Remember when I said how surprised I was that Lynch could get money for more work in the wake of Eraserhead? Well, it turns out, he could not. After Erasherhead was out in the wild, Lynch wrote a script titled, “Ronnie Rocket.” The script was shopped everywhere and nobody was interested. Lynch called a friend and asked for work directing someone else’s script. He was pitched, The Elephant Man and immediately jumped at this opportunity. The script found its way into the hands of Anne Bancroft (who would end up playing a role in the film) who then showed it to her husband, Mel Brooks. The picture was on but Brooks had no idea who Lynch was and so asked for a screening of Erasherhead. Lynch figured this would doom him. Upon exiting the screening, Brooks ran to Lynch and said, “you’re a madman, I love you, you’re in.” The Elephant Man would go on to receive eight Oscar nominations, including direction and adapted screenplay for Lynch himself. They would win zero but not shabby at all for a second feature.

The film opens with circus music as Anthony Hopkins’ character makes his way through a backstreet sideshow. Lynch pulls no punches from the beginning. He is putting the onus of this story on us, the audience. What will we make out of this? He cloaks each scene in alternating bright light and deep, husky shadow. The black and white photography is gorgeous, at once offering itself as a vessel for seedy territory and of 19th century elegance. Lynch is obsessed with depicting the ugly side of industry. He comes back to this over and over again throughout the film. Progress cannot happen without creating downtrodden to step over. It’s a vicious cycle.

Anthony Hopkins plays Doctor Frederick Treves, who hears of this Elephant Man and manages to secure himself a private viewing. We receive the initial shock of the deformed man’s appearance but Lynch is smart to only show two quick glimpses and then focus the rest on Hopkins’ face. The doctor perhaps came for a thrill but now wants to help the deformed man, named John Merrick (real name was Joseph Merrick). Treves gets Merrick to the hospital and subjects him to a thorough examination in front of an auditorium of his colleagues. Merrick remains hidden to our view throughout this process. Lynch instead opens this examination by pointing the camera directly at us, the audience. The light clicks on — shines a light on our own soul. The examination ends and we’re POV with the camera once again — shutting down. Some would say the camera snatches the soul. Well, we are now complicit. Again, what do we want out of this? Lynch chooses to hold our feet to the fire, illuminating (quite literally) how we view some in our society monsters based on appearance and nothing else. It is society that is the monster — an ever hungry and feeding beast. Perhaps, Lynch is enlightening us as to what fame can be like for those in the constant crosshairs of a society who loves to build people up only to revel in their eventual fall from grace.

The way Lynch shocks us with the first glimpse and then hides Merrick’s appearance for a while gives off an illicit vibe. Are we sure we’re ready for this? And by that I mean are we ready to plumb the depths of our own souls? Once we’re complicit, we are fair game. We’re then forced to make a choice. Merrick will now be depicted plainly to us — no longer hidden. Merrick is blossoming due to kindness and our reactions are ours to own.

The depiction of John Merrick by the late, great Joh Hurt blows me away every time I see this film. It’s so physical yet delicate. His mannerisms and speech are deliberate and nuanced. Nearly any other year and Hurt waltzes away with the Oscar but unfortunately he lost to DeNiro’s mind-melting performance in Raging Bull. Anthony Hopkins, for his part, has this way of speaking that seems as if we’re always hearing his innermost thoughts. I have always loved this about him and here, he is so restrained and composed in his performance. Legend.

There is a famous line form this film when Merrick is being chased through the train station as he attempts to return to the hospital. It reads:

I am not an animal. I am a human being. I am a man!

It’s a great line and delivered with the perfect mixture of anger and anguish by Hurt. I would, however, like to point out two other lines that speak to the enormous heart Lynch has and has infused all of his work with.

Anne Bancroft says the following after reading some Shakespeare with Merrick:

You’re no Elephant Man at all. You’re Romeo.

She then kisses him on the cheek and Merrick cries. I cry. My heart is nearly as full as Merrick’s heart in this moment. But we’re not done because upon his return to the hospital and Treves is busy apologizing to Merrick for not better protecting his patient and friend, Merrick stops him with this:

I am happy every hour of the day. My heart is full because I know I am loved.

Dead. I’m dead. This beautiful fucking film has executed me.

Now, it’s no secret in the film that due to his increasing deformities, Merrick is not long for the world. He knows this as well. The last we see of him is him removing the pillows on his bed so that he may sleep like a painting hanging in his room. We know he will die because of this. He knows he will die because of this. He looks at the picture of his mother that rests on his bedside table — his most cherished possession. In fact, his mother looms over the entire film, at once his antidote to a cruel world and also a bit of an albatross that keeps him hanging on. Merrick finally lets go and as he dies, he sees a vision of his mother. She calls to him and tells him everything will be fine. And delivers one final line:

Nothing will die.

A perfect ending.

Not many films can claim this but The Elephant Man is such a film.

Next week, the very first Lynch film I ever saw as a child, Dune. Until then, love each other.