Slice of Lynch: The Elephant Man (1980)

Programme: Music video: River of Dreams – Billy Joel, Short subject: Radar Men on the Moon – Chapter 8 The Enemy Planet, Cartoon: Looney Tunes – Feed the Kitty, Trailers: Heavy Metal (1981), Looker (1981), Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan 

Note: For this entry, I am including the program of shorts I viewed prior to the film. I love the old-school cinema experience, and whenever possible I try to recreate that in my own home by watching a music video, a short subject, a cartoon, and trailers preceding the Feature Presentation. Moving forward, when I have included a program with my viewing of the film being discussed I will include the information, if for nothing other than posterity (but also to establish my film knowledge cred). 

Soon after viewing the landmark experimental film Eraserhead, Mel Brooks sought out David Lynch to helm his next project – a biopic about Joseph Merrick, an artist who spent a significant portion of his life as a carnival side-show performer before being taken in by a hospital. Merrick’s rise to prominence is one that in many ways mirrors Lynch’s own career. Merrick was looked down upon due to his deformities, a condition he had absolutely no control over. His introduction into Victorian life, particularly among those of the upper segment of society, was due more to curiosity and the contributions to science and medicine that studying him could bring. 

Certainly, there were more than a few who met him that were touched by his gentle, charming manner, even as they were repulsed by his features. The film illustrates that some among the upper class were just as interested in exploiting Merrick as those of the working spectrum. Whether it be to add to medical knowledge, or just to reinforce their commitment to being “Good Christians” by having tea with Merrick despite their inherent disgust of him. Indeed, the surgeon Frederick Treves who discovered Joseph and invited him to be examined at some points questions his own motives for bringing the man out of his pit of despair, only to be ogled and admired by rich onlookers rather than poor ones. 

Similarly, David Lynch was given a chance by the AFI Conservatory and by doing so was set upon a path from obscurity to eminence. He presented his short film, The Grandmother, along with a grant proposal to begin work on a more involved short film. He was sure that his artistic ideals would not be recognized and that others would receive the grant. But to his surprise, The Grandmother was praised, and he received a sum sufficient to begin filming Eraserhead, a project which would take five years to complete, growing from the proposed short film to the feature-length masterpiece it became. 

Lynch’s work was a curiosity among both critics and audiences. His seminal work was not immediately praised by critics but slowly gained traction and notoriety as a midnight movie. Those privy to his vision must have felt somewhat like those who gazed upon Merrick during the Victorian era, a moment in time that prized conformity and stability. Joseph Merrick threw that stability off-kilter with his deformed features and rough skin and lesions, just as Lynch’s work was a major departure from the firmly structured process of filmmaking prized during the 70s. Even though a “New School” had emerged, which was eschewing the classic Hollywood mold, the narrative skeleton remained nonetheless intact. For that reason the film must have been more a curiosity to some, rather than seen as a genuine artistic effort worthy of serious criticism and praise. 

In many of Lynch’s efforts, there is much of the self imbued in the work. David Lynch is a staunch supporter of artistic freedom, insisting that all artists should be free to express themselves rather than conform to pre-conceived expectations or norms. In this way, although Eraserhead is an important and seminal work (particularly of utmost importance to his late period), I believe it is The Elephant Man which is the true thesis statement of Lynch’s ouvre. 

While The Elephant Man is one of David Lynch’s most direct and structured films, it nevertheless carries many of his trademarks. The Victorian industrial landscape is captured with the same energy as the mechanical backdrop of Eraserhead. He works to visually tie the backstreets and pubs of the working class to the hospital, which is then connected to the upper class by the board of directors and other factors above Treves’ head, which he needs to face off with in order to provide a safe space for Joseph Merrick. He is reminded time and again that the sole purpose of the hospital is to treat only those for whom there is a cure for their condition, yet when the chief medical officer witnesses the abuse Merrick receives from the man who put him on display in the side-show, he works to aid Treves in properly treating and caring for Merrick. 

The hospital, in this allegory, becomes the thread of commonality wherein the abuses of both sides of the social spectrum end up assaulting Merrick: He is placed in a room at the top of the building which is hardly ever used to begin with, yet authorities tell Treves he can only keep Merrick there for a limited time. The matron and nurses at first recoil in disgust at his appearance (as well as commenting on the odor due to lack of bathing and cleaning) but later come to accept him as he is and have a meaningful and pleasant relationship with him. An orderly brings groups of people to gawk and gaze, cajole and further abuse Merrick. In his first demonstration to the board of Merricks’ numerous issues, Treves presents him fully naked to the gathering of doctors and scholars. Several members of the board of directors protest keeping Merrick in a disused room indefinitely because it offends their sensibilities, and are only fully rebuked when royalty takes interest in Merrick’s case by threatening to cut off funding by pointing out that caring for Joseph is “The Christian thing to do.” 

