Original subtitles

Previously on Hannibal...

I want you to admit what you are.

You still refuse to see the monster growing inside you.

- I want exclusive rights to your story. - It's all yours, Freddie.

What is the heir to the Verger meat-packing dynasty doing at my door?

We have some very similar issues.

- I tried to kill my brother. - I assume he had it coming.

They're looking for you. It's important you do exactly what I say.

I'd say this makes us even.

I sent someone to kill you...

...you sent someone to kill me.

Even-steven.

Consider it an act of reciprocity.

Polite society normally places such a taboo on taking life.

Without death, we'd be at a loss.

It's the prospect of death that drives us to greatness.

Did you kill him with your hands?

It was...

...intimate.

It deserves intimacy.

You were Randall Tier's final enemy.

Don't go inside, Will.

You'll want to retreat.

You'll want it,

as the glint of the rail tempts us when we hear the approaching train.

Stay with me.

Where else would I go?

You have everywhere to go.

You should be quite pleased.

I am.

Of course you are.

When you killed Randall, did you fantasise you were killing me?

Most of what we do, most of what we believe,

is motivated by death.

I've never felt as alive as I did when I was killing him.

Then you owe Randall Tier a debt.

How will you repay him?

The killer chose not to dispose of the body, but to display it.

A jarring reminder of the informality of death.

Randall Tier was denied the respectful end that he himself denied others.

This is a humiliation, a final indignity.

He isn't mocking him.

This isn't disdain. He's... commemorating him.

This killer has no fear for the consequences of what he's done.

No guilt?

Hello, again.

Come closer.

I wanna see you.

Can you see you?

Clearer and clearer.

You forced me to kill you.

I didn't force you to enjoy it.

You made me a monument.

You're welcome.

The monument is not to me, it's to you.

I gave you what you want.

This is who you are.

What you feel finally matches the reality of what I see.

This is my becoming.

And it's yours.

This is my design.

He knew his killer.

There's a... familiarity here.

Someone who met him, understood him.

Someone like him.

Different pathology.

Same instinct.

His killer empathised with him?

Don't mistake understanding for empathy, Jack.

No, if there's anything, it's... it's envy.

Envy?

Randall Tier came into his own much easier than whoever killed him.

This was a fledgling killer. He's never killed before.

Not like this.

Not like this, no.

This is the nightmare that followed him out of his dreams.

I've upped the ante on my publishing deal.

There's been movie interest.

Hollywood is a fine place for the obnoxious and wealthy.

You're not wealthy, Freddie.

Oh, I will be.

No, I am a pariah among journalists because I took a different faith,

but I am putting that faith in you.

Let's talk about the Chesapeake Ripper.

Frederick Chilton. Who knew?

Who knew?

No one did. No one would, not even you.

You were so certain the Chesapeake Ripper was Hannibal Lecter,

you tried to kill him.

You neglected to say "allegedly".

No, I didn't.

Hannibal Lecter is your psychiatrist again. What's up with that?

I was wrong about him, that's what's "up" with that.

Maybe you were.

Maybe you weren't.

Dr Chilton was the Chesapeake Ripper.

The Chesapeake Ripper had surgical skills. Dr Chilton did not.

They had the same profile.

Dr Chilton was a woeful surgeon, dangerous even.

I've been chatting with some of his old medical school chums.

They say he fled to psychiatry to avoid embarrassment.

My story with the Chesapeake Ripper already has an ending, Freddie.

Mine doesn't.

Do you really think Dr Chilton killed Abigail Hobbs?

I don't.

Even if I let this story go, I will never let that go.

Trust me, Freddie...

...neither will I.

You know you will have to kill him, Margot.

You've known it for years.

I may have missed my opportunity.

Do you know why you failed to murder him, Margot?

Poor planning.

You failed to murder your brother because you still love him.

In love you take leave of your senses,

but in hatred you must be present to calculate your actions.

Allow yourself to hate him.

Do you think Mason will just give you what you want?

You'll be begging him for the rest of your life.

