' identities, each season's final episode will be examined closely and similarly, the other six selected episodes are especially significant in terms of the series' depictions of queerness, deviance, and the blurring of established boundaries7

. The research question – how is queerness constructed through Hannibal's narrative, characters, and actions, and how is queerness related to the questioning and breaking-down of (hetero-)normative boundaries? – will be approached from the perspective of queer theory. Queer theory is especially useful in an analysis of

Hannibal due to its rejection of the idea that identities are fixed and stable. Hannibal portrays the

6 The following episodes will be analysed: “Apéritif” (1.01), “Fromage” (1.08), “Savoureux” (1.13), “Kaiseki” (2.01), “Naka-choko” (2.10), “Mizumono” (2.13), “Dolce” (3.06), “Digestivo” (3.07), and “The Wrath of the Lamb” (3.13).

7 While it may be argued that this focus on episodes that highlight queerness and ambiguity (rather than other episodes) might influence the outcome of the analysis in favour of this thesis' central argument, it is important to note that a close examination of these episodes is necessary in order to fully understand the ways in which queerness is constructed in the series. Since a detailed analysis of all episodes is not possible within the scope of this thesis, the focus will lie on the nine episodes most relevant to the construction of queerness in Hannibal. It should also be noted that since this thesis concentrates on queer sexuality, despite being related, questions of gender, class, and ethnicity will not be analysed in detail.

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relationship between Will and Hannibal as a story of re-evaluated, transgressed, and dissolved boundaries, which leads to changes in the characters' self-identification. Thus Hannibal's presentation of this relationship, among other aspects of the series, reflects queer theory's focus on identities in flux.

The first body chapter, “Narrative”, focuses on the construction of the series' plot progression and mode of relating information to viewers. The series will be discussed as an adaptation of Thomas Harris' novel Red Dragon (1981), and it will be argued that Hannibal, contrary to its source material, is not easily defined in terms of genre. Furthermore, the chapter examines the series' focus on visuality in its relation to the construction of characters' “inner worlds”, and the ways in which dream-like sequences are used as a tool for undermining narrative linearity. Lastly, the chapter takes a closer look at the portrayal of families in Hannibal, arguing that the series' treatment of family units serves as a rejection of heteronormativity.

The next chapter, “Characters”, addresses the construction of the main characters, Hannibal and Will. Hannibal will be examined in terms of his seemingly contradictory constructed personality, while an exploration of a fluid conception of identity is at the centre of the chapter's investigation of the character of Will. The chapter additionally focuses on the main characters' relationship as visualised in the figure of a stag and “Stag Man”, while the increasing blurring-together of the two characters will be explored in relation to notions of queerness and boundaries.

The final chapter, “Actions”, explores the crossing of boundaries through the acts of murder and eating (especially in relation to cannibalism), and the ways in which these are queered in the series. Additionally, the action of seeing will be considered in its importance to the series' construction of queerness as well as its treatment of questions of identity. Arguing that two core sex scenes in the series function as queering devices for the main characters' relationship, the chapter also investigates sex and desire, and how they are portrayed as queer in the series.

It is important to note that Hannibal should not be understood as a typical example of contemporary queer representations in general, since the series employs modes of queering that distinguish it from many other series and films. Rather, Hannibal is emblematic of a new mode of queer television that rejects straightforward depictions of stable (sexual) identities, and instead favours ambiguity and fluidity. Through a close analysis of the construction and portrayal of queerness in the series through narrative, characters, and actions, it will be suggested that Hannibal opens up new possibilities for queer media representations that break away from binary understandings of identity, especially in relation to sexuality. This thesis argues that Hannibal is an intrinsically queer series that queers every level of story-telling.

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2. Narrative

Hannibal's narrative construction queers the series and its characters in various ways. The series

undermines the often rigid structures of detective and serial killer narratives, highlighting the difficulty of describing it in terms of any particular genre. This rejection of many genre traditions is also reflected in the series' focus on visuality and characters' emotions, which destabilises the linear progression of plot elements. Lastly, this chapter examines the portrayal of families in Hannibal, and how the failure many characters experience in relation to family-building functions as a rejection of heteronormativity.

