He's The Greatest Freak In The World

Rating: 8/10 (29 July 2007)

Frederick Treves is a doctor in Victorian London who comes across a horribly disfigured man called John Merrick in a freakshow. Sympathy and medical interest lead him to take Merrick to hospital and try to rehabilitate him into society. His efforts succeed to some degree, but he is uncertain as to the righteousness of his actions.
This is the movie by which to judge how vain you are. It's exceptionally well directed by Lynch and beautifully photographed by Freddie Francis, an unlikely but somehow perfect union of rookie thirty-something Montana geek art-graduate and veteran sixty-something London old-School cameraman, who somehow fused their skills to produce one of the very best depictions of Dickensian times in glorious black-and-white. The movie's theme is that of a debauched society struggling to pull itself out of the muck - if Treves can overcome ignorance and prejudice and make people accept Merrick as a person (and to some extent he does) then there is hope for the future. Lynch and Francis succeed on every level; the pathos rings true, the backdrop pulsates with life and the images are captivating. My reaction to Merrick is four-fold; for the first half-hour I want to see him and am teased with glimpses, for the next I gape slack-jawed at his deformity, for the next I begin to identify and empathise with him, and for the last I have all but forgotten my prejudice. This is the genius of the film, fired by the superb performances, with Hopkins at his subtlest and best, Hurt messianically emoting (his last words echo Christ) beneath impossible makeup, and Jones, Elphick and Hiller all particularly strong. The prosthetic look of Merrick by Christopher Tucker is unforgettable, and John Morris' spine-tingling, spiralling, tubular-bell score is a perfect finishing touch. A rare and richly-deserved commercial and critical success (despite being nominated for eight Oscars and winning none), based on the real-life story of Joseph Merrick, who suffered from Proteus Syndrome, a congenital chronic growth of skin, bone and fat tissue. It grabs you from the first scene and never lets you go, forcing you to confront your true feelings. Brilliantly scripted by Christopher DeVore, Eric Bergren and Lynch, with exteriors shot in and around central London, notably Southwark and Broadgate. This is one of a handful of brilliant independent eighties films financed by Mel Brooks - see also My Favourite Year, Frances and The Fly. If you know somebody whose favourite author is Jane Austen, educate them about real life in Britain in the nineteenth-century by showing them this remarkable, grotesque, beautiful movie. Stunning.