THE ELEPHANT MAN: Blu-ray (Paramount, 1980) Criterion

There is a very good reason why no one prior to David Lynch attempted to tell the tale of Joseph Merrick, better known to the world under his professional name – The Elephant Man (1980). The story is not without its difficulties, chiefly as its subject, the uber-deformed Merrick, is a rather physically repulsive specimen. How does one effectively explain the brief and incredible life of this horrendously misshapen unfortunate from Leicester and not veer into either rank melodrama, or worse, cheaply wrought sensationalism to merely exploit this ‘freak’ of nature. Indeed, in his own time, Merrick was misjudged by nearly all as an inarticulate gimp – made a figure of fun and paraded about in traveling menageries, until his future was rescued from such obscenities by an empathetic Frederick Treves – a practitioner in London Hospital.  The truth of Merrick is much more fascinating to consider. He was neither shortsighted nor void of a certain innate intelligence which flourished under Treves’ care and expert tutelage. He was befriended – and arguably, beloved – by Princess Alexandra, who bestowed upon him, in addition to her annual Christmas greeting, an autographed photo Merrick prized until his death, second only to a portrait of the actress, Madge Kendal, who became devoted to him in later years and, on at least one occasion, arranged for him to attend Drury Lane’s Theatre Royal, partially concealed in Lady Burdett-Coutts’ private box.

The exact cause of Merrick's deformities remains shrouded in mystery, although in 1986, medical conjecture suggested he suffered from Proteus Syndrome – later, marginally dispelled by inconclusive DNA results. Whatever the official diagnosis, his outward appearance remained the stuff of legend. If not for his kind and unassuming heart, Merrick most surely would have found his way into history’s annals as an irredeemable monster. There is some curiosity as to how Merrick’s Christian name morphed from Joseph into John as he also is identified in Lynch’s movie; the part, going to accomplished John Hurt, risen to prominence in 1966’s A Man for All Seasons, though, rather regrettably, and almost immediately, to find no future in American pictures; left to carve his niche more finely in his native Britain instead. Hurt spent nearly 10 hours in make-up, being transformed from his gaunt self into the grotesque, enduring multiple rubber appliances to his visage and extremities by creator, Christopher Tucker. The results are uniformly disturbing, uncannily on the mark, and, must have been absolute hell to endure. Indeed, the production schedule was staggered so Hurt only worked every other day, allowing for time to recuperate from the arduous character design.   

Fate, indeed, is a curious thing, nowhere more so than in Hollywood. But in the case of The Elephant Man, a little kismet goes an awfully long way. Producer, Jonathan Sanger optioned a script from his babysitter’s boyfriend, Christopher Devore, and, his best friend, Eric Bergren while working as an assistant director on Mel Brooks' High Anxiety (1977). Brooks, who had established his own production unit at 2oth Century-Fox, was eager to embrace The Elephant Man as their next collaborative effort. However, wary his own reputation as a purveyor of farce would taint audiences’ expectations for the movie, Brooks basically agreed to remain The Elephant Man’s ‘silent partner’ – the only hint of his involvement at the start of the main titles, credited as a ‘Brooksfilms’ release, distributed via Paramount. True to his word, Sanger kept Devore and Bergren close to the production, even affording them cameos in the movie. Meanwhile, Brooks’ personal assistant, Stuart Cornfeld, pitched neophyte, David Lynch to Sanger to direct the picture. Sanger and Lynch got on famously from the outset and, after screening Lynch’s only movie to date – Eraserhead (1977) – Sanger became convinced he was the ideal choice to helm The Elephant Man. Sanger was a little more than nervous in suggesting as much to Brooks who, after screening Eraserhead, nevertheless, wholeheartedly concurred with Sanger’s assessment of Lynch’s talents.