2. 1 Hannibal , Red Dragon , and Questions of Genre

Hannibal eschews many of the of the common narrative strategies often found in more formulaic

detective fiction. This difference in narrative construction becomes especially clear when the series is compared to the novel it is based on, Thomas Harris' Red Dragon (1981)8_{. The novel is a}

noticeably more traditional detective and serial killer narrative than the series: The main focus is on Will Graham's investigation concerning Francis Dolarhyde, who is killed, and thus punished for his crimes and removed from society, by the end of the novel. While Dolarhyde also dies in the series, it is noteworthy that his death differs greatly from Harris' original story. In the novel, Molly, Will's wife, shoots and kills Dolarhyde in self-defence when he attacks her and her family. In the series, Will and Hannibal kill Dolarhyde (Richard Armitage) together, also after being attacked, but the scene emphasises the characters' enjoyment of the act of killing by presenting it in slow motion (3.13 “The Wrath of the Lamb”). Since the character of Dolarhyde is only introduced in the second half of the third season of Hannibal, he is a minor character in the series as a whole, shifting the focus of the narrative onto the relationship between Will and Hannibal, which is not explored in detail in the novel. Indeed, Lecter is not very present in the novel, only interacting with Graham briefly and sending occasional letters. He is clearly coded as evil in the novel, and despite insisting that Graham had only been able to catch him because they are “just alike” (Harris, 80), Lecter remains a minor character, easily identified as an unsympathetic psychopath. The series also clearly distinguishes itself from the 2002 filmic adaptation of Red Dragon (dir. Brett Ratner) by portraying Hannibal as less defined by the shock-value of physical violence: “Hannibal's version of Dr. Lecter

8 While the characters in the series are based on Red Dragon and Harris' other novels in the Lecter franchise, only the third season roughly follows the novel's plot. It should be noted that the comparison of the series to the novel in this section is not to be read in terms of a fidelity argument. Rather, Hannibal expands on the source material and adds new layers of meaning, especially in relation to queerness.

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is in complete control over his own emotions and actions, as Anthony Hopkins' wild-eyed, physically menacing presence is replaced by the ominous calm of Mads Mikkelsen” (Fuchs & Phillips, 207). The more developed relationship between Will and Hannibal in the series, and the more complex depiction of Hannibal as a character complicate the detective narrative, making it more difficult for viewers to base their decision on which characters to root for on morality alone. Viewers of the series who are familiar with the novels or films are presented with an alternate version of Hannibal, which marks the series as distinct from the source material.

Other characters in the series may defy audience expectations as well. Since the cast of characters found in the Hannibal Lecter franchise are well-known in popular culture, audiences may expect characters to look or behave in certain ways that are often deliberately undermined by the series. Two important supporting characters who are presented as male in the novels and films are female in the series: the psychologist Alan Bloom is Alana Bloom (Caroline Dhavernas) in the series, and Freddy Lounds becomes Freddie (Fredricka) Lounds (Lara Jean Chorostecki). Both characters relate to Will and Hannibal differently than they do in the novels. Alana is first presented as a romantic interest for Will, later has an affair with Hannibal, and in the third season becomes Margot Verger's (Katharine Isabelle) long-term romantic partner. Harris' original Freddy is abducted and killed by Dolarhyde, whereas the series places another character, Dr. Frederick Chilton (Raúl Esparza), in his/her place. Freddie, instead, is involved in a plot that leads to Hannibal believing that Will killed her. Tellingly, it is through Alana Bloom that viewers realise that Freddie has not been killed. The fact that the series changes the gender of a recurring character from male to female, and draws attention to that character's unexpected survival, is noteworthy9_{. Similarly, several characters}

(Jack Crawford, Beverly Katz, and Reba McClane) who had previously been portrayed by white actors in the films are played by actors of colour in the series. The series' creators appear to pay attention to diversity in terms of gender and ethnicity, and the same is true for queer representation. While Harris' novels and their filmic adaptations have been accused of perpetuating homophobia and transphobia, especially in the case of the well-known The Silence of the Lambs (dir. Jonathan Demme, 1991) (Staubs, n. pag), the series creates a happy ending for its openly queer female characters: Alana and Margot are shown to be in a happy long-term relationship, both with

high-9 At first glance, it might be argued that the survival of these characters casts them as “final girls”, the trope of the sole survivor in horror films who is generally wittier and significantly more virginal than her friends (Clover, 35-41), but Hannibal undermines an understanding of Alana and Freddy as final girls, and thus readings of the characters as simple plot devices. Freddy does not survive due to her ability to outsmart Hannibal or Dolarhyde, and the scene most reminiscent of the final girl's struggle with the serial killer occurs when she (and the audience) believes that Will is attacking her, while it is later revealed that he only meant to involve her in his plan to capture Hannibal (2.10 “Naka-choko”; 2.11 “Ko No Mono”). Alana does not fit the profile of the witty virgin either, since her sexuality is addressed several times in the series (see chapter 4), and no serial killer attempts to kill her directly. Rather than a plot device that functions to praise abstinence and condemn promiscuity, Alana is presented as a complex character, while Freddy's role in the series is too minor to consider her as a final girl (see Clover, 39).

