Psalms 23

Anne Bancroft's death prompted me to read the origial NY Times review of The Elephant Man. I have long thought of this movie as one of my favorite films ever, but what surprised me what how reading a movie review of it brought up a flush of emotion.

The most amusing part of Vincent Canby's review is this passage: The Elephant Man ... is the first major commercial film to be directed by Mr. Lynch, whose only previous feature is Eraserhead, a cult movie I've not seen but which, apparently, is also about an outsider.

Yes. Aren't they all.

It was also shocking to remember that this was Lynch's first commercial release. Though I have enjoyed subsequent work of his, it also makes me scratch my head and wonder what happened.

I am glad I had the opportunity to perform the part of John Merrick in the play version (which is an entirely different beast than the film) back in 1992 at Willoughby Fine Arts. My first real chance to act after graduating from college, and luckily it was in an out-of-the-way venue that was devoid of media scrutiny. Just theater patrons who were stunned to see something other than Annie.

The story of John Merrick, used or abused as a metaphor, is the perfect tale for for a Christian society. Just because you are a physical monstrosity, abandoned by your family, hated by society, beaten, laughed at, screamed at, brought to a state of entire degeneration, with faith and hope you can still find peace, grace and forgiveness.

It helps if someone with lots of money takes care of you. And you die young before you can really become bitter. But that's just being cynical.

Having said that, there is something about this story, about this man, which just makes me freeze, just stop and contemplate. How horrible. How wonderful. Yes, I aspire to be like that. To be able to forgive anything. To be entirely selfless. To be able to find that kind of peace. That faith. That hope. That God.