Theater review | The tragic tale of 'The Elephant Man' reflects celebrity-obsessed times

Theater Review |

In 1979, the year Bernard Pomerance's play "The Elephant Man" debuted to acclaim, the Shah of Iran was overthrown. Maggie Thatcher became Britain's first female prime minister. Sony introduced The Walkman.

Thirty years on, politics, technology and our attitudes toward physical disability have shifted radically.

And as presented by Strawberry Theatre Workshop in a slightly musty, but well-acted, thoughtful airing, the play too has changed — if not in word, then in the context of a furiously celebrity-driven, post-Michael Jackson America.

More so than the atmospheric 1980 David Lynch film of the same title, Pomerance's "Elephant Man" is a brooding rumination (and referendum) on social repression and hypocrisy, and the limits of science.

The narrator is an ambitious British doctor, Frederick Treves (a stately David Pichette). In the 1880s he encounters the hideously disfigured John (nee Joseph) Merrick (MJ Sieber) working in a freak show.

Fascinated by his physique, and horrified by his exploitation, Treves shelters Merrick in a London hospital where he is safe — yet, ultimately, still on exhibit.

Treves quickly learns his ward is bright, insightful, gracious, despite a lifetime of Dickensian horror.

And in this loosely-fictionalized treatment, he's a Christ-like figure, who charms all, but questions the moral contradictions eminent Victorians hold sacred.

The theatrical trick of "The Elephant Man" is having an actor of normal physique portray Merrick without special makeup or prosthetics.

In Julie Beckman's very spare staging, garnished mainly by Don Darryl Rivera's moody piano music, photos of the real Merrick's distorted body are projected onto white curtains. (He likely had Proteus Syndrome, a rare bone disorder.)

Sieber mimics Merrick's contorted posture, but with unusual subtlety. More striking and telling is the voice this able actor uses — deep, soft, quizzical, with a slight stutter.

It's the voice of a man new to intelligent conversation, but with much to say. And the questions Merrick asks of Treves, about the rules of Victorian behavior, haunt and challenge his protector.

The play's saint/savant treatment of Merrick, and blaming Victorianism the monster, now have a simplistic, sentimental ring.

But Merrick's celebrity, and his contact with famed British actress Mrs. Kendall (Alexandra Tavares), feel quite current. Lords, ladies, even a princess come to visit this curiosity.

Yet is their interest just noblesse oblige? Or posh and trendy voyeurism?

Only Mrs. Kendall, enacted with wistful, worldly chic by Tavares, gets truly intimate with the lonely Merrick. And in a pivotal scene, that intimacy is shattered when it breaks those Victorian rules.

The Michael Jackson connection? He once bid to buy the remains of Merrick. Strange, sad, true.

Misha Berson: mberson@seattletimes.com