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income authoritative jobs.

Hannibal's divergence from the novel also plays a role in rendering the series difficult to

define in terms of genre. Despite the fact that IMDb lists the series in the categories Crime, Drama, and Horror, it does not easily fit into any of these narrow categories (IMDb). The detective fiction genre, despite having undergone significant changes since Poe's Murders in the Rue Morgue (1841), is still characterised by a focus on the apprehension of the criminal, typically leading to a restoration of order to a society disrupted by the crime (Markowitz, 11-17). Hannibal treats this fundamental opposition of detective and criminal, and the detection and elimination of the perpetrator, as more complex and complicated than most narratives that deal with murder. The series undermines binary oppositions such as detective vs. criminal and “good” vs. “evil” by presenting viewers with characters that do not fit into these seemingly neat categories. In fact, the roles of detective and criminal blur into each other in the series: Hannibal (traditionally the criminal) helps with the FBI's investigations and is shown to be a skillful psychiatrist who is able to help his patients, while Will (the “detective”) is presented as a character capable of, and enjoying, extreme acts of violence. There is no restoration of order to society in Hannibal, neither at the end of most individual episodes, nor at the conclusion of the series. Despite Will's success at apprehending murderers, he is constantly followed by a lingering unease, often associated with killing the serial killer character Garret Jacob Hobbs (Vladimir Jon Cubrt) in the first episode, so that viewers cannot see the removal of individual criminals from society as meaningful victories.

Hannibal comments on its own status as difficult to define early on in the series, when the

characters of Will and Jack (Laurence Fishburne) discuss the psychological makeup of Hobbs. Will states: “I don't know this kind of psychopath, never read about him. I don't even know if he's a psychopath” (1.01 “Apéritif”). Jack asks Will: “What kind of crazy is he?” and Will is shown to be unable to provide a satisfying answer because the killer does not fit any category of psychological disorder Will is familiar with (ibid.). The series' dialogue thus provides viewers with a hint that they are not to expect neat categorisations and explanations as the series progresses.

Isabel Santaulària argues that in many instances of serial killer fiction, the figure of the serial killer functions as a “bogeyman”, whose violent crimes justify the existence and actions of law-enforcement agents (65). Hannibal undermines that narrative strategy, and pointedly portrays proper law-enforcement procedure as unimportant to central characters' plans, such as in the final episode of the second season, when Will and Jack are shown to proceed in their plan to “entrap” Hannibal by goading him into attempting to kill Jack, despite being warned against it by another character who informs them that such action would be illegal and any evidence obtained through it not admissible in court (2.13 “Mizumono”). Will and Jack are depicted knowingly and wilfully

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acting against the law, despite working for the FBI, placing their plan to capture Hannibal firmly outside the official sanction of law-enforcement. The “bogeyman” narrative is further undermined by the series' title – Hannibal. The focus is clearly on the criminal rather than the detective figure, and indicates that the criminal character will assume the role of a protagonist that viewers will be invited to become in invested in. The series' focus on a psychologically non-normative and morally objectionable character has far-reaching implications for its narrative construction. Following broader trends in the development of serial killer stories, Hannibal points out the ease with which the character of Hannibal masquerades as ordinary, while simultaneously sustaining a habit of killing and eating other characters10

(Peach, 150-53). By focusing on Hannibal's non-normativity and Will's investigations outside the realm of law enforcement, Hannibal shifts the focus of the narratives towards an affective level of storytelling, which more readily lends itself to exploring questions of (queer) identity.

One aspect of serial killer narratives that does agree with Hannibal is their potential to undermine the notion of intelligibility that traditional detective fiction offers to audiences (Dyer,

The Same 36-37). Since serial killers' motives are often not easily understandable and identifiable

(such as greed or jealousy), but are instead described as difficult to define psychological urges, the narratives surrounding them tend to deny audiences rational explanations for the killers' actions (ibid.). This rejection of easy answers to questions viewers may have also fits in with the genre of the metaphysical detective story. This genre focuses on asking questions about truth, evidence, and knowledge, typically without providing conclusive answers (Brownson, 159; Gates, 188-89). Philippa Gates names five characteristics of the metaphysical detective story that are mostly reflected in Hannibal's narrative presentation: a non-heroic detective who is defeated by the end of the story, a labyrinthine story world, ambiguous or meaningless clues and evidence, doubles or exchanged identities, and an absence of closure to the central investigation (188-89). To the extent that the character of Will can be understood as a detective, he is not presented as heroic; he is shown making morally questionable choices to further his own aims, especially in the third season. While he is often successful in aiding the capture of murderers, he fails to remove the threat that Hannibal poses to society, mostly because he is shown wanting to help Hannibal escape traditional concepts of justice, such as when he admits that he “wanted to run away with him” (3.04 “Aperitivo”). The story world and the clues within it are often presented in ambiguous ways that are interpreted through Will's intuition rather than concrete data and evidence. Furthermore, Hannibal is often portrayed as Will's gothic double, with their identities being swapped completely in the second

10 Hannibal's double identity links the character directly to Butler's argument that identities are always constructed in society (Butler, 10).

