Hannibal tv show analysis

Analysis Of Hannibal the tv show: (Long, lot’s of very subtle things)

Why is Hannibals violence subdued:
two reasons that I think of. 1) they show Hannibal as extremely restrained. He in many ways is really very hard to read. For instance, I tried to follow what the cannibalism is like for him, based on his body language, but his reactions are very subdued. So they keep this up by not expressing the violence overtly. He is the subtle killer.
I think like the way he is portrayed to the characters as a gentler version of himself, in a people suit. Here to us, he is also presented as a gentler version. What makes this really crazy, is that there is a discontinuity that runs (at least in my head) as I know that there should be more evidence of motive. More lust, violence etc. Interestingly when i have watched documentaries of psychopaths though, I get the same feeling, that more should be on display. That I can’t help but feel charmed, but feel they could not do this horrible thing that they did (Dahmer for instance). And yet they did. So the psychopath is like an emotional illusion. It seems like something is there when nothing is.
Hannibal takes great care to do things in a beautiful display. Make beautiful food. Not be rude, but always have his best version of himself. It would not go with this image if they really showed the ugliness fully.
I think they hint at it if we look closely. Which I like, it becomes a puzzle in that way. I find his crudest kill display as Gideon, feeding Gideon himself. Not only is that sadistic, but the food is displayed in a gross way to me, as over large chunks of meat. Also the eye of god episode too is very sadistic too. Or like more clear of Hannibal’s evilness I think.
Mads says that he plays Hannibal different from Anthony as Anthony plays a psychopath in many ways. He plays a force of god. So then you have to think, what changes?
Well as a force it is not about the violence. It is about the force of nature. Being that force.
On another level this show is deeply trying to charm us as well, to get us looking and being on the side of the killer at least in this version. Both being extremely aesthetic and tying deep primal sexuality in a deep way to killing. Many of the violent scenes are also read in a sexual context as well.
On a symbolic level, when Beverly is trying to catch hannibal, Will says you have to look deeper to find the motivation. I believe the same can be said to us for understanding the show and the killer motives.

Antlers symbolism discovered while watching fan song
https://youtu.be/BjM2_F4B9Bk I noticed at .50 seconds during one of the smelling Will scene’s that Will is standing right behind antlers! As if they are going into him! (I don’t know if this is a coincidence, but that is really interesting to me if it is.) Also not as surprising as Hannibals room is red, they are surrounded by red in this scene. which could go with the antlers. In this case it would be akin to the scenes where Hannibal kills people by pushing antlers through them.

Wendigo a really dark creature. Endless appetite, all consuming. Very creepy. I found it interesting that Will grows antlers at one point in the tinier very claustrophobic prison cage and they were very big antlers. Also it was in a way like symbolically breaking out of his cage perhaps?
Also, another thing, with the black color of the wendigo, I did just take note that (again in a song) I saw a flash of in all black and someone else all blacked out after a perhaps symbolic killing. in the song Waltz for Lecter at 4:13 and 4:22 shows two blacked out people. And Alana goes black at a point. I am thinking Will does too. So the black seems like a direct influence from the Wendigo. Either bringing out their darkness, or just the aftermath of being in the presence of the Wendigo and the destruction left behind.

Some more symbolic stuff I just found: also at 2:25 of Waltz for Lecter song: Hannibal looks at a recipe for Lambs brains.. Which is an interesting reference to silence of the lambs.. eating the brains of people who are considered the innocent. And later in this series Will is referred to as The Wrath of the Lamb.
Wills monster I think may be related to fishing. Since there are a lot of dead fish around him.. And as I pointed out before, it’s weird cause in the wiki about his house, they call his house an aquarium and that he just takes in influences in a watery sort of way, pretty much saying he is symbolically a fish with his empathy. So that’s weird. Like he’s killing himself… or maybe killing his own kind when he fishes.

And Will and time seems to mean something as well… okay his brain disorder and not being able to write a clock… it’s a broken clock, as in trapped in time in some way or something like that. In his visions he sees a pendulum which is used to keep time. When reenacting the scene he is often seen going backwards, as if time is reversing. This is interesting cause Hannibal wants to be able to reverse time. So in a sense Will represents the things Hannibal wants and desires. To revert back to a better time and to be understood.

