I haven’t cried at a film in a good number years, but this one broke my streak. Wow. Just wow. I guess David Lynch is capable of creating something that is more than just surreal bizarreness. I wasn’t sure for a second there. Granted, this film does have its share of Lynchian oddities, and it seems to have its identity somewhat confused – the very realistic and somberly played characters contrast oddly with the at-times surreal and highly stylized atmosphere – an atmosphere replete with grease, grime and circus freaks. This movie also incorporates a meta-narrative, which challenges you, the viewer, to accept John Merrick as a human being and therefore be able to sympathize with him as a character. For awhile there, I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to do it, but, eventually, I began to see a kind of beauty in Merrick’s malformed face (John Hurt’s makeup – if you can call is that –  is a piece of art in and of itself, somehow turning the grotesque into and object of intense sympathy).The plot lags a bit in the middle section. But the ending more than makes up for it. Not only does this restore my faith in Lynch as a filmmaker, it also just might restore my faith in the human race. Such a fantastic film.