David Lynch today has acquired a reputation for celebrating the macabre and mysterious in unconventional ways. His movies in general remain oddly nightmarish and more often than not, remarkably lacking in any sort of conventional lucidity. So, to discover The Elephant Man a strangely ‘straight forward’ affair is rather startling in and of itself, as one of the hallmarks of Lynch’s imprint on American cinema – apart from two brief bookends – is wholly absent here. Lynch, however, distinguishes the movie in other splendid ways. And he counterbalances the obscenity of Merrick’s outwardly perverted physicality with magnificent camera set-ups to, at first gingerly distance the audience from total exposure to Merrick’s shocking appearance; the picture, photographed in true B&W by cinematographer extraordinaire, Freddie Francis who manages to offset the squalor with a dim-lit empathy for keeping Merrick’s deformities concealed during long stretches in half-shadow, leading up to his ‘big reveal, and, counterbalancing the Victorian splendor with a sense of weighted responsibility, ascribed to all humanity, regardless of its corporeal fragility.

Budgeted at $5 million, of which the first four was raised by NBC’s Fred Silverman, with an additional million coming from EMI, The Elephant Man is as blessed to have an exceptionally fine cast to peddle its wares. Not the least of these is the eloquent Anthony Hopkins, as Treves – the doctor who discovers Merrick living in dank filth and endeavors to enrich his life in unexpected ways; Anne Bancroft, as the sincere actress, Madge Kendal, Sir John Gielgud, as Carr Gomm, London Hospital’s Teutonic, though nevertheless compassionate administrator, and, Wendy Hiller, as its sternly committed Motherhead – matron of the nurses. The other outstanding performance is owed Freddie Jones as Bytes, Merrick’s cruel handler, who hints of a sort of demonic homosexuality, and delights in bludgeoning his victimized ‘freak’ under the guise of ‘managing’ the act while claiming his rights in ownership.  In addition to directing the picture, Lynch provided the musical direction and sound design. He was less successful at conceiving the make-up for John Hurt’s transformation, eventually signing off completely these responsibilities to Christopher Tucker, who directly employed his artistry from actual casts made of Merrick's body, archived at Royal London Hospital's private museum.

The Elephant Man opens with a bizarre preamble in which Lynch, following up on a rumor to suggest how Merrick’s deformities came about, infers Merrick’s mother (Phoebe Nicholls) suffered a terrible fright by an elephant in her youth. Of course, this being Lynch and not history, the visuals here are represented with a heightened sense of voyeurism; Mrs. Merrick, thrown to the ground, writhing in a sort of orgasmic refrain as a parade of perilous pachyderms advance with their highly sexualized trunks protruding high into the air. From this auspicious beginning, we regress to London’s seedy Whitechapel district, following physician, Frederick Treves who is on the hunt for the oddity he has only heard of in hushed whispers. At present, the show is being closed for moral indecency by the police and Treves is unable to catch even a glimpse of Merrick. He does, however, mark the appearance of Mr. Bytes and, in short order, seeks out the avaricious, callous and loathsome ringmaster, discovering Merrick in a dank hovel, kept naked and half-starved in a corner. With remuneration paid, Treves is granted a day’s examination of Merrick at hospital and wastes no time whisking him off to relative safety. Unable to reach Merrick through any communication in articulate speech, Treves exploits Merrick for his unique malformations, presenting him in front of a screen to his colleagues who are both appalled and fascinated by the creature in their midst.

At day’s end, Treves sends Merrick back to Bytes who sadistically beats him to a pulp before panicking and calling on Treves to ask for his help. Recognizing Merrick’s wounds as from a horrific flogging and not a fall down a flight of stairs, as Bytes nervously suggests, Treves returns Merrick to hospital, sneaking him in the back way and up the stairs to an attic room just beneath the clock tower. The hospital’s administrator, Carr Gomm is very much opposed to Treves’ unconventional disregard for hospital policy, but takes a more compassionate view after Bytes sneaks in and confronts Treves, threatening bodily harm and the hospital with exposure for harboring his freak. As the young nurses are terrorized by Merrick’s crude appearance, Mrs. Mothershead tends to Merrick personally, though she too is not accepting of him as an ‘incurable’ – thus, upon whom she regards to be wasting valuable time and energies. To illustrate for Gomm the ‘progress’ made with Merrick, Treves trains his protégée in a few choice lines of dialogue; also, to recite the 23rd Psalm to impress his superior. Alas, the meeting goes badly as Gomm, in an attempt to understand Merrick better, asks several probing questions for which Merrick, having only just discovered the virtues of articulate speech, is incapable of addressing.

