The Elephant Man
It proved completely unnecessary for me to rewatch David Lynch's 1980 film The Elephant Man for the sake of this review, as I have seen it more times in my life than was advisable perhaps--life is short, relatively speaking, and spending your time rewatching the same film, rereading the same book, and always listening to the same songs, seems a waste. It is a film I am so intimately familiar with I can easily visualize every nuance of every scene. It is ingrained in my subconscious permanently, and the stark, often deeply horrific black-and-white images play across my closed eyelids intermittently. That world of London in the late 1880s, with its grit, dirt, soot, fog, massive poverty, dripping alleys, and sense of utter industrialized decay, echoes some aspect of my soul that knows that environment--I could elaborate upon that, but, for the sake of this review, had better refrain.
