ohlensherrmustdie

Heraclitus said:

“There is no being — only becoming.”

Everything in the world is in a constant state of change.

Transformation, or becoming, for Francis is a process of accepting his essence through destruction and control, moving from weakness to power. He transitions from a fragile creature into the Great Red Dragon, a being that heralded the apocalypse. He has already embraced the darkness within himself — by consuming William Blake’s painting in order to accept his monstrous nature. His transformation is the result of childhood trauma rather than an innate predatory nature; therefore, flashes of humanity still break through in his becoming (his love for Reba), which the Dragon relentlessly tries to consume.

For Will Graham, this is a psychological experience and an awakening. His cognitive empathy forces him to enter the minds of killers in order to assume their image. This is physically exhausting. Having recognized his own darkness, Will does not fully transform into a higher being. He merely approaches the boundary that must be crossed, yet cannot bring himself to take the final step. His darkness grants him neither power nor control, but rather a kind of emptiness. Accepting the darkness means accepting the indifference of nature; Will’s world becomes entirely gray — not in color, but in moral terms — where good and evil, fused together, can no longer be separated. Graham understands that the darkness and the pleasure of killing were always within him, but he suppressed them because of social norms.

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Why Hannibal Is About the Renaissance, or Why Gothic and Baroque Did Not Become the Foundational Language of the Series

We often speak of Hannibal Lecter as a Gothic vampire and describe the series as possessing Baroque features. Yet if we examine Hannibal from all sides—as a form of spatial-temporal art—I once again arrive at the conclusion that Hannibal is fundamentally about the Renaissance, albeit with the caveat that it incorporates Gothic and Baroque elements that frame the Late Renaissance, which ultimately serves as its conceptual foundation.

🦀 Gothic, as a style, originated as early as the 12th century and developed through the 16th century in architecture, painting, and sculpture. In literature, however, the Gothic emerged primarily in the form of novels only in the second half of the 18th century. It is precisely within these novels that the mystical and uncanny imagery crystallized—imagery that would later migrate into other art forms. Gothic semantics in Hannibal manifest primarily in the surrounding atmosphere of the series: in the constant sense of concealed threat, in the monstrous image of the Wendigo, and in the persistent motifs of horror and anxiety. For Hannibal, Gothic functions as a source of tension, shaping composition, lighting, and rhythm.

🦀 The foundation, however, lies in a Renaissance idea: anthropocentrism. The human figure—albeit distorted—remains central. Violence becomes subject to analysis and structure; it is presented through aesthetics, with morality pushed into the background. Overall forms are preserved, yet remain in a state of constant tension, which is characteristic of mannerism. Affect is fully replaced by contemplation.

On Will’s transitional nature.

Earlier, I already mentioned that after long reflection, the artistic language of Hannibal increasingly reminds me of mannerism in many of its elements: the distortion of forms, the departure from the familiar, and the dominance of aesthetic structure over moral content.

Let us return to my idea that Will is a transitional figure—from the Early Renaissance to the Late Renaissance.

🧡 The characteristic features of the Early Renaissance lie in artists’ and sculptors’ engagement with the ideas of humanism. Anthropocentrism (a philosophical worldview according to which the human being is the center of the universe) becomes especially prominent. The Quattrocento is marked by a gradual elevation of human status: the human approaches God not as an equal, but as His highest and most perfect creation. The significance of the human individual becomes one of the key values of artistic thought during this period. In painting, this manifests in a growing interest in portraiture and landscape, as well as in bodily and emotional authenticity.

Looking at the first season and Will as he appears there, we can observe a similar emphasis on the human being. Roughly speaking, the value of the human here is not for art itself, but for Will personally. His anthropocentrism is directed toward the value of human lives. Portrait-like shots that closely frame Will’s face, the heightened attention to the surrounding landscape, and the stag as a mythological image all point to the presence of the Early Renaissance around Will—even in how he is positioned within the frame.

🧡 Turning to the High Renaissance and to Will’s image in the second season, it is important to note that his development gradually leads him toward a state characteristic of the High Renaissance: a condition of apparent wholeness and inner balance. Will becomes less compassionate and less reactive, as he begins to perceive himself as the center of events, as a figure capable of influencing their course rather than merely being a “victim.” Yet even in this state, his wholeness remains unstable. Will only approaches the true harmony associated with the High Renaissance, but remains suspended in an intermediate condition. His intellect and sensitivity—which, within humanist logic, should have led him to clarity and balance after realizing everything that has happened—instead become a personal source of inner tension and fracture, now on an ontological level.

🧡 In the third season, Will definitively shifts into the zone of the Late Renaissance (mannerism). If earlier he balanced between humanist attention to the individual and the pursuit of Renaissance wholeness, now this wholeness reaches a point of tension and instability. Mannerist logic first and foremost abandons the classical equilibrium characteristic of the High Renaissance and acquires a growing disjunction between form and inner content.