Did begging help when he tore you?

Same thing as taking his chocolate and letting him have his way.

I'm lucky I didn't kill him.

Papa's will was very clear.

Upon the passing of his beloved son, Mason,

in the absence of a legitimate male heir,

the sole beneficiary shall be the Southern Baptist Convention.

Even in death, Mason would take everything from you.

One of the most powerful forces that shapes us as human beings

is the desire to leave a legacy.

What legacy would you leave behind?

I don't get a legacy.

Unless you make one.

Have a good ride?

Here, put him away.

What do you want?

What do I want? What do I want? What do I want? What do I want?

I... want... to...

...share something with you.

This is Pavlov. Say hello, Pavlov.

Say hello.

Margot, say hello to Pavlov.

Hi, buddy.

After Papa died, I had a Christmas epiphany.

I've seen exotic pigs from all over the world.

What would happen

if I brought together the best of all that I had seen?

You built a maze. I shudder to think.

I feel like Stradivarius.

Our father was a pioneer in livestock production.

I think he'd be...

He'd be proud of my efforts.

A pig is not like other animals.

There is a spark of intelligence, a terrible practicality in pigs.

Well, you do have an unparalleled understanding of piggishness.

Your mouth gets rough when you're scared, Margot.

Tough as a livery pony who is resentful of the bit.

The structure is designed to excite and antagonise the pigs.

It's taken a while to find the perfect mix.

Any pig will eat a dead man, but to get him to eat a live one,

some... education is required.

Carlo is experienced in this field.

He actually fed a man to pigs in Tuscany twenty years ago.

That's one of my suits.

I'll buy you a new one.

We stuff the clothes with meat,

scent it with human smells

and play the screams every time they are fed.

Come the real thing, we won't need the recording.

It's not just about making Papa proud.

It's about us.

It's about... family.

I want you to be proud of me too, Margot.

You're all I have.

And, uh... I'm all you have.

And this little piggy went "eeeeeeeeee-eeeeeee-eeee"

all the way home.

- Sounds like I'm killing it! - You are killing it. Don't kill it.

A theremin is an instrument that can create exquisite music

without ever needing to be touched,

but... it requires the rare gift of perfect pitch to play properly.

I've come to replenish your stores.

Feel the vibration move through you.

Feel it here.

And here.

It's like composing in thin air.

Thin air is a musician's canvas.

What happened to your window?

A stag got lost in the storm, came through there.

Got a few scratches getting him out.

Are you scarred?

Probably more than I know.

I'll show you mine if you show me yours.

I don't have the right parts for your proclivities, Margot.

It's a very psychological instrument.

Yes, we work with people the same way.

'Never touching...

'...but guiding them from dissonance toward composition.'

'But people are not instruments.'

Whatever it is you're playing, Hannibal...

...you have to listen very carefully to what you're creating.

I'm listening.

I'm listening to you.

You and I went so long in our friendship without ever touching,

yet I always felt attuned to you.

Who did this to you?

My brother.

Who shot you?

A friend.

I've always admired teachers, moulding impressionable young minds.

But you can only learn so much and live.

No one likes a know-it-all, Freddie.

Hannibal Lecter taught you when you were an impressionable young mind.

Your book's about Will Graham, it's not about me.

Were you sleeping with Hannibal Lecter when you were his student

or is that a recent development?

Oh, you are sleeping with him. I was just guessing.

Figured you had to be sleeping with one of them.

- Maybe that's why you can't see it. - See what?

Will Graham was right about Hannibal Lecter.

And I was right about Will Graham.

I'm not having this or any other conversation with you, Freddie.

Hannibal Lecter had four patients die while under his care.

Three former patients die after his care and then there's Will Graham.

All that fuss about Dr Lecter. Will even tried to kill him.

And now they're back in therapy together and another former patient is dead.

Will understands that Hannibal Lecter can help him.

Maybe what Will understands is

if you can't beat Hannibal Lecter, join him.

Dr Lecter.

Mason Verger.

So very nice to meet you. Thank you for accepting my invitation.

