Dearest members of the DeLaurentiis Company

Dearest members of the DeLaurentiis Company,

While reading, “The Wizard of Oz”, I was struck with the ending and have been thusly inspired. A startling realization dawned as Oz handed out gifts to the Tin Man, the Cowardly Lion and the Scarecrow. The gifts were symbols of the potential each had, but failed to recognize. Unmet potential. Hmm, ring a bell?

First, we find the scarecrow. His ideas are solid, yet he hasn’t the confidence in them. Could that be you, Mr. Harris? Your words brought me to the masses, and yet you hadn’t the strength to stand firm in defense of them. Instead of the backbone necessary to protect my life, you bent like grass in the wind, folding over at the first gust. Was it that, like the scarecrow, you didn’t trust in your own capacity to think for yourself? Instead, you allowed another to rewrite my destiny? You lead me to my slaughter, encouraging my destruction by those who are weak, unruly and believe in nothing. You should have believed in me. I, with all my doubts, still believe in you.

Next, we find the Tin Man, shining and presumably impenetrable, but without a heart. Might that be you, Mr. Fuller? Your idea was ostensibly to redefine Hannibal Lecter. Yours was, allegedly, to become the definitive representation. How dare you have the audacity to make such a claim? Would not Mr. Harris, receive that distinction? I am the supposed anthropomorphized Satan? Not even remotely inspired, dear Sir. I am man making my acts even more savage and terrifying. My mind and my deeds are extraordinary, not supernatural. Devil? Hah! The only thing burning are your ratings as they crash to the ground. Definitive? That is hardly a thought now, is it? Each week, as the indignity of the ratings emerged, did you imagine, as did I, my harpy piercing your flesh? Did that massive wound of failure yaw open with each downward trend? The thought of your pain pleases me.

Finally, the logo for the DeLaurentiis Company is a lion, is it not? Appropriate. Why, in all of the meetings and in all of the proposals did someone not recognize that reimagining an iconic and beloved individual such as myself would be an ill-considered venture? Cowardly or greedy, I do not know, but if money were the motivation, why would you not create a sequel to the movie Hannibal? The ending begged one. Fans have been scouring the Internet for any and all offerings to feed that desire. Market research was readily available. Fans have been visiting fiction sites for just such offerings. It is quite easy to see what is desired. If the storyline was well received, it is reviewed, if not, it is ignored, much like your exercise in futility. What critics think matters little. What is truly important is what the fans who have praised my life and honored my work think. If you finally honored my true life and joined Hannibal with Clarice you could have made hundreds of millions. Instead, you settle for crumbs. If you wish profits, seek redemption with Hopkins and Moore. The road paved in gold is clearly marked. Why have you not taken it?

Ever watching,

Hannibal Lecter, M.D.


My Dearest Martha

Greetings dearest matriarch,


As I pen this, I am struck with a combination of respect, awe, and, to be honest, indignation. That you’ve allowed Mr. Fuller to convince you that his vision of my life, his interpretation as it were, would be widely accepted (though there is little of me present) is disconcerting at best. I had hoped for better treatment at your hands.


I will admit his offering has exceptionally high production value, its packaging slick and the marketing quite ingenious. Still, your ratings, stellar in the first weeks, have subsequently and steadily declined. Why? Because you have named the show Hannibal in order that you might attract viewers. They watched in droves hoping to see me in all my glory, but to find me unrecognizable- Hannibal in name only.


Clarice and I often muse as we share a meal or a post-coital conversation (sex is a magnificent structure to which we add every day), that my relationship with Will Graham, though the fabrication is creative, it is just that. A fabrication.

He was no more engaging to me than is the mouse a cat bats about when bored.


The storyline is an interesting but highly out of character work of fiction. I might have said fanfiction but one would need to be a true admirer of the character to hold that distinction. You and your staff seem to appreciate little more of my life than my name. Otherwise, you might have protected and honored me by asking Mr. Fuller to remain true to its course.  My true nature has been compromised.


I myself tuned in week one with great anticipation and interest. Which of my exploits would be shared? I observed only to find I had been reduced to no more than a psychological babysitter. Do I strike you as a man content to be a professional hand-holder for a junior G-Man with a personality disorder? And why would I leave evidence in plain sight for a trainee to find? I do not kill women, if any choice is left me. That you have me unable to outsmart and thus be forced to kill a trainee is unthinkable. And foreshadowing Clarice in such a way was an expository device handled with all the grace of a hammer to the head. I am insulted. Truly.


And in whose twisted world would I allow people into my circle? Know, my dear Martha, that I trust no one, save Clarice. Would that you focused on that, you might have more viewers. Instead, I have become father to Abigail? And who is Will, her mother? I’ve followed your tweets and those of Mr. Fuller. The degree to which you pimp my name and skew my sexuality to forward your agenda is reprehensible. This level of discourtesy is unspeakably ugly. Instead of protecting my integrity, Mr. Fuller touts promises of nudity and promotes Hannigrams? You should all be ashamed to encourage such debasement of, not only my image, my very life. Would that I could un-see some of those! Oh, how the mighty have fallen.


Ever watching,


Hannibal Lecter, M.D.

My Dear Thomas

My dear Thomas,


While I sincerely appreciate your earlier efforts to chronicle my life, I must say I am deeply disturbed by the latest, shall we call it, incarnation. I do know that my personage presents difficulties to the average mind. Yours was equal to the task and I trusted my life’s work and achievements, even my so-called crimes, to your capable hands. One thinks now, dearest Thomas, that my trust has either been misplaced or that your defense of me has fallen on deaf ears. In either case, I am extremely dissatisfied and very, very unhappy.


My life’s tale is perhaps unimaginable to some. Nobility is a double-edged sword. I was raised to conduct myself in ways foreign to the pedestrian population. Thus, my letters to you and others will remain of a civil tone, though my feelings, if they can be called such, run with the heat and intensity of volcanic flow. Are you sensing that I am displeased? If so, you would be correct.


The fact that my tale has been ‘updated’ is an insult of the highest order. While my intellectual pursuits have always reached to the future, my feet are firmly entrenched in tradition. I seek out my familial heritage and my interests are deeply rooted to both formality and honor. I kill, yes, but not without purpose. If I take a life, it serves a function. Either I am protecting myself or I am adding to the world by removing that which is offensive and unnecessary to it. I am not evil. I simply am. Perhaps that concept is too highly evolved for the other poor dullards to comprehend. There is no good or evil. Typhoid and swans, my good Thomas, perception is all.


It has been offered that I am not affected by my past therefore, that past needn’t be recognized. I am offended, dear sir.  I state that nothing happened to me. I happened. That has been used to excise me from the life that was mine. Would that the small minds reading this statement understood. It is meant to say I am not a product of any one circumstance. I am a product of all. No single event perceived as either good or bad caused me to come into this consciousness. I claim all. I claim heaven and hell. I am All. The totality of my life is art of the highest order.  It has been sullied.


The events in our lives shape us. They define us. My past was not banal. It was the arc of my life that caused me to be. That it has been ignored is not only distasteful and highly offensive, it is criminal as I am being wholly misrepresented. I am no longer myself. I am becoming that which others wish me to be. Was my life, as it was, so much of an inconvenience you allowed my very being to be so altered? As the keeper of my legacy, as the man trusted with my very soul, you should have known better. My life was perfection. My legacy is tarnished. Judas, have you yet cast the coins upon the fire?


Ever watching,


Hannibal Lecter, M.D.