In recent times we had the unfortunate passing of one David Lynch—whose work I’ve certainly looked at on occasion, but now the time feels right to go back to one of his earlier works that placed him on his own distinct cinematic plinth to begin with. It may not have all the spiralling turns of Blue Velvet nor Mulholland Drive—but it had enough style and enough heart to pull to the mainstream that he made the best of both worlds here to mark his name…
This came not that long after Eraserhead, which needless to say was a rather polarizing thing at the time for its demented creativity—Elephant Man in comparison is much more accessible, but Lynch’s surrealism bled through anyway in the dream sequences that punctuate it. And indeed, in the shadows of Victorian London and all its excess both high and low, there was indeed already something of a strange story for him to tell in the life of Joseph Merrick, played here iconically by John Hurt.
Our story focuses mostly on Merrick and also a young Doctor Treves, played by Anthony Hopkins in a somewhat more subdued role than people might be accustomed to. Nevertheless, everything comes down to Hurt here, who manages to emote and pull at at the viewer even covered by layers of latex—with makeup that was actually pretty much spot on to the real figure. There’s of course debates these days over playing people with disability, but the real Merrick was very much unique to the point where to this day people aren’t quite sure just what his deformity really was.
Still, what the film really asks is how far compassion and voyeurism really go—Treves might be ostensibly trying to help Merrick but he himself admits that he’s not really sure for whose sake that really is. In the 19th century, with a very blasé attitude to mental and physical health, it all comes down to Merrick to survive and keep himself up even in the face of abuse from both carnies and snobbish medical boards—and, with some genuine kindness, that makes every moment of happiness something to cheer on.
It was shot in black and white, something that was out of fashion even in 1980—but the palette fits the shadow-covered, smog-shrouded Victorian environs, and plays into those moments where we only see things in silhouette, like one medical exhibition that as the camera shows isn’t that much different than the freak show Merrick gets pulled out of.
And that leads up to that one iconic moment where he does finally stand up for himself in front of a crowd—45 years on, it still rings all the truer with many still prefer mere pointing and watching to any actual decency or help. The ending may be bittersweet, but it feels earned, as Merrick takes his next step on his own turns, and the final shots surprisingly segue quite well into the beginning of Lynch’s next film, the original adaptation of Dune (which, while somewhat contested, remains memorable in his own way).
It’s not the most Lynchian of Lynch, but it all works—with performance and with enough cinematography panache to keep it interesting. Occasionally there’s mumblings of a remake, but this is one instance where there really is nothing to truly add…
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