More laterHannibal - Season 3

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Procrastinating is Fun Response

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This is a super awesome video on procrastination… https://youtu.be/vML3KOQjtl0

This is my somewhat funny response to the procrastination video. Hopefully someone will relate to the deep issue of procrastination here and learn some ways to deal with it. And tell me what you do?

This is super awesome! 😀 Very nice video.. I never saw anyone celebrate procrastination like you seem to do… Which is weird.
Um.. I have a huge problem with procrastination. So that makes me like an expert on the subject.
well rerouting doesn’t always work. My mind knows it is just more work. So I relax and do no work for 15 minutes at a time! It feels Sooo lazy but good. Then I work. If I try to work every moment with diverting my mind starts hyper procrastinating ( i just made this word up, but I am sure no one wants to get in the dirtiness of this word)
Rerouting is the worst procrastination there is for me. I want to make money as a serious env artist. and I want to make an emotional masterpiece short animation that will likely bring in no money. Which one does my mind keep flocking to? The money-less one. My husband is so annoyed by this… It’s the second loved project factor.. Argh… no good answers.
Twitter/Email/Blog/etc procrastination. I think it’s because 3d work, and a lot of work i do is really antisocial stuff at times. Like I think I spend days in a super dark cave such is someone opens the door I shriek at the light. So i let this happen at times when I feel I need to connect in some way to know that I am not the last survivor of a post apocalyptic world.
Also procrastination can be due to fears that the work will suck Hard hard.. and I will want to kill myself..no not really.. just a little. just got to tell yourself the lie that it doesn’t really matter if its bad so you can keep going till it gets good.

The Violin Commenter

So I was on this youtube video listening to these beautiful different violins and at the end he says the one with the best comment will win this over 100,000$ in worth violin. https://youtu.be/1HotrHNXwpE So here was my entry:

The violin is an instrument with few that can tame. It is a marvel to listen to when played by the right hand. And those who can are given much deserved respect for playing the daunted thing.
In 6th grade I think or 8th maybe I went home smiling, expectant. I had a form in my hand that I handed and I made the case to my parents about why I wanted to play an instrument in school, sure they’d nod and say yes, that’s a fine thing to do. When they said no, I was surprised and confused. They told me how they couldn’t afford to rent an instrument, back and forth both parents making point after point on this. I had not thought of that till then, the expense of the instrument. I agreed and went to play outside, the hot sun shining on my face as i grabbed a ball. I thought, I’m not going to play an instrument at school. And I’m probably not going to see if I am really very good. My family won’t come to my performance, surprised that I really could play, that I really was talented, looking at me different afterwards. With respect.
That year several of my friends were in music class all with a different instrument. I was jealous. Like a piece from a puzzle I couldn’t figure out, it didn’t make sense why they were allowed to play, and their parents would go and see and be proud of them. But I swallowed this feeling also, and played in the sun, as that didn’t cost a thing.

~

Afterwards: It’s been a few weeks and the 100,000$ + violin has not come to me. So I assume someone else has won. I guess since I have never played (or probably not even held an actual violin), that’s probably fair.

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World Spins Me By

The world keeps changing and it’s changing me too. I don’t always know what it’s changing me to. If its a good thing, or I am just warping. Or maybe my vision is unclear. Maybe I need a new frame of reference. But my eyes are getting older, and maybe I need to let the other senses tell me what I see.
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The rain trickles in a garden, feeding spring flowers. then summer fattens the fruit, till the children come running.
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I am in the house, with a blanket over my head. I am watching the news, and I am flicking through my feed. I know I was trying to find something, but now I am just amassing information.
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There must have been something more i was doing. But as I get older my memory fades. Maybe I will have to rely on my instincts instead to navigate me through.
I see the silhoettes of other people through the glowing box. Real like me, telling me about themselves even though I don’t know them. I can start to think I do. And I touch my fingers on the screen in a silent wonder. But nothing is there anyways. And I don’t really know them. I only get a snippet of a story. A fragment.
~
But if i get off this ferris wheel, what I was trying to do, whatever it was, really will be gone. I see myself shrinking in the mirror.

