With last night’s finale, one of TV’s most transgressive and daring shows has come to its end.
Some will argue too soon, lamenting the loss and hoping against hope that a fourth season is still a remote possibility. For now, though, it is gone from the airwaves.

I have not come here today to bury HANNIBAL, though, but to praise it.

Now, I’m not interested in a review of the final episode. There are other mediums and pundits more suited to that (one of the best being the ongoing weekly breakdown by The A.V. Club ). Instead, I’m here to put forth the idea that maybe – just maybe – Season 3 is the most fitting of finales for HANNIBAL, as it encapsulates and summarizes perfectly the underlying theme that’s been building up since the series started: transformation or, as Francis Dolarhyde puts it, “becoming”.

Bedelia: “What have you done, Hannibal?”
Hannibal: “I’ve taken off my person suit.”
Bedelia: “You let them see you.”
Hannibal: “I let them see enough.”

This exchange in Episode 1 of this final season marked the tone. No more masks. No more illusions. Hannibal, and those whose lives he had infected and torn apart, were irreversibly transformed by the bloody and vicious events of Season 2’s finale. Alana Bloom, Jack Crawford, Will Graham – all broken, crawling from the wreckage as harder, armoured – colder, even – than they were before.

The transformation wasn’t strictly relegated to the narrative itself. The show’s aesthetics, while always stunning, became more unhinged and grandiose. Some of this season’s detractors felt that the show had veered too close to this side of “pretentious” with the visual components taking such an operatic turn. Much like Dr. Lecter, though, it didn’t give a damn for such criticisms. It, too, had taken off its “person suit”. It had changed, reflecting the madness and chaos that its characters lived in now. It’s as if Hannibal’s “coming out” had infected the show itself.

The “becoming” reached its logical apex at the midway point, with the adaptation of the “Red Dragon” storyline. While there were plot deviations from Thomas Harris’ original narative, the boldest change comes in Francis Dolarhyde’s slow and inevitable metamorphosis into “The Great Red Dragon”. There are no subtle inferences or hints of his inner turmoil. No, we SEE it. A grand, operatic growth of wings and tail. Fire. Power. We see Dolarhyde’s “becoming” as he sees it, and it’s daring and beautiful and powerful. It takes the series into the minds of its human monsters and the realm of the supernatural, and it is glorious..

Of course, any discussion of the series MUST address the dynamic between Hannibal and his “frenemy”, Will Graham. Much has been made of the homoerotic tension between the two, and rightfully so. In many ways, HANNIBAL is a love story between two unwilling adversaries. But their relationship goes beyond any kind of gender-labels or easy classifications, for theirs is one built on the notion of “otherness”. Both are outsiders, with a rarefied perspective on their “fellow human beings” (and I use that term loosely here) that prevents them from forming any real relationships with other people. Each has their own motives – Will wants to save Hannibal, Hannibal wants Will to embrace his darker natures – and each one is changed by the other’s presence in their lives.

In an exchange from this final episode, Hannibal tells Will that his attempts at living a life of normalcy are doomed to failure.

“It won’t be the same. You’ll see it’s not the same. The unspoken knowledge will live with you like unwanted company in the house. … when life becomes maddeningly polite, think about me. Think about me, Will. Don’t worry about me.”

For three seasons, Will has fought against being “other”. Hannibal has not.
In the end, Hannibal is correct. And Will knows it.

There is so much more that can be discussed about HANNIBAL, and there will come a day when this series will be analyzed, scrutinized and discussed by academics and critics alike in essays, books and psychology classes. Call that hyperbole if you want, but it really is a testament to the show’s cunning intelligence. But, to say anymore would mean delving into spoiler territory and, has Hannibal himself would attest, that would be rude. There will be no tears, no wishes for extension or renewal, from me. If this is how it is to end, than I can think of no better way to do so.

For now, let us lay down our wreaths, say a few kind words at the podium and be thankful that for three seasons over two years, we were blessed with such bold vision… if only for a little while.

Rest well,  HANNIBAL.The world was a much more interesting place with you in it.

I’m a firm believer in supporting your friends and their endeavours. I also feel it’s important to support homegrown talent whenever possible.

And lucky me, I get to kill two birds with one stone here.

Jim Burrell’s HOLLYWOOD NORTH: The Extraordinary History and Art of Canadian Genre Cinema is the fourth volume in The Rue Morgue Library, and if you have any interest in Canada’s cinematic horror history, you should start freeing up some space on your bookshelf or coffee table. Like, now.