Visually, Will’s image still preserves anthropocentrism (he remains the compositional core of the frame, and his attention is still focused on people), yet space no longer supports him. The proportions of the world appear disrupted, pauses become more prolonged, and the narrative grows increasingly anxious. In art-historical terms, the Late Renaissance is the moment when the presence of ideals no longer functions. Will in the third season exists precisely within this mode: Renaissance in visual logic, yet deprived of faith in its stability. His image becomes saturated with a contradiction between preserved form and inner disintegration, bringing him closer to the aesthetics of mannerism.

Hannibal is most commonly discussed through psychology, violence, food aesthetics, corporeality, or religious motifs. More rarely is it examined through the lens of art history, although certain moments and details are occasionally addressed from the perspective of visual culture. Even less frequently is Hannibal approached as a mannerist system.

Mannerism as a movement received its name only in 1789 through Luigi Lanzi. Venetian painters themselves referred to contemporary art as maniera nuova (“new manner”), while Giorgio Vasari (the renowned Italian biographer and founder of modern art history) used the term mannerism in his Lives. Mannerism cannot be defined as a style, as it lacks a fixed set of stylistic characteristics; for this reason, art historians classify it as a movement or tendency rather than a style.

Mannerism should not be understood as a decline of the Late Renaissance. It represents a conscious rejection of harmony; it is an art of tension and fractured poses.

In the visual language of Hannibal, distinct mannerist features are evident, particularly its demonstrative artificiality. The poses of victims’ bodies, as well as crime scenes overall, appear highly composed and excessively calculated. The series rejects the interpretation of reality: scenes are stylized, transitions between actions are illogical and unrealistic, and the aesthetics of the body are presented outside biological plausibility.

As in mannerism, Hannibal foregrounds aesthetic structure, while moral content recedes into the background. As a result, violence is neither justified nor directly condemned. The viewer is presented with a clearly constructed image of an aesthetically “pleasing” crime scene. Examples include the human totem in episode 1×09, Sheldon Isley staged as a tree in 2×06, and Il Mostro’s victims in 3×02, arranged as gelatin and chlorides. Murder becomes a completed form, and the viewer functions solely as an observer.

When speaking of unnatural poses, it is important to note that mannerism treats the body as compositional material. The same principle applies to the series: unnatural postures and emphasized symmetry dominate the visual construction.

And however harsh or pretentious it may sound, Hannibal, like mannerism, is aimed at a prepared viewer. If we again turn to history, Renaissance art was fundamentally inaccessible to common people. Hannibal follows this same logic, as many scenes and dialogues require interpretation rather than a purely emotional response. You are free to perceive the series in whatever way is most comfortable for you; nevertheless, many elements are clearly oriented toward deeper understanding.

what genuinely interests me most about the third season—and what I still can’t find an answer to—is why will rejected hannibal.

i’ve had many theories about this, but in the end i always came back to the same conclusion: will wanted hannibal—the one he had already come to understand—to leave. will, having understood both himself and hannibal’s actions, having analyzed them so many times in his head while trying to find more and more answers to his unspoken questions, simply wanted his monster to be saved. he wanted him to leave, to disappear, to vanish—anything so long as the fbi wouldn’t reach him, so long as he wouldn’t be caught. so that he could remain a predator. in the second season, will wavers between good and evil, between leaving with hannibal and his dog-like loyalty to jack. he doesn’t know what would be right, first and foremost for himself, and only then for society. leaving with hannibal would mean forgiving him. staying with jack would mean that will chose justice. and he had already given hannibal a chance to leave in mizumono, saying, “you should have left.” he deliberately warned lecter so that he could escape. if we rely on will’s dreams, he could never truly kill hannibal. for will, that would be like cutting off a healthy arm while the other one is rotting and in excruciating pain. coming to terms with it would be difficult; surviving it would be possible, but the gaping hole inside would take a very, very long time to heal.

recently, I watched Robert Eggers’ The Lighthouse. it’s a rather heavy film, so I’d recommend being mentally prepared if you want to see a project where Robert Pattinson shows a completely different side of himself, revealing his full acting potential. Eggers’ The Lighthouse is a suffocating, myth-soaked, almost sacred work that shows how people go mad.

to some extent, we see the same things in Hannibal: the transition from good to evil, the blurring of boundaries, mythological and biblical undertones wrapped in the aesthetics of a gothic vampire novel. in the scene from The Lighthouse where Winslow (Robert Pattinson) kills a seagull, there’s a moment when his consciousness “shifts,” revealing the inner darkness he had been suppressing throughout the first half of the film while being oppressed by the lighthouse keeper (Willem Dafoe). I’d draw parallels here to Jack, Hannibal, and Will, since Wake is an allusion to Proteus—a prophetic god devoted to Poseidon, who is also a shapeshifter capable of taking many forms.