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season, where Will is imprisoned and Hannibal takes on Will's role as adviser to the FBI11_{. Lastly,}

Hannibal's central investigation, which poses questions about Hannibal's identity, remains without

result or closure at the series' close. The metaphysical detective genre points to a current, postmodern understanding of knowledge as something that is created and changeable rather than universally given and fixed (Brownson, 176). In this way, Hannibal mirrors queer theory's argument that identities do not adhere to the strict definitions often used to describe them, instead complicating the roles of detective and villain and dissolving the boundaries between them.

Hannibal employs various genre traditions, and in many cases subverts or alters them, which

makes any classification of the series in generic terms difficult. Whether a strict classification of

Hannibal as belonging to one genre rather than another, is helpful in an investigation of the series'

queer potential is questionable.

2.2 Visuality, “Reality”, and Ambiguity

The character of Hannibal is presented almost exclusively through the eyes of Will, while few scenes follow Hannibal without Will's presence. It is through Will that viewers are introduced to the series' plot, which in the first season is more centred around the investigation of various murder cases than in the two later seasons. The audience is taken into the world of the FBI by Will, who is asked to consult on a case by Jack. The audience learns new story-world information alongside the character of Will, which encourages viewers to identify with him. Significantly though, due to the popularity of the novels and films of the Hannibal Lecter franchise, the audience can be expected to know from the beginning that Hannibal is perhaps the most dangerous serial killer in the series, while Will only acquires that knowledge later. Viewers are encouraged to become invested in the character of Will through insights into his emotions and vulnerable mental state. The knowledge gap between the character and the audience may encourage viewers to pay special attention to early interactions between Will and Hannibal, since the latter poses a potential threat to the protagonist. Since the two characters are shown to form a close relationship early on in the series, Will's point of view effects a sense of “being in collusion with Hannibal” (Logsdon, 51). Despite the audience's knowledge of Hannibal's cannibalistic actions, the presentation of the character through Will's eyes makes it difficult not to care more deeply about Hannibal than might be considered typical for serial killer characters. Logsdon comments that Hannibal, through Will's point of view, is constructed as a character who “is not, and may never have been, entirely what or who the viewer thought he was” (64). Hannibal, much like the series' genre, is not easily definable or classifiable.

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The series is rooted in a gothic visual style around the artistic display of corpses and elaborate meals, and through the audience's knowledge of Hannibal's cannibalism, there is a clear connection between the two (Donovan, 47; Ionita, 27). Hannibal often favours this focus on visuality over narrative progress, such as in “Mizumono”, when extreme close-ups on Alana's face show a tear running down her cheek before falling onto the glass surface of a table. As the single drop hits a small pool of tears on the table, it takes on a deep red colour reminiscent of blood.

Another extreme close-up fills the screen with an image of the two liquids dissolving into each other (2.13 “Mizumono”). This sequence does not further the episode's plot but rather functions as a visualisation of Alana's feelings of having been betrayed by Hannibal. Similar imagery is used later in the same episode, after the character of Alana has been pushed out of a window and lies injured

Screenshot 1: Alana's tear hits the table, apparently mixing blood with tears (2.13 “Mizumono”, 15:24).

Screenshot 2: An extreme close-up of blood mixing with the tears on the table, highlighting the visual over the progression of the narrative (2.13 “Mizumono”, 15:30).

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on the ground. A shot from her perspective shows heavy rain falling in slow motion, and the individual rain drops' colour changes to a dark red so that they resemble blood falling from the sky (ibid.). These breaks in the plot highlight the series' focus on characters' feelings, setting it apart from the focus on rationality and progression in the central investigation one would expect in more traditional detective narratives. This focus on characters' “inner worlds” foregrounds their shifting identities and opens up possibilities for the presentation and exploration of queerness. The idea of fluid identities is also represented in the series' opening sequence, which consists of close-ups of splashes of a red liquid. The liquid takes the form of a ribcage and is then shown taking the shape of a human head. Different shots allow viewers to recognise the heads of Jack, Will, and Hannibal but significantly, the images are never quite clear, the liquid never completing the shapes it creates, so that viewers can always see the white background through the characters' heads.