I'm prone to old-world politeness. Would have seemed rude to say no.

Since I'm paying for Margot's therapy,

I thought I should at the very least meet her psychiatrist.

I enjoy putting a face to the name.

Your swine are exceptional. Never seen pigs like these.

They're a special breed.

A product of many years, many litters.

What's your ground note?

We started with Giant Forest pigs, six teats, 38 chromosomes,

a resourceful feeder and an opportunistic omnivore.

Just like man.

You must know pigs as well as you know people.

- I do know pigs. - Papa would've loved you.

He could feel the face of a hog

and tell by the bone structure its genetic makeup.

Breeding was very important to my father.

Margot really pissed him off with all her... button-stitching.

No breeding there.

Do you have a sister, Dr Lecter?

I had a sister.

Then you understand my need to protect Margot mostly from herself.

She's pathological.

I'm sure she's told you horrible things that I've done.

I can't tell you what Margot's confessed to me.

Fortunately for you, I can't tell anyone.

Got me!

Even the worst of us needs someone to talk to, Mason.

Have you ever considered therapy for yourself?

Maybe I should.

Can I have Carlo slaughter you a hog?

A token of my appreciation for all that you do for Margot.

But I must insist on selecting my own pig. Always do.

Brined and roasted whole suckling pig.

A gift from a friend.

A friend of yours, not a friend of the pig's.

There are those who raise livestock and have a genuine affection for them.

The farmer who hand-rears lambs loves them and sends them to slaughter.

- They love and kill what they love. - And eat what they love.

It's a paradox.

Freddie Lounds thinks the two of you are a paradox.

- She sees something no one else sees. - What's that?

That neither of you is the killer she's writing about,

but together you might be.

Freddie Lounds must consider you a bland interview subject

if she's already resorted to fiction.

She won't be fenced in by something as malleable as the truth.

Freddie has no boundaries.

Someone with no boundaries is a psychopath.

Or a journalist.

Freddie isn't the only one without boundaries.

Your relationship doesn't seem to know many.

Patient and therapist.

Friend and enemy.

Crossing boundaries is different from violating them.

Boundaries will always be subject to negotiation.

It's just hard to know where you are with each other.

We know where we are with each other.

Shouldn't that be enough?

Better the devil you know.

There is a very good explanation for all this.

I don't wanna hear it.

- Not just a little bit curious? - Get away from the door.

I can't let you go, Freddie.

Not till you've heard what I have to say.

I know you're scared.

You only have to be scared a moment longer.

Give me the gun.

No!

Freddie Lounds left me that message three hours ago.

Her cell signal is dead now.

Last call was traced to the nearest phone tower in Wolf Trap, Virginia.

We have her on security cameras at a gas station filling up her car.

Six miles from your farm.

Freddie was supposed to interview me. She never showed up.

Why are you granting interviews to Freddie Lounds?

I owed her one.

Surely Freddie Lounds has more enemies than Will.

Not in Wolf Trap, Virginia.

I live in the middle of nowhere, Jack.

If someone wanted to take her, it's... not a bad place to do it.

I provide the ingredients...

...you tell me what we should do with them.

What's the meat?

What do you think?

Veal?

Pork, perhaps?

She was a slim and delicate pig.

I'll make you lomo saltado.

We'll make it together.

You slice the ginger.

The meat has an interesting flavour.

It's brazing.

Notes of citrus.

My palate isn't as refined as yours.

Apart from humane considerations, it's more flavourful for animals

to be stress-free prior to slaughter.

This animal tastes frightened.

What does "frightened" taste like?

It's acidic.

The meat is bitter about being dead.

This meat is not pork.

It's long pig.

You can't reduce me to a set of influences.

I'm not the product of anything.

I've given up good and evil... for behaviourism.

Then you can't say that I'm evil.

You're destructive.

Same thing.

Evil is just destructive?

Storms are evil, if it's that simple.

And we have fire, and then there's hail.

Underwriters lump it all under "acts of God".

Is this meal an act of God, Will?