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The Holy Boulder

I’m following, ” The Friday Fictioneer Challenge: Write a 100-word story based on the photo.” I heard about here: https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/1298382/posts/1555910351
I was challenged to write a 100 word story frmom a picture of a holy/hole-y boulder.

“The boulder with many eyes!” Tiffany said, excited. I rolled my eyes. Her expression soured. She spat in front of me. I kicked brush over. And looked at her, five inches over me.
“That’s stupid.” I reply, annoyed, tossing my hair. I was ready to be on the trail and getting home.
“Wait, really I’m not lying. It’s really special,” she said. Then I looked and saw.
“Colors on the rock, divots, they’re really eyes. Which means, it’s really alive.” I say awed. Then I spit on the ground, “I’m Leaving,” I shout, then stomp off, kicking debris up everywhere.

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The picture I got from Unsplash by nathan-dumlao

A Place in Your Arms

What Place do you remember?
https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/45678464/posts/1551061003

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I remember being in your arms. real or imagined. Tanned, strong, warm. The fire is crackling and popping in front of us and you are whispering me how much you love me in my ear as I grin. Sound moves the air around me and tickles my ear and neck. Warm. It feels so nice as you play with my arm, creating the gentlest circles, carving paths there. But I know in the back of my mind not to believe you. Though I have no reason to think this. Because I know you are probably a great person. You seem like you are. Something about how nice you feel, makes my mind riot in believing. But the glass of wine, and the gentle rhymic cracle of the fire humming through the air, and the strong arms coiling me tighter, turns off my fighting reflex. And I start to sink instead.

I feel myself falling asleep, gentle sounds, feelings, smell around, and those words still on the tip of my thoughts, you repeating them over and over like a chant to me as I drift down lower and lower. And I am going down, till i find am in water with seaweed in my mouth and hair and I’m spitting it out, salt. And looking about.
Bluish water, pebbles underfoot, and watery flowy plants.

And then I rise a moment later, and I pull up out of it, and wake up back in the apartment. And you are gone. I put on my flip flops and wander out into the apartment tentatively looking around. But I am met with empty corners instead. I am going outside without a thought on it, the feel of the cold air, and smell of the smog both hitting me at once, the loud honking and engines on the side of me. People walk and push past me, and look angrily at me cause I won’t get out of their way. And I walk like this. In this haze. Where did you go. I keep looking as if on a beach, if I keep at it I will find it. The treasure with golden blocks inside.

But there the streets wind like a maze that I am too tired to pursue. And so I sit on a bench next to a man rolling a cigarette. I put my head in my hands and I cry. I wanted so much for that dream to be true.

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On Being Married

As a married person, I’d say, sometimes being married is as close and sweet as staring into a bonfire on a cool night. But sometimes it just rages like a fire cutting through all the things in your house that you care about. And I’m in there running, batting at everything with a towel. Trying to stop the fire before it spirals out and consumes the house whole.

Sometimes marriage is honest and beautiful, like lily white flowers in a vase, simple and sweet and pure. Things go easy, We laugh and smile, realizing, I don’t know how, but through all this time, we maybe have grown closer.

Other times it seems like a lie I just have to get through. Another day, another month, another year. A lump is hiding in my throat and I know that I can’t let them find.

Sometimes it’s a waiting game. Sitting in a white room with a round clock on the wall clicking noisily by, and I look at the other people in the room, and wonder what they are in for. Other times a paint by the numbers. I open the manual and follow the rules and like that they are happy. And I wonder, don’t they see how mechanical that was. So often it doesn’t seem like they do. Just the doing of the things is what you do, and it runs soundly.

Then it’s been months of hardly speaking to each other. A grunt here, a request there, a slight scolding look or just a look.

The house becomes silent as a crypt, like it was bound up with stretched cotton covering all the surfaces or thin gossamer cob webs, the white slowly dotting out all the rest. Covering our mouths of all the thoughts in our head we’d never dare to say. Things that would start other things. Little matches everywhere ready to spark fires.

We close those things in our hearts quiet and secure from the prying eyes of partners who would never understand and would bruise it. We both are doing this, hiding from each other and yet peeking around corners.

Then something changes again. Another change.

I wake up to a new pale morning, and see them sleeping oblivious to my presence as i watch the rhythm of breathing that keeps em alive. And I wonder how they are still there at all. And I don’t know why, but I feel happy.