Rather reluctantly, Gomm permits Merrick to remain, and Treves invests a good deal of his time training Merrick in conversation. Treves also discovers Merrick has a certain artistic strain, building an exact model of the cathedral he sees from his attic window. To illustrate for Merrick not all humanity regards him as a freak, Treves invites him to tea with his wife (Hannah Gordon). Overwhelmed by their kindness, Merrick shares with them a small picture of his mother whom he believes he has disappointed, but sincerely hopes she could at least take pride in now, knowing he has acquired such ‘lovely friends’. Determined to further expand Merrick’s prospects for social interaction, Treves introduces his protégée to several guests, among them, the noteworthy actress, Madge Kendal. Kendal’s motherly instinct toward Merrick allows him access to many curiosity seekers from high society – a concern for Mrs. Mothershead, who believes Treves has begun to exploit Merrick for his own aggrandizements within the medical community. Although Treves denies this, he later begins to question his own morality. Meanwhile, the hospital’s night porter, Jim (Michael Elphick) has sold tickets, sneaking locals into Merrick’s room at night to gawk at ‘the elephant man’.

The question of Merrick's permanent residency is challenged at a council meeting, the debate thwarted by the hospital’s royal patron, Queen Victoria, who grants permission via her daughter-in-law, Princess Alexandra (Helen Ryan). Regrettably, Merrick is kidnapped by Bytes during one of Jim's raucous late-night exhibitions. Having recaptured his oddity, Bytes takes Merrick on the road as a sideshow attraction. Merrick’s disappearance is reported to Treves who confronts Jim. Mothershead promptly dismisses him. Alas, by now, Merrick, forced to perform in Belgium, is enfeebled and dying. After he collapses, a slovenly Bytes cruelly imprisons him in a cage, leaving him for dead. Managing his escape with the aid of his fellow freak show attractions, Merrick makes his way back to London. Without protection, however, he soon incurs the wrath of a mob who unmask and threaten him. Weakened by the strain, Merrick again collapses. He is rescued by police and returned to hospital. Treves endeavors to restore Merrick’s health and, after some time, Merrick appears to rally, enough to attend one of Madge Kendal’s shows. Kendal dedicates the performance to Merrick, who is genuinely touched and receives a standing ovation from the other patrons – proof enough, he has been accepted by society. Upon returning to the hospital, Merrick sincerely thanks Treves for all he has done. He lies on his back in bed, knowing this to be a fatal position due to the obscene weight of his head. Merrick quietly expires in his sleep, in his penultimate moments of life, consoled by visions of his mother, quoting from Alfred Lord Tennyson’s Nothing Will Die.

The Elephant Man is an astonishingly poignant, gratifying and unaffectedly compassionate interpretation of the life of a man, distorted by birth, but liberated in the knowledge he has attained a certain notoriety, undeniably to procure his legacy for all time. Indeed, as willed into existence by David Lynch and his cast, the picture is imbued with a sense of wonderment for the sanctity of life. And John Hurt’s performance, subtle, sincere and tragic, reveals the kinder, elemental soul behind this ugly façade, otherwise unfairly misjudged to be a deformed animal. Given the obvious challenges in navigating beyond any straight-forward retelling of the tale, minus its sensationalism, Lynch has managed an extraordinary artistic coup. The Elephant Man is not a movie of cringe-worthy highs and headline-grabbing lows, but a more subtly-nuanced biography with minute points of interest to be exposed ahead of the more obvious. John Hurt’s performance here is hauntingly heartbreaking. He never veers into that maudlin strain to milk it for sympathy. And yet, almost from the outset, he emits an indescribable vibe of desperation, silent and pleading for anonymity. Tony Hopkins’ exquisite outpouring of kindness hails from a secret compartment in his actor’s storehouse of emotions, to have found a kinetic parallel between Merrick’s outward disfigurement and his own character’s inward awkwardness and incapability to assimilate in the outside world beyond his own medical profession.

