Tis true my form is something odd.
But blaming me is blaming God;
Could I create myself anew,
I would not fail in pleasing you.
If I could reach from pole to pole,
Or grasp the ocean with a span,
I would be measured by the soul,
The mind’s the standard of the man.

My hosts encouraged me to swallow my fear of the Tube’s endless maze of trains and to the Queen’s Theater performance of The Elephant Man. I balked at the distance; it was only my third day there…my data plan was not working and I was desperately afraid of getting lost. The reward, Catherine replied, was that I would’ve indoctrinated myself as a true Londoner while going out to the sticks and saw a play that was worth the pounds/wait.

So. I did. And I’m glad I did.

The production of the Elephant Man was my first experience in ‘sensorial’ theater; briefly, almost every human element was engaged with the exception of touch. It was something to behold and learn from.

If you are unfamiliar with the tale of the Elephant Man, a brief back story can be found here. Joesph Merrick’s story is one that bears retelling through multiple mediums, both artistic and scientific as it is the first publicized case of Proteus Syndrome. Both inspiring and macabre, Jessop’s direction blends these elements beautifully though for the initiated, it may be an overwhelming and underwhelming jagged flow of story that doesn’t ‘tighten up’ until the explosive finale’.

The audience is  engaged with a freakshow / carnie atmosphere. Merrick is behind a current and a his ‘Porter’, portrayed by James Earl Adair welcomes you with smarmy gutter cockney. Dr. Treves is introduced, played Fred Broom, stating that he wants to see this ‘Elephant Man’ and we are then consumed in what will be a helluva ride.

When we are introduced to Joseph ‘John’ Merrick through actor Tom Cornish, we are introduced a Vitruvian template; neutral…beautiful…stoic. As Cornish transforms, twisting his arms with utter focus, moving sinews in his shoulders, knees and, oddly, hips, I felt my stomach turn and my attention sharpen to a keen edge. Cornish’s physicality brings a puppet like quality to Merrick in the worst way possible, making one desperately uncomfortable in their empathy.

GLORIOUS.

In the first half of the production, we endure Merrick’s evolution from carnie freak to hospital poster child. We see the interactions, and ridicule, based on his appearance. Sadly, this is where I felt very anxious for there was so many rich moments that were rushed through making the characters feel too hokey, stiff and non engaged. I applaud that all players can sing, dance and play an instrument as the Rep’s claim to fame, but no amount of projected images and live music on stage can improve speed over quality. For example, when Cornish is describing Merrick’s physical abuse in the workhouse, I did laugh abruptly as he banged his fist on the tube while receiving a bath from Treves. Should I have laughed? Hell no, but since Jessop put us on a visual course, instead of an imaginary one, I didn’t by what Merrick was selling.

I also felt this way about Mason, Hickman and Boswell‘s performances. These lovely ladies were beautiful in the performances but every time they engaged with the male actors, I was always in this stasis of pregnant pause. I felt no impact from Sandwich’s supposed fear or Mrs. Kendal’s sarcasm. I also enjoy a good contortionist and ballerina, but both Pinheads were not dire to the the production and would  continue to state with an exception of a few scenes that DOES lead to a heart dropping roller coaster ride, the entire show could have been done without them. What stumps me is that I can’t give a solution for this; perhaps it was the vibe of the matinee’s crowd that threw off their game.

After a melancholy though industrial music piece reminiscent of Bring in da Noise / Bring in da Funk, Act 2’s climax was high and it sped down at such a furious pace, the first as easily for gotten for such an well earned reward. Conflicts and conversations became peppered and fierce. Adair’s Porter returns being both simultaneously despicable and heartbreaking but Broom’s Treves…my god…brought the house down with his enraged monologue that brought me to tears.The room goes momentarily dark and the twisting of the knife doesn’t stop; Cornish is now the doctor, whole and well, and the projector shows Treve’s naked body being described in clinical fashion. To have the bravery to be so emotionally raw and then so visually on display did it for me. Sealed it for me. The theater is then pumped full of this medicinal smell that hurled me to near vomit and all I could do was watch and clutch my coat protectively around me.

Jessop’s Elephant Man isn’t without it’s faults, but it’s an electrifying show that can easily be improved and probably was so. The added element of smell, be it cigarette ash or medicinal bleach, was an excellent touch of subtle engagement. I will warrant that Bradley Cooper’s version in the West End better step its game completely up because Jessop and his crew pulled no punches.

4/5

Place: Queen’s Theatre – Hornchurch

***

I’m not above asking for tips!

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