The ultimate epic
#24 - Lawrence of Arabia
There is no film more epic than Lawrence of Arabia.
Almost everything about it is grand in scale. There is the vast expanse of the desert, of course. The setting is simply the most visible component of its sweep. There is Maurice Jarre’s stirring, swelling score, as performed by the London Philharmonic Orchestra. There is the context of the First World War and camels and horses and swords. And there is the question of nationhood for a collection of tribes.
As big as it feels, the true power of the film is in its ability to also train its gaze on the smallness and fragility of people - indeed of humanity. The screen is wide. The setting is vast. Lawrence of Arabia still manages to be the most intimate of films.
Its ability to feel so intimate and nuanced - so complicated - is quite a contrast to other epics of its day. Lawrence of Arabia was released in 1962, just three years after Ben Hur and two after Spartacus. That is to say that it was made in an age when Hollywood was heavily invested in making these kind of films, and yet it stands apart more than 50 years later for its ability to tell a grand story without losing its characters in the process. Those other films, great as they are, do not follow a complicated and swerving arc with their protagonists. They are epic. Their heroes are righteous or in the process of becoming so, and so they orchestrate or author grand things.
Lawrence of Arabia has so much more to say about its titular character. Perhaps this is because T.E. Lawrence left so much writing behind where Spartacus certainly did not. Or maybe it is down to Lawrence being a man of the modern world, with motives and flaws that are more accessible to us. Mostly, though, I think it is down to the two men most responsible with bringing him to life on screen: David Lean and Peter O’Toole.
Lean is certainly one of the five or ten greatest filmmakers to have ever lived, though he is not often talked about in such reverential tones. This is a masterclass in communicating a theme visually, and doing it over and over again. Lean celebrates his title character, showing appreciation for his ambition, his courage, pluck, and determination. He also admires the fact that Lawrence was just a different sort, and that sometimes being an oddball who thinks very differently than everyone else is what is needed. At the same time, the great Lawrence is diminished himself against forces greater than he. This is true of the natural environment he traverses, and it also true of the political forces that don’t matter a bit when you are out in the desert, but take on grave importance when you return.
We see this in the film’s most famous scene - the one where a barely discernible black dot slowly but surely becomes a menacing Bedouin rider. Our gaze is fixed for minutes on end, a long reminder of the smallness of all of humanity. We are all but a speck on the horizon. Something tells me Carl Sagan must have loved this scene. We also see it in less ostensibly harsh environs.
We see it when he sits alone and defeated at a grand circular table where the Arab council in Damascus failed to unite, and then moments later when his superior officers and Prince Faisal promote him and dismiss him in one fell swoop. The great Lawrence could traipse across the desert and humiliate the Turks, but his limits are quickly apparent when the field of battle and the opponent shifts.
Of course we see it in Lawrence’s death back in England - some dust and a few bicyclists are enough to snuff this giant of a man out. Other films would probably leave his unceremonious demise to a title card just before the credits. Lean makes sure we are reminded of it at the start and the finish. He has something to say about so-called great men, and his story and the way he tells it make his point with force. We are all specks on the horizon.
None of what Lean is expressing would carry quite the same weight without O’Toole. He looks the part of epic lead in a superficial sense. He is tall with blonde hair and blue eyes. But O’Toole fills his character with both fragility and indignation. He’s far more glass-jawed than a Kirk Douglas or Charlton Heston type. He speaks like a preacher, but also often seems to be on the verge of tears. He says things like “the trick … is not minding that it hurts,” but does it completely absent of a John Wayne-like bravado. To imagine Peter O’Toole uttering that line and then to imagine John Wayne doing the same is to understand the importance of casting and of acting. O’Toole gives us confident but also insecure man. His character so much more interesting as a consequence. He is more human. He does not allow us to drift off in to a fantasy of good guys and bad guys and explosions - one where there is no introspection about what all this violence and death is meant to accomplish beyond victory and defeat.
“No. I’m different,” Lawrence tells a fellow traveler.
He is talking of his home country and setting himself apart from his countrymen, but he might as well be talking about this film and this hero amid a sea of other historical epics that are a bit too concerned with history and not concerned enough with what type of person might make it.
Lawrence of Arabia is one of my very favorite films, and I think that is mostly because it is fierce and sensitive and deeply, tremendously strange. It doesn’t commoditize the exploits of its hero, and in so doing allows us to reflect upon them seriously, without easy conclusions. Many viewings later, I am still reflecting with awe and wonder.