"The Elephant Man," or, The Ache of It (Patreon)

Over the last four months, I had the good fortune to play the role of Mrs. Kendal in a local community college production of "The Elephant Man." The play finally ran the first two weekends in May and, with the exception of a wonky curtain, went off flawlessly. I am exhausted, elated, empty, and full.

The play follows the story of Joseph (in the play, "John") Merrick, a young man who suffers horrible skin growths and bone deformities and makes his living in London's underground freak shows until he is discovered by surgeon Dr. Frederick Treves. Treves cannot cure Merrick but studies and cares for him, supported by donations from a generous English public who fund permanent room and board for Merrick at London Hospital.

When it becomes clear that women cannot tolerate the sight or smell of Merrick, Mrs. Kendal, a famous actress, is called in to socialize with him. Mr. Treves suggests that, as an actress, Mrs. Kendal can mask any feelings of disgust or horror that might arise when the two meet. She is, of course, up for the "gig" but not simply for the performance aspect. She is curious about Merrick; she has examined his photographs and thought deeply about his quality of life. There is a part of her that relates to his experience as an untouchable, for such can be the nature of fame.

The sight of him is truly and inexplicably abhorrent. But Mrs. Kendal does not run. After a halting introduction, the two find common ground in a discussion of "Romeo and Juliet" where she discovers in Merrick a sensitive, intelligent man who articulates Romeo's selfishness better than she can, even though she has played Juliet a number of times. Intrigued and charmed, she begins a campaign to socialize him with London's elite. It isn't long till we see Merrick in a suit at a Christmas gala accepting lavish gifts from royalty, the talk of the town.

In their final scene together, Merrick reveals to Mrs. K that he is lonely and longs for a mistress. He also tells her he has never seen a woman naked. Following a frank, funny, then poignant exchange about appearances and trust, Mrs. Kendal asks Merrick to turn around. “Is this a game?” he asks. Playfully, she replies, “I would not call it a game; a surprise.” “What kind of surprise?” he asks. When he turns around again, she has unbuttoned her blouse and her breasts are exposed. He is speechless. She says, “A little funny, isn’t it?” and he confesses it’s the most beautiful thing he’s seen. Ever.

The two are in the midst of a charged, somewhat comic stare-off when Mr. Treves arrives unannounced and flies into a rage at their impropriety. Mrs. Kendal leaves the stage in tears never to return, but Merrick continues to ask after her, even pine for her. When Mr. Treves admits that she won't likely return, Merrick shuffles off stage howling, "Why? Why won't she?" When Merrick is out of earshot, Treves mutters to himself, "Because I don't want her here when you die.”

The actor playing Merrick plods past me backstage in tears, loping with his cane in character to the other side of the stage for his next entrance. I am seated and it's all I can do not to cry too. I pull my voluminous blue skirts in and turn to the side so he can pass, but I'm still in character and I feel so sad that I can't reassure him: I'm here. Mrs. Kendal is here.

Of course, there's much more to the play than this one relationship -- Merrick is surrounded by users and helpers, some of whom seem to change places over the course of the play -- but naturally, my focus is on our five scene stretch. The ache of it. That's what this play was about for me. Locating the compassion, the mystery, the sore spots, the longing. Combing my own life not only for Mrs. Kendal's generosity, open-heartedness, authority, and sass, but also for loneliness, blown love, and the countless ways she has been misunderstood. "Too little trust has maimed my life," she says, "but that's another story."

Mrs. Kendal’s story never gets told explicitly. And yet somehow it does, by the way she loves and befriends Merrick. By preparing myself to play her, or to act at all, I reconcile with bits of my own story, too, and for this, I THANK YOU. Without your support, I could not have given this project my utmost. Acting is more than just a delicious and challenging dive into craft and collaboration; it is also an opportunity for healing my glorious blessing and bruise of a life, and a grand exercise in letting go. I can’t possibly express to you how critical it is that I do this work, too; that I have new stages to play on, new players to connect with, new stories to breathe for a little while and then completely let go of. That after decades of celebrating others' work, I claim this dream — my oldest dream — and embody it as fully as I can. A little girl has been waiting for this for a long, long time.

Just the one life, friends. That's all we have.

Your support is everything to me, and I am deeply grateful.

Thank you.

xotg