Screenshot 3: Hannibal's face in the series' opening sequence. Note the choice of red liquid, resembling blood, and the "unfinished" presentation of the face (1.08 “Fromage”, 03:14).

Screenshot 4: Will's face in the opening sequence. The fluid assumes the shape of his head without establishing clear boundaries to the white background (1.08 “Fromage”, 03:12).

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The opening sequence functions as a first hint at the series' emphasis on ambiguous, fluid states of being, as the liquid is always in motion, just like the characters in the series are shown to constantly change and evolve. Hannibal rejects a rigid understanding of identities as fixed and stable, and makes this clear in its opening sequence. The sequence also introduces viewers to the series' visual aesthetic. With its focus on visuality, Ionita sees Hannibal as being driven by an operatic narrative structure that highlights characters' emotional states and poetic dialogue rather than those elements of plot progression usually found in crime-centred series (24-28). Hannibal's narrative structure finds its closest equivalent “not in film or literary fiction, but rather in opera – a form of storytelling that is predicated on a permanent tension between the dramatic and the lyrical” (Ionita, 26). This operatic mode of storytelling is further underlined by the use of opera and classical music on the series' soundtrack. Scenes depicting Hannibal cooking or presenting his dinner guests with (cannibalistic) meals are often set to Bach, especially the Goldberg Variations, which are used in several episodes of the series.

Hannibal's focus on characters' psychology and interpersonal relationships instead of the

progression of investigative plot elements is also emphasised by the blurring-together of the story-world's reality, imagined scenes, and hallucinations. Will is frequently shown closing his eyes, and the implication is that the following scenes, which show him committing the murders he tries to solve, are set solely in his imagination. A scene in “Fromage”, in which Will investigates the murder of a musician, is exemplary of the series' construction of the character's inner world. The victim's body is displayed on the Baltimore symphony's stage, and Will is left alone with the corpse as other investigators leave to allow him to work on his own. Will is shown approaching the victim, and the lights behind him in the auditorium are dimmed as he closes his eyes, focusing viewers' attention on him. A wide shot shows the victim centre-stage, well-lit, as the surrounding lights are dimmed down

Screenshot 5: Will closes his eyes as he investigates the victim. The lighting directs viewers' attention to his face (1.08 “Fromage”, 08:10).

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further. After another shot of Will with his eyes closed, the screen goes dark, and a bright yellow pendulum swings from side to side. The pendulum is used from the first episode onwards to indicate that Will is investigating a scene in his mind, highlighting the importance of this blending-together of the character's imagination and the story-world's reality. A cut to Will's face shows him opening his eyes and walking backwards, away from the body. He takes a seat in the auditorium and closes his eyes again, and the camera cuts to a close-up of the victim's throat and face, Will now standing behind him. As Will narrates the murderer's actions, he is shown carrying them out on screen, mutilating the body. Will speaks of himself as the killer, assuming the murderer's subject position: “I open his throat from the inside, using the neck of a cello […] I wanted to play him. I wanted to create a sound. My sound” (1.8 “Fromage”). Will “investigates” crime scenes with his eyes closed, pointing to the pre-eminence of imagined over factual actions in the series. These imagined scenes are, at the same time, flashbacks, that inform viewers about the ways in which crimes were committed. Importantly Will, visually replacing the actual murderer, re-enacts those murders in a way that resembles precisely choreographed classical dance routines. This portrayal of the (imagined) act of killing as a dance, often shown in slow motion, once again underlines the series' emphasis on art, artifice, and aesthetics, and the blurring of Will's internal world and the “reality” of the story-world.

Will is also shown to be prone to hallucinations, such as in “Fromage” where he (and the audience) repeatedly hears the cries of a wounded animal that no other character can hear (1.08 “Fromage”). These hallucinations undermine Will's reliability as a narrator and character, and later episodes of the first season address this theme overtly. In “Savoureux” he is accused of killing the character of Abigail (Kacey Rohl) and when Will states that he hallucinated killing her, viewers

Screenshot 6: Will takes on the position of the murderer and "plays" on the victim after inserting a cello's neck through his throat (1.08 “Fromage”, 09:41).