As the real Joseph Merrick's condition gradually worsened, the bond of friendship between Merrick and Treves ripened until Merrick was discovered dead at the age of 27, in 1890. The death was later ruled as ‘accidental asphyxia’ caused by the weight of Merrick’s head pressing on his spinal cord. In the resulting autopsy, performed by Treves, Merrick’s body was basically dismembered and meticulously preserved, his skin samples remaining in hospital until a bombing raid during WWII destroyed them. Nevertheless, Merrick’s skeletal remains are perfectly archived at Royal London Hospital, but only available for examination by appointment for those practicing medicine. This decision has since come under scrutiny, as Merrick’s devout Christianity ought to have ensured him a proper burial in Leicester. Lynch and Sanger’s screening of The Elephant Man for Mel Brooks was met with only a few minor suggestions to prune its run time. As a matter of record, the producers of a Broadway show, also called ‘The Elephant Man’, sued Brooksfilms over the use of the title – the only similarity between the stage show and movie.

Four decades on, The Elephant Man remains a sublime masterpiece, exquisitely measured and squarely to rest on John Hurt’s absorbing central performance, even more miraculous considering the actor is virtually unidentifiable and buried beneath pounds of prosthetics. It’s Hurt’s compellingly idiosyncratic and quailing intonations that cut through Christopher Tucker’s rubber appliances to get to the heart of the man. As a counterpoint in this fellowship of the disenfranchised, Tony Hopkins’ Treves emerges as the sound and strapping believer in science, unearthing a more meaningful respect for the man than the subject of his investigations in the end. If imitation is the cheapest form of flattery, then The Elephant Man has certainly had its share of love and tributes since. The picture’s added virtues undeniably culminate in Stuart Craig’s impeccable production design, willing the seedy, dark perversions of Victorian London, neither fetishized or Hollywood-ized all out of proportion, while renown editor, Anne V. Coates brilliantly sabotages the narrative cadence, ending many scenes on an otherwise climactic moment, perfectly to dovetail with Lynch’s dream-state impressions of his subject matter.  In all, The Elephant Man is an engrossing drama, and, a most exquisite and fitting tribute to Joseph Merrick’s unconventional, and all too brief, life.

The Elephant Man arrives on Blu-ray state’s side via Criterion, in an image harvest on standard Blu-ray derived from StudioCanal’s 4K scan, already available in native 4K in Europe. The results here are immaculate and reveal the virtues in Freddie Francis’ gorgeous B&W cinematography. A good deal of the image is dark, with richly saturated blacks and very clean whites. Contrast is excellent and fine details are superbly rendered. A light smattering of film grain looks very indigenous to its source and augments one’s viewing pleasure in a completely darkened room. This is a very film-like presentation.  But I must confess to being singularly underwhelmed by the audio portion of this movie. To date, I have never heard a good presentation of this movie on home video, and, this Blu-ray is no exception. At intervals, the sonic characteristic here is either muffled, loaded with reverb, or otherwise somehow distorted to the point where subtler bits of dialogue become nearly inaudible. Never having seen The Elephant Man theatrically, I cannot confirm or deny this is how the movie has always sounded. But it seems a very poor quality indeed, with multiple dubs and overlaps, easily identified in the ever-shifting aural continuity.

Criterion has packed this set with extras mostly ported over from StudioCanal’s prior offerings. We get David Lynch and critic, Kristine McKenna reading from their 2018 coauthored book, Room to Dream. There are also archival interviews with Lynch, John Hurt, Mel Brooks, Jonathan Sanger, Freddie Francis, Frank Connor, and Christopher Tucker ranging from 2009 to 2019, plus an audio only recording from 1981’s Q&A with Lynch at the AFI. From 2001 we get The Terrible Elephant Man Revealed – a wonderful half-hour reflection piece that charts how most of these creative forces conspired to make the movie.  Last, but never least, Criterion has afforded us a handsome booklet with excerpts from Lynch’s 2005 interview, also to include an 1886 letter to the London Times by Francis Culling Carr Gomm. Bottom line: The Elephant Man is not an easy movie to sit through, and certainly not one straightforwardly revisited. Hurt’s performance sells the man beneath the physical devastation, and Hopkins and Bancroft are utterly flawless.  The Blu-ray is lovely, but not without its shortcomings. Judge and buy accordingly.

FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)

4

VIDEO/AUDIO

3.5

EXTRAS

4.5