Will’s own “inner darkness” is suppressed until the very moment he asks Matthew Brown to kill Hannibal. up until then, he does everything he can to justify himself to a society that doesn’t really understand him, constructing an image of a respectable citizen—just as Winslow does. and both characters carry a dead man behind them. Will, because in a moment of shock he shot Garrett Jacob Hobbs. Winslow (later revealed to be Thomas Howard), because he failed to help his dying foreman—a man who also crushed his “manhood,” forcing him into self-hatred and self-punishment day after day. the reasons differ, but the consequences lead to the same result.

Will’s “inner darkness” fully emerges when he kills Randall Tier. yes, it’s self-defense, but in essence, this becomes the turning point of his life—the moment when the boundaries between good and evil vanish for good.

when it comes to who exactly tried to create an “ideal human being” in hannibal, it’s important to note that this works both ways. let’s start with hannibal and his desire to mold will graham from the shards and fragments of what he “saw” in him.

⭐️ hannibal as frankenstein. upon meeting will for the first time, hannibal immediately sees his potential for killing; he instantly understands that will has something inside him that must be revealed, something that should break through his flesh and live in the light instead of hiding in the dark. in hannibal’s understanding, by gathering will piece by piece, he was constructing the “ideal” killer—someone he could guide in the right direction, someone he could make equal to himself, if not elevate. hannibal feels like a creator in this moment, a monster approaching the significance of a god-maker. he skillfully manipulates and directs will, continuing to sculpt a “being” out of him—almost a killing machine, yet not devoid of feelings and emotion. the only thing that differentiates hannibal from victor frankenstein is that he does not reject his creation; he wants only to remain with him, believing that this “creature” is the only one capable of understanding him. I’d even draw a parallel to del toro’s version of elizabeth: living in a world of men who don’t understand her sharp mind, her hunger for knowledge, or her desire to learn, she finds solace in the creature. if you exaggerate this parallel, hannibal lived with similar thoughts. he understood that there was no one in the world who could grasp the sharpness of his intellect, his devotion to art, or his mission to eradicate vulgarity from the world. only the “creature”—only will—can understand him and accept him as he is.

⭐️ will as frankenstein. let’s recall the dialogue from mizumono, when hannibal says, “did you think you could change me as I have changed you?”, and will replies, “I already did.” speaking of a creator who tries to make himself equal to god, will can also be called a frankenstein figure—one who tried to sculpt a human being out of hannibal by suppressing his monstrous nature. in trying to gain hannibal’s trust, will truly reshaped him, sculpting from his fragments a new entity capable of emotion and love. with will, hannibal becomes softer; he makes mistakes he no longer cares about; he begins, in his own way, to long for people, to mourn losses of someone or something. with will, hannibal changes and becomes a being who stops being a monster in the conventional sense. he becomes the kind of monster you start to feel warmth toward, the kind you pity, the kind you want to understand and accept. just like the “cinematic” creature, who is endlessly pitiable (or maybe I just get too attached to “monsters”) when the world turns against him and his own creator rejects him.

will also rejects hannibal when he drives him away in digestivo. he doesn’t directly call him a monster. instead, he tells him he has no appetite like hannibal’s—hinting, indirectly, that hannibal is a killer, evil in the flesh, just as victor did when he drove the creature away. in will’s case, abigail becomes his elizabeth—killed when he tries to protect her from the monster. and will, just like victor, will chase after his creature, whether to forgive him or destroy him.

For Will, he is simultaneously Beatrice (though in a much darker form) and the Devil. For Jack and Pazzi, he appears only as the Devil. For Bedelia, he takes on the role of Virgil, guiding his pupil.

The entire Italian arc is structured through Hell — Purgatory — Heaven, gradually flowing from one stage to the next.

The season opens with the “dark forest,” as Will, still recovering from his illness, travels to Italy. Then comes the descent into the catacombs, symbolizing the descent into Hell, where Will forgives Hannibal.

Limbo, the first circle, is assigned to Bedelia, who becomes an “unjudged soul,” someone who has lived outside Hannibal’s “faith.” The ninth circle of traitors appears in the death of Rinaldo Pazzi — a reference both to the historical Pazzi family and their appearance in the Comedy, which the series reproduces with precise detail. Florence itself becomes a kind of Purgatory, where atonement and forgiveness take place (especially in the episode Dolce). The ascent into Heaven is represented through the constant movement up staircases. Eden itself is depicted in the climactic scene in the Uffizi Gallery.

Leaving Italy — or more precisely, transitioning into the brief Verger farm arc — concludes Will-as-Dante’s journey in Paradise. He is transformed, accepting the darkness within himself.

Interestingly, for Dante, Florence was the city from which he was exiled. Visually, the Florence of Hannibal becomes a Purgatorio through its architecture, buildings, and overall aesthetic. Here Bedelia undergoes purification through catharsis, especially in the scene where she washes herself in the bathtub.