The performances, of course, are superlative, as the cast list pretty much guarantees they would be. John Hurt is superb and justly acclaimed as Merrick himself, although a Leicester native would realistically have been a lot more ay up me duck than this performance. The character is quite superficial, I suppose- his only character trait is “virtuous”, although there’s ambiguity about his death at the end by lying down to sleep instead of sitting and crushing his neck; is it suicide? There’s no denying, though, that Hurt portrays the pathos of the character superbly. A young Anthony Hopkins too, as a Frederick Treves wondering if in the end he is any less of an exploiter than the loathsome Bytes. The monochrome cinematography and occasional piece of weird direction just about stop all this from being too saccharine. And, of course, the presence of John Gielgud is always a dignified of intended seriousness.
It’s an odd success in that it’s not very David Lynch at all in many ways, and there is no real message behind the pathos, but nevertheless the way Lynch creates said pathos is true artistry. This film feels the same kind of sentimental that Steven Spielberg films often are but, of course, David Lynch does it better.
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