It is worth noting here that the scene about funding Merrick’s continued stay in the hospital mirrors the real-life rows that Brooks would have with producers (and which Lynch would have with De Laurentis during his next two films). But in a broader sense go back to Lynch’s ideal of artistic freedom and the filmmaking process. 

As with many things, the safe space for Merrick ends up being a gilded cage, but where is he to go? He cannot be employed by standard means and thus support himself. He cannot go back to the side-show. He will be a figure of interest and curiosity among the upper crust for only so long, until they move on to their next social project. Thus the irony becomes that the space intended to be safe for Merrick still holds elements of his past abuse. As noted above, Treves even comes to question whether he has just traded one set of gawkers for another, just one with deeper pockets and the ability to surround him with comforts. When Treves asks if he is a good man or not, we do not hear his wife’s answer. In a typical Hollywood effort, the wife would embrace the husband, assure him that he has always done the right thing. Instead, we cut away after the question is asked and hangs pregnant in the air for several beats. As in all things the good director has seen fit to allow the viewer decide that answer. 

I have always felt an affinity for Lynch’s ideals of finding the beauty in things many would call ugly. Returning to the subject of the mechanical, industrial landscapes of his first two films, London during the Victorian era was a place of both great beauty and ugliness. Even while grand structures were being erected, also were metallic, grey, dull, mechanical monstrosities created which consumed coal, belched flame and smoke and smog into the air, and brought a blight upon the land. The Victorian era was a tangle of contradictions, just as the hospital where Merrick stayed was a source of both comfort and trauma to him. Several times we see the hallways have a thin film of standing water upon them. Something that perhaps would not be out of place in the era, but which now we see as a harbinger of mold and bacteria. 

This duality would go on to play a major role in many Lynch stories moving forward, including Twin Peaks. I initially began this series with the intent to compare or tie the individual works of Lynch to his magnum opus. There are certainly a number of themes and ideas that appear across the spectrum of Lynch’s films which would be utilized magnificently in The Return (and trust me, we will get there). My operating theory is that many of Lynch’s works are all part of the same cinematic universe. I realise this idea goes against what Lynch himself has stated in interviews, but many of both the filmmaking techniques and the application of special effects, are similar. I could envision a world in which Laura Palmer and Henry Spencer might exist together. And Blue Velvet’s Jeffrey Beaumont, aside from being an early prototype of Agent Cooper (not to mention the town where the action takes place). But I’m getting ahead of myself here, works like The Elephant Man and Dune are based upon pre-existing properties which precludes the idea of a shared, inherent universe. 

All the same, there are a number of moments within The Elephant Man which exude significant Lynch tropes. In addition to the stark angles and capturing the duality of mechanics and beauty, there are several notable dream sequences which veer sharply into the same territory as the Lady in the Radiator scenes in Eraserhead. Here we have dream logic that strikes a distinctly Lynchian tone. It’s still in the early phases, but his style has been indelible since the very beginning. Dream space is filled with the sounds of suffering, particularly when Merrick is abused by the hospital orderly who brings crowds to gawk at him, sending him into a spiral of reliving past traumas. He sees his mother, writhing in agony, hears strange, distorted cries. Elephants lumber before him, almost in a parody of the “pink elephant” dream sequences of Dumbo. Slow-motion instills terror and dread. And here we see one of the great strengths of Lynch as a director: his ability to infuse moments with several different moods or meanings. He can take a scene that is all just dialogue and upbeat and put in a moment of chilling terror. He can take a horrifying subject and infuse comedic moments to break the tension. The answer to all this comes in the human apparatus and how it deals with trauma. 

Trauma and abuse emerge as common themes in Lynch’s early period. While it will become a centerpiece of his structure in later films, it is used here as an underlying element that is nevertheless an influence on John Merrick. His abuse at the hands of the orderly goes unreported because he assumes this as a fact of life, and it isn’t until Treves witnesses the treatment firsthand that the orderly is made obsolete. Even then, the orderly and side-show barker come to him at night, when there is less protection. Even safe spaces can be assaulted. 

The thesis statement being made here is that adversity should not bring one down. We all will face adversity in our endeavors. Mel Brooks went to the mats with studio executives to retain the vision for The Elephant Man; and Lynch would go on to have numerous contentious relationships with those funding his films. Therefore Merrick’s story stands as a parallel for his own: A man who would not give up and chose to be true to himself rather than allow negative people in his life to bring him down. A man who chose the time and manner even of the ending of his life. Just as David Lynch aspired to be like figures such as Merrick, everyone should aspire to be like Lynch. Follow your dreams, paint the pictures or play the music of your own soul.

The world would be a much better place if we could all learn to live for our dreams and not for a paycheck.

Peter’s Archive – The Elephant Man (1980)