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cannot be certain whether the hallucination was “real” (1.13 “Savoureux”). The unreliable presentation of actions through Will's point of view is stressed again in the same episode, when Alana asks him to draw a clock. Over-the-shoulder shots of Will show him drawing a normal clock, which he turns over to Alana. A cut to her side of the table reveals a distorted drawing of a clock with all the numbers on one side, making it clear to viewers that Will's perspective is not reliable in this scene (ibid.). While Will's inability to draw a clock correctly is explained by the character suffering from encephalitis in season one, his psychology remains non-normative throughout the series. There is a tendency in crime-related television series to portray mental illness as both a curse and a gift (Meier, 128-29). Series such as Monk (USA Network, 2002-2009) and Sherlock (BBC One, 2010-2017) depict their investigator-protagonists as psychologically troubled characters who are able to solve crimes and mysteries not despite of, but precisely because of their mental illness.

Hannibal similarly presents Will's unusually high empathy, which allows him to imagine himself as

any other character and understand the reasons for their actions, as the reason for his successful work with the FBI. At the same time, the series addresses the negative aspects of exhibiting a non-normative psychological makeup: Will suffers from nightmares, hallucinations, and a decreasingly stable sense of self. Other characters, such as Jack and Alana, who are shown to care about Will, are unable to help him with his psychological distress in any significant way. Hannibal thus establishes Will as a character who suffers from his psychological non-normativity more than he benefits from it, unlike the main characters on Monk and Sherlock. The character is presented as not quite fitting into normative society, and this portrayal of Will as “other” marks him as queer. Will is constructed in such a way that the character challenges rather than supports straightforward crime-solving narratives, opening the series up to exploring alternative forms of knowledge-generation.

Susan Rowland links the preparation of home-cooked meals, often shown in Hannibal, to femininity, trusting instincts over other types of knowledge, and the re-establishment of order to society (163-165; 169). Hannibal presents viewers with a psychopathic serial killer who uses parts of his victims in his cooking. The elaborate meals he creates are often shared with other, unsuspecting, characters as a way of building relationships with them (Fuchs & Phillips, 210-11). Hannibal is shown to take great pride in his cooking, but instead of restoring order through the preparation of meals, he disrupts and undermines it by including human flesh in the dishes he serves to other characters. The traditionally feminine-connoted act of preparing meals for a group of people is transformed into a deliberate source of abject horror (Kristeva, 2-3). Hannibal dissolves and rejects the notion of heteronormative femininity associated with cooking in a detective environment as suggested by Rowland, and turns it into an exercise of boundary transgression. Furthermore, Hannibal's cannibalism is detected by Will through empathy and intuition, forms of

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knowledge that are often coded as feminine (Rowland, 163-65). Will's inability to ever bring Hannibal to justice within the legal system is linked to the series' treatment of knowledge, and its construction of queerness: “the show generates a kind of queer unknowing, a refusal to occupy traditional knowledge structures uncritically” (Donovan, 55). Knowledge and reality are fluid in

Hannibal, which is often underlined by characters being shown in purely imagined environments.

During Will's imprisonment in season two, he is repeatedly shown standing in a river, fishing, and only cuts to him standing in his cell make it clear that the nature scenes are set completely in the character's mind (2.01 “Kaiseki”). Similarly, when Hannibal is imprisoned in season three, Will speaks to him in his cell but the characters are instead shown standing in a church, adding visual grandeur to the scene (3.13 “The Wrath of the Lamb”). The series often presents viewers with dimly lit sets, favouring dark, saturated colours and deep shadows that disallow the audience to clearly see everything within the frame. Like the scenes set inside characters' imagination, this darkness becomes more and more ubiquitous over the course of the series and supports its increasingly dream-like narrative presentation. Along with the increased use of flashbacks, the plot becomes more fragmented as the series progresses, undermining linearity and focusing viewer's attention on the aesthetic presentation of characters' relationships and transgressions of societal and moral boundaries. Will's unreliable point of view as a central character and the series' focus on imagined rather than “real” settings for scenes, facilitates queer readings and the construction of queer characters, relationships, and storylines. The seamless transitions between dreams, hallucinations, and reality in the series foster a general climate of ambiguity that reflects queer theory's insistence on fluid, constantly re-negotiated, boundaries.

2.3 Failed Families and Rejecting Heteronormativity

The only romantic relationship that “survives” the series is that of Alana and Margot, and tellingly they are the only characters who appear to be raising a child successfully. Marykate Messimer argues that heteronormativity is effectively erased in Hannibal as a response to the constant erasure of queer identities in normative media (179). She centres this sense of erasure around the repeated depictions of failed heteronormative relationships and families in the series (ibid.). Will's romantic interest in Alana in the first season is shown to be reciprocated, but she ultimately rejects him due to his psychological instability. After a narrative gap of three years in the third season, Will is shown to have married Molly (Nina Arianda). He leaves her and her son behind in order to investigate the murders committed by Dolarhyde, and in the final episode joins Hannibal in his escape from justice. There is no indication of Will planning to return to his wife, and the series' ending renders such a

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reunion unlikely. The only healthy heterosexual relationship in the series, that of Jack and his wife Bella (Gina Torres), ends when Bella dies of cancer.

