Bryan Fuller’s 2013 adaptation of Hannibal is not your typical romance — after all, how many love stories focus on characters engaging in psychological warfare designed to destroy one another? Sure, it’s not a healthy relationship dynamic, but in the world of horror, this series created the pinnacle of the genre “horroromance.” 

The Hannibal series is based on author Thomas Harris’ Red Dragon and follows empath Will Graham and his unexpected connection with the dignified, evil Dr. Hannibal Lecter. While the series starts as your typical police procedural, the second and third seasons explore the story Fuller really wanted to tell — and bring the queer undertones of these characters to light. 

At a time when mainstream queer media was in its infancy, an unabashedly queer show like Hannibal was largely possible because of its status as psychological horror. When a debate on the ethics of cannibalism is on the table, folks are less likely to bat an eye at two men pining after each other. Embracing the horroromance label allowed Hannibal to shine and cement its legacy within queer media as a show in which body mutilation doubles as a flirtatious vehicle for romantic declarations, sapphic characters are flawed yet complex, and viewers are forced to reckon with the primal fear at the base of all love stories: whether we’ll ever be truly seen and accepted for who we are.

“It really does look black in the moonlight.”

Some of the most horrific elements in Hannibal are also the show’s most romantic gestures, reflecting not just where Will and Hannibal are in terms of their relationship, but how they build intimacy. 

We see this from the very first episode when Cassie Boyle is impaled on a rack of antlers with her lungs removed pre-mortem. Hannibal offers Will his “assistance” with the case by providing a stark contrast to the killer’s hunting ethics. Despite both characters being cannibals, Hannibal murders without kindness or a sense of necessity, but because it’s an art.

This act also serves as an attempt for Hannibal to gauge Will’s skill set, while giving Will his first insight into Hannibal’s psychological profile. 

The cat-and-mouse game continues into Hannibal’s second season with Will attempting to ensnare Hannibal by offering his morality as bait, eventually succumbing to the allure of romantic mutilations himself when he combines the body of Randall Tier with the skeleton of a saber-toothed cat.. Later in the season, Will fakes the death of true-crime tabloid journalist Freddie Lounds by setting her body on fire as a gift to Hannibal, which Hannibal in turn honors by digging up Freddie’s corpse and posing it to resemble the Hindu god Shiva, both the creator and destroyer of worlds.

My favorite instance of a body horror grand gesture occurs in season three after Hannibal flees to Europe and leaves Will for dead. Although Hannibal told Will he forgave him for the betrayal, it’s Will’s forgiveness of Hannibal for killing Abigail Hobbs that prompts Hannibal to respond by leaving him a broken heart — an anatomically correct origami one made from the broken body of a queer male poet. Swoon.

“I love a good finger-wagging.”

Beyond the romantic dynamic between its leads, Hannibal depicts another set of complex, queer characters through the sapphic relationship between Alana Bloom and Margot Verger.   

Margot is introduced to the audience as a patient of Hannibal’s who suffers multiple forms of abuse at the hands of her brother, Mason Verger. Despite her father disowning her for being a lesbian, Margot is self-assured in her identity and her desire to be a mother — particularly to provide an heir that would free her from her brother. By pursuing a sexual relationship with Will to fulfill that specific purpose, we see how cunning Margot is in her self-preservation. She is portrayed as far more than just a victim of her brother, especially as she continuously conspires against him, plots his death, and becomes partially responsible for his demise. 

The most unexpected character development in the series is with Alana. Despite starting as a romantic option for both Hannibal and Will, Alana finally comes into her power — and her queerness — in season three. She has spent so much of the series being manipulated by Hannibal, and Will to some extent, that when she gives in to her desires for vengeance, it’s a refreshing direction for her character to take. She evokes a newfound confidence and stronger sense of self, which results in a casual “coming out” to viewers through a sex scene with Margot and a new collection of fashionable power suits. 

Together, these survivors build a romantic connection based on mutual support and a desire to rid the world of certain evils and build a path forward for the two of them. Alana assists Margot in killing her brother and offers her body as a surrogate to give Margot the family she wanted. Though flawed, compared to the rest of the cast, the motives for their actions are the most realistic and understandable. 

Their relationship is particularly remarkable because most on-screen sapphic relationships in the mid-2000s ended in the death of one or both characters. The last time we see Alana and Margot, they are alive and escaping the Verger residence with their son. Though this is a minor romantic subplot, their relationship is another example of how Hannibal fosters queer romance with bloody revenge at its heart.

“I let you know me. See me.”

Horror and romance are two sides of the same coin, especially with fear being so heavily associated with the act of falling in love. Our bodies react in the same way — hearts racing and anxiety mounting as we struggle with our desire to be seen for who we really are and be accepted for it. 

The first two seasons of Hannibal address this core need. Hannibal is perfectly content living his life until Will waltzes in with his innate ability to “get inside a killer’s head.” Will’s empathy sets him apart from the other psychopaths that Hannibal interacts with, and when he witnesses Will’s lecture profiling the copycat killer who mutilated Cassie Boyle, he realizes that someone might actually understand him. 

Of course, for Hannibal, being seen is a direct threat. While Will attempts to unravel the identity of the Chesapeake Ripper, the nickname given to the killer, Hannibal starts framing Will for his crimes to create distance between them. While it initially works, the moment Will sends someone to kill Hannibal, Hannibal’s hope for partnership is ignited. 

Throughout season two, we see Hannibal let his guard down to accept Will. But this isn’t a one-way street — the whole time, Hannibal is also seeing Will for who he is and what he is capable of, which serves as one of the hurdles of their relationship as Will is forced to reckon with these implications himself. This results in what is essentially the third-act break up in the romance beat, as the characters realize they have different visions for a life together that neither are willing to commit to — whether it’s a life behind bars or being “murder husbands.” 

Hannibal even says as much after he stabs Will. “I let you know me. See me. I gave you a rare gift. But you didn’t want it.” To which Will responds, “Didn’t I?”

But just like any other romance, being understood doesn’t mean anything if you’re not accepted. Even as they end season two with the realization that they have both been changed by the other, it’s the third season that delves into their struggle to reach that acceptance.

In true Hannibal form, that struggle results in a lot of attempted murder and cannibalism, but we eventually see Will find that acceptance — through attempting to destroy them both by hurtling off a cliff while they’re embraced in each other’s arms.

Despite the show only running for three seasons, Hannibal has been lauded for its impact on network TV, having been included on Variety’s 2023 list of  “Greatest TV Shows of All Time” and building a fervorous fan base of “Fannibals.” Beyond all that fanfare, the series serves as a groundbreaking addition to queer media. It paved the way for other queer murder-romances, such as the Killing Eve adaptation, and even opened the door to more beloved media embracing the queer undertones of its source material, such as in Good Omens, which saw an on-screen kiss in 2023.  

Fuller and the cast have loudly expressed their interest in returning for a fourth season, and I’d like to see how their dynamic would evolve. Hannibal’s fusing of romance and horror has already made canon a new, beautifully horrific love story.