One of the few living directors whose body of work has cultivated an adjective ("Lynchian"), David Lynch is synonymous with an idiosyncratic style that mainstream recognition proved more or less incorruptible. But, as is so often mistaken of the surrealists and hyperrealists, Lynch's vision was not born in isolation--it reflects a scope of influence that includes, among many artists, Luis Buñuel and the decidedly non-abstract Charles Dickens, to whom Lynch is one of the more obvious, if unheralded, heirs apparent. We see it in Lynch's continuing love for the serialized format that television facilitates (despite his repeated failure in the medium), his dominant villains, his large supporting casts, his Oedipal themes, and his kinship with all things smoke-billowing.

"It's the power, I think. It makes me feel good to see giant machinery...dealing with molten metal...And the sounds are so powerful. It means that things are being made, and I really like that," Lynch said of his fascination with the beacons of the Industrial Revolution (the ascent of which in England coincided with the British Dickens' proliferation as an author) in the essential Chris Rodley tome Lynch on Lynch. Hence the lumber mills of Blue Velvet and "Twin Peaks", or the twin smokestacks always incinerating something in the background of Lynch's now-defunct comic strip "The Angriest Dog in the World". No project thus far, however, has presented him a better opportunity to evoke/invoke Dickens than The Elephant Man, Lynch's beautiful, sad, masterly studio debut.

Set in Victorian London, the film tells--or rather takes poetic license with--the true story of the obscenely-deformed John Merrick (John Hurt), who is rescued from Mr. Bytes (Freddie Jones), an abusive sideshow manager, by the kind but opportunistic surgeon Frederick Treves (Anthony Hopkins). (The ever-blossoming papillomatous growths on Merrick's body, Lynch tells Rodley, suggested to him the swelling emissions of factories.) Treves tears down the walls of fear and self-loathing that have built up around Merrick, permitting him to speak at will and wear nice clothes, which mends "The Elephant Man"'s broken heart, if nothing else. That Treves becomes a surrogate Bytes, showing Merrick off as his previous "owner" did but to a higher, more compassionate class of society, is mollified by the reappearance of Bytes himself: Lynch, in one of his patented non-ironies, demonstrates that it's as valid to feel loved as it is to be loved (just as it is to feel beautiful--Merrick does not look upon the gift of a vanity kit as patronizing). Treves is "a good man," and in many ways, as Bytes' counterpart, the de facto mother figure Merrick longs for.

One weeps. (It's probably physically impossible not to at some point during The Elephant Man.) Hurt is quite accountable for this in a performance that assists the prosthetic wizardry--he is the entire time buried under latex that took ten hours to apply on a good day--instead of the opposite; as I suspect the real Merrick did, Hurt finds dignified ways around the character's limitations, turning, for instance, a gait burdened by severe scoliosis into a kind of fluid waltz. Hurt and cinematographer Freddie Francis, shooting in a sooty, high-contrast black-and-white that reminds, wouldn't you know it, of David Lean's Dickens adaptations, realize the gorgeous and affecting mandates of a David Lynch picture. And as he would later do on the shamefully underprized The Straight Story, Lynch leaves it at that, Merrick an indigenous outlet for Lynch's aesthetic impulses.

The Elephant Man: pan-and-scan VHS vs. 2.35:1 DVD

The Elephant Man is the best DVD release of a Lynch film yet. Never before available in widescreen in North America, the 2.35:1 letterboxed image (enhanced for 16x9 displays) is first off delectable and second, revelatory. Merrick's hospital room is much more spacious than it appears in pan-and-scan, while the crowds that flank him in two climactic sequences double in size. The print used for this transfer is almost flawless, save for some unavoidably gritty establishing shots derived from stock footage or degraded by opticals. Contrast and shadow detail are well-honed. I suspect Lynch had a hand in the mastering of the video and audio (redone in 5.1 from a Dolby Stereo track, it's a brilliant, unsettling mix, especially when the gears of the hospital's big clock shift) since the disc lacks chapter stops, a practice that began with The Straight Story DVD.*

Paramount's DVD contains surprisingly substantial extras. In "The Elephant Man Revealed" (30 mins.), we hear from pertinent cast and crew minus Hopkins and Lynch; early on, executive producer Mel Brooks (yes, Mel Brooks) pays Lynch a melodramatic compliment I can't help but appreciate, "[He is] as close to the phenomenon of why we're here and why we have to die as any artist I've ever met." Producer Jonathan Sanger discloses the origins of the project: his babysitter brought the script to him one fated evening. While the retrospective focuses its middle section on Christopher Tucker's makeup (single-handedly responsible for the Oscar category that recognizes effects of this sort), Tucker is featured in two other featurettes, "Christopher Tucker's Workshop" (3 mins.), where Hurt's faded appliances still reside, and a "Narrated Photo Gallery" (4 mins.), in which Tucker shows-and-tells the plaster mold of the actual Merrick's skull. A tasteful trailer (circa 1980) rounds out this must-buy.-Bill Chambers

*"I know that most DVDs have chapter stops. It is my opinion that a film is not like a book--it should not be broken up. It is a continuum and should be seen as such. Thank you for your understanding. David Lynch" --The Straight Story DVD (Buena Vista) liner notes

Buy at Amazon USA
Buy at Amazon Canada
or Compare Prices

DVD VITALS:
Running Time
123 minutes
MPAA
PG
Aspect Ratio(s)
2.35:1 ONLY, 16x9-enhanced
Languages
English DD 5.1,
English Dolby Surround,
French Mono
CC
Yes
Subtitles
English
DVD-9
Region One
Paramount

the critic

Buy the ELEPHANT MAN poster at Moviegoods (click on image)

What's coming out on DVD? Check the release calendar

Published: November 29, 2001