Heteronormative families are unsuccessful in Hannibal as well. The series begins with the investigation of the “Minnesota Shrike”, a.k.a. Garret Jacob Hobbs, who kills young women who look like his daughter Abigail. When he is cornered by Will at the end of the first episode, Hobbs murders his wife and attempts to kill Abigail before being shot to death by Will. The fourth episode of season one deals with a woman who attempts to create a family by kidnapping boys and manipulating them into killing their biological families (1.04 “Oeuf”). The murder of affluent (white) American families is also addressed in the second half of season three, when Dolarhyde murders two families and Will is tasked to identify the murderer before another family is killed. This threat to the normative American family is adapted from Harris' Red Dragon, which also presents Dolarhyde as killing upper middle-class families consisting of a mother, a father, and three children. The series, however, treats this threat to American society differently than the novel. The novel focuses on the nuclear family's central figure, the mother (Molly), killing Dolarhyde and thus removing him as threat to her family. The image of the re-united family is especially important in the film adaptation of Red Dragon, which shows Will, Molly, and their son spending a carefree day on a boat at the end of the film. Here, the restoration of order to Will's heteronormative family is presented as the ultimate win over the threat Dolarhyde posed. In the series, however, when Dolarhyde plans to kill Molly and her son, they escape without engaging in direct contact with him (3.11 “… And the Beast from the Sea”). When Will and Hannibal kill Dolarhyde, there is no mention of Molly, and a restoration of order to her family seems highly unlikely. It is noteworthy as well that neither Will nor Hannibal's biological families are mentioned in the series, except to let viewers know that Will grew up in relative poverty, and Hannibal's sister Mischa was murdered and eaten by a man when they were both children.

Attempts at building families are also frequently depicted as failing in the series. The Verger family, consisting of the siblings Margot and Mason (Michael Pitt in season two, Joe Anderson in season three) is presented as the ultimate failure of heteronormativity. Margot, who wishes to kill Mason for the abuse she suffers from him, explains that she cannot inherit their father's property because his will specifies the need for a male heir (2.10 “Naka-choko”). Mason tells her: “You're all I have. And I'm all you have”, and later explains to Hannibal that Margot being a lesbian was the reason for their father's insistence on a male heir (ibid.). While talking to Hannibal about the family business of breeding pigs, Mason argues: “Breeding was very important to my father. Margot really pissed him off with all her… button stitching – no breeding there” (ibid.). The series likens the breeding of pigs for consumption to human reproduction with the aim of ensuring the endurance of

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prominent rich families. When Margot plans to become pregnant by Will so that she can kill Mason and inherit the family business (by having a son), Mason hires a surgeon to remove her uterus (2.11 “Ko No Mono”). While lamenting her inability to “breed” due to her queer identity, Mason, the symbol of rigid heteronormativity, takes away Margot's uterus to punish her for becoming pregnant outside of his control. In a conversation between the two characters in a later episode, Mason stresses that he wishes for their family legacy to be continued by a child:

MASON: I wish I could give you a Verger baby, our own baby, yours and mine. We could raise it together.

MARGOT: The last time you said you wanted to have a baby you removed my uterus.

MASON: In my defence, you weaponised your uterus. You shouldn't have been waving it around like a loaded pistol. (3.06 “Dolce”)

The over-the-top language in this dialogue, with Mason's insistence that Margot “weaponised” her uterus against him, again points to the artificiality of heteronormativity. Heteronormative structures force Margot into a position that make her sleep with Will despite being a lesbian, in order to become pregnant and rid herself of her brother, who constantly denies her agency. Mason's wish to have “a Verger baby, our own baby, yours and mine” raises the character's insistence on seeing the family name live on to the level of incest. His control over Margot's ability to have children is further emphasised when Mason reveals that he harvested Margot's egg cells and has found her a surrogate so that she can have a child (3.07 “Digestivo”). Tellingly, the surrogate mother is revealed to be a pig, again linking human reproduction to the breeding of livestock. When Margot and Alana

Screenshot 7: Margot and Alana discover the surrogate pig. Note the mobile hanging over the pig, made up of several small pig sculptures, mimicking art for the visual stimulation of newborn babies (3.07 “Digestivo”, 28:30).