One of Rue Morgue’s longtime contributors, Burrell has compiled an extensive look at Canadian horror cinema, and profiles on some of the most prominent artists working in the field. This includes a look at such CanCon classics as Black Christmas, The Changeling, Prom Night, The Gate, Rituals, My Bloody Valentine, Pin, Ginger Snaps, Curtains… and the list goes on.

Alongside profiles of Canuxploitation’s multitude of offerings, HOLLYWOOD NORTH  features interviews with established luminaries such as David Cronenberg, Peter Medak (director, The Changeling) and Lawrence Dane (Rituals). There are also profiles on the “new blood” carrying the genre forward into the future, including Astron-6 (The Editor), Brandon Cronenberg (Antiviral) and Jen & Sylvia Soska (American Mary).

From a fan perspective, it’s a thrill to see the spotlight shining brightly on our home and native land’s place on the map. The past few years have seen a newfound appreciation for the country’s horror output, as well as an influx of new talent and films that are cementing our reputation as vanguards in the field. It’s a good time to be Canadian.

From a personal point of view? Jim Burrell is one of the hardest-working journalists I know, horror-based or otherwise. I have gotten to know Jim quite well, during my time in the trenches with Rue Morgue, and he’s one of the good ones, folks. With his encyclopedic knowledge and dedication to his craft, Jim has been putting his heart and soul into this passion project for some time now, so seeing this all nice and official-like, bound and ready to read, does my heart good.

To help celebrate the launch of HOLLYWOOD NORTH, Rue Morgue and The Royal Cinema will be presenting a special Cinemacabre screening of the cult classic Canadian slasher, PROM NIGHT. As well as appearances by star Mary Beth Rubens and composers Paul Zaza & Carl Zittrer, you can get yourself a copy of HorrorWood North from the merch table, signed by the author.

 Can’t make it to the event? Not to worry. HOLLYWOOD NORTH is now available for sale right here, along with the other volumes in The Rue Morgue Library.

So go out and get this.
Do it for your country.
Do it for horror.
Do it for Jim.

See you next week.

It’s been two months since I last blabbered on here. Two months since I made my way out west to make a new life and figure out what to do with it (see the last maudlin thing before this. I’ll wait).

And a lot can happen in two months.

I’ll give you the Cliff Notes version: it did not work out as planned. A lot of hooks in the water.
Plenty of nibbles. No bites.

Not a failure, but not a success. Least not in the conventional sense, anyways. I had friends, contacts and all kinds of networking on the go. And that was it. I had been invited and encouraged to make the trip and give it a go. And I had nothing to bring to the table.

It should be noted that many of these friends DO have things to bring to this metaphorical table. Filmmakers, writers, artists, performers of all stripes. Each and every one of them had established themselves by putting in the time, effort and sacrifice to get where they are.

Me? I had ideas. Nothing concrete, nothing to show once I got my foot in the door. As far as hard lessons go, it’s one of the hardest: to realize that you are NOWHERE near ready to get into the ring. I realized that I was still a “little fish” and that there’s no room for me in the “big fish” pond.

So here I am. Back at the starting line, no further ahead than I was when I left Toronto. Except for one thing: clarity.

Nine months ago, I was a part of something. I was the first to flash my business card at functions and events because, dammit, I was proud of that. I had made this position my identity. And now, it’s gone. Since then, I have struggled with the knowledge that THIS was no longer my life. Three years of amazing opportunities and wonderful moments and a feeling of belonging. It was a good life. But it’s over now. And I am slowly accepting it, the final stage of the break-up. It’s not easy. Some days are better than others, knowing that there are some people and things that are now out of reach and out of my day-to-day routine. Some by circumstance, some by their own choosing. But there are no grudges to be had, no ill will. I wish them well and nothing but success.

So, now what? What comes next? This. I have a fresh start and this little corner of the blogosphere. And it’s mine to shape and mold. I started Thoughts And Scribbles as a form of creative therapy, something to help push through the “grey days” of my new status quo. But it can be more. So here’s the new contract with you, Constant Reader.

Once a week, to start off. Let’s make it Wednesdays, shall we? Be it a recommendation, an interview or whatever random thoughts are floating around in my noggin, it will show up here. Not to mention the occasional “pop-in” from assorted folks with things to say (because sharing is caring). Like clockwork. Because all the connections, the name-dropping and schmoozing it up in all the right places mean nothing without putting in the time on what matters most.

It’s the work. Without that, everything else is wheel-spinning.

Hard lessons are still lessons. And I’ve learned a couple along the way.

Now, time to dust myself off, straighten my collar and, as Stephen King would say, “get on”.

Thank you for this moment of self-indulgence. Time to get to work.

WEDNESDAY: Why the third time’s the charm for DC’s resident occult troubleshooting bastard.