Entrances don’t get much bigger. First there are four circus barkers, all scarlet jackets and hyperbole. Then the curtain draws back to reveal a storm of dry ice and an electric guitarist grinding out power chords. A container revolves, the door pulls back, more dry ice. Only then do we see Joseph Merrick.
Joseph, you will note, not John. That name was just one misrepresentation of many in the life of the Leicester-born man whose abnormal bone growth turned him into a 19th-century freakshow attraction and medical curiosity. He could never be himself, only a projection of the world’s hang-ups.