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are shown discovering the pig surrogate, both the pig and the human embryo it is carrying are dead. The series portrays Margot's struggle to gain independence from her brother in a way that encourages viewers to sympathise with her by portraying Mason as thoroughly sadistic, such as when he makes a small boy cry so that he can collect his tears and drink them in a cocktail (2.11 “Ko No Mono”). Margot succeeds in having a son in the end, which is portrayed as a decisive victory in the series. She is able to procure Mason's sperm when he is anaesthetised for surgery, as Alana explains to him: “Do you know what happens if we stimulate your prostate gland with a cattle prod? Hannibal does. He helped us milk you” (3.07 “Digestivo”). Hannibal's expert knowledge of prostate stimulation and the implied scene of him and two queer women obtaining Mason's sperm significantly queers the entire concept of reproduction. Alana becomes pregnant with Margot's child (via Mason's sperm) and the two women successfully take over the Verger family business.

In a later episode Hannibal addresses his own attempt at forming a family with Will, stating that “I gave you a child”, insisting “you're family, Will” in reference to his plan to escape from the FBI with Will and Abigail at the end of season two (3.09 “… And the Woman Clothed With the Sun”). After realising that Will worked with the FBI to capture Hannibal, Hannibal cuts Abigail's throat, killing her the same way her father tried to kill her in the series' first episode (2.13 “Mizumono”). Hannibal and Will fail to form a (queer) family and Hannibal points out that Will failed to have biological children as well when he comments on his marriage to Molly, a woman who already had a child: “Ready-made wife and child to serve your needs. A stepson, or daughter… A stepson absolves you of any biological blame. You know better than to breed – can't pass on those terrible traits you fear the most.” (3.09 “… And the Woman Clothed With the Sun”). Hannibal makes it clear that he does not believe that having biological children would be an option for Will,

Screenshot 8: Hobbs threatens to cut his daughter Abigail's throat in the series' first episode (1.01 “Apéritif”, 37:46).

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since his children might inherit his darkest urges12_{. Will cannot engage in building a}

heteronormative family successfully because his non-normative psychology poses a danger to society, and the series shows him abandoning his wife and adoptive son in season three. Hannibal constantly presents viewers with characters who try to build families within the heteronormative structures of society, only to fail again and again. The only successful family, that of Margot, Alana, and their son, is a reaction to, and rejection of heteronormativity, but despite their success, they are forced into exile at the end of the series' third season, when Hannibal escapes imprisonment and threatens to kill Alana (3.13 “The Wrath of the Lamb”).

Hannibal refuses to perpetuate heteronormativity by presenting it as the ideal model for

forming partnerships and raise children, and instead systematically depicts the failures of such families. The series' narrative presentation functions as a basis for the series' queer potential, which becomes even more clear when taking into consideration its portrayal of individual characters and their actions.

12 For a discussion of Will as a character, his development over the course of the series, and the traits Hannibal mentions in this quote, see chapter 3.

Screenshot 9: Hannibal kills Abigail by cutting her throat at the end of season 2, standing behind her as her father did in the first episode (2.13 “Mizumono”, 37:03).

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3. Characters

Throughout the series, Hannibal's central characters are constructed in a way that continuously undermines expectations the audience may have regarding their motivations and behaviours. Hannibal is presented as a paradoxical character, capable of both extreme violence and warm companionship, while the character of Will becomes increasingly unstable and difficult to define as the series progresses. The relationship between Hannibal and Will is represented by the feathered stag Will dreams of in the early episodes of the series, and developments in the relationship are mirrored in the stag's transformation into a man-like figure with antlers. This figure and the relationship it represents will be considered as its own character, indicative of the way in which Will and Hannibal are shown to blend together in the series' later episodes. This undermining of the boundaries that separate the two characters is integral to the ways in which the series constructs their queerness.

3.1 Hannibal, the Paradox

Hannibal's introduction in the first episode of season one establishes the characters as paradoxical. He is first shown on screen after Will realises that organs of the “Minnesota Shrike” serial killer's victims are eaten by the murderer. After Will verbally confirms to Jack that the killer is a cannibal, the episode cuts to a shot of Hannibal's dinner table, slowly revealing the character through the camera tilting up from his hands cutting meat on his plate and lifting his fork to his mouth. For

Screenshot 10: Hannibal is introduced as he takes a bite of his meal. The scene is set in relative darkness, hinting at the character's mysterious identity as a cannibal (1.01 “Apéritif”, 21:08).

"Is Hannibal In Love With Me?" - The Construction of Queerness in NBC's Hannibal