Dear Lawrence of Arabia,
Watching David Lean’s 1962 medium defining work for the first time in 2024 brings about multiple contrasting reactions. For one, there is the sheer pleasure and delight of discovering a film that more than lives up to the reputation it has built up over six decades. The visceral, heartfelt reaction of encountering a story that pushes to the forefront so many characteristics responsible for my being so deeply moved by storytelling. The romantic emotions associated with watching a film that will likely stay so closely with you for as long as your interest in the artform remains. The list could go on and on in the warm and fuzzy direction, and yet, a more cynical thought also emerges amidst all of the endlessly well-earned praise— will I ever again come across a film quite as good as this? Much, much more time is surely needed following introduction in order to lend this question any real credibility. But the combination of the films’ legacy and undeniable quality force me to think it possible to find the claim warranted. Nevertheless, if such a pessimistic thought exercise proves true, at least I’ll always have Lawrence of Arabia.
Among a sizeable list of things that struck me as a viewer, maybe most jarring was the contrasting realities of the intricate and small, with the grand and incredibly large present in this film. Lawrence of Arabia is known for its scale and size, and for good reason. I imagine even the most experienced cine-file would be hard pressed to find a film with significantly more to offer in that area should they go searching for it. The sweeping shots of desert stretching as far as the eye can see, the harrowing wide shots of horses and camels galloping at top speed for what seems like miles leading their riders into battle, and the magnitude of the story itself, touching topics such as power, control, patriotism, humanity, legacy, and purpose amid WWI backdrop. And for all its “bigness”, Lawrence of Arabia excel in its minute details just as effectively— mostly through the character of T.E. Lawrence (Peter O’Toole). The minor and seemingly unnecessary display of Lawrence’s courage— which he’ll show in a more pronounced fashion going forward— by extinguishing a match with his bare hands. The selflessness in Lawrence’s actions, highlighted by several decisions he makes to prove himself equal to those in his service. The half second moment where Lawrence examines his own reflection in his knife upon dawning his newly gifted wardrobe— a sign of acceptance from those who are native to the land he sojourns— providing a brief moment a vanity disguised as nobility. Juxtaposing the big and the small, Lean summons command of a story as significant as the best of war films and as personal as the best of characters studies.
Further recognizing this film for its unique quality, I was stunned to find the first act of the film serving as a nearly perfect hero’s journey with enough character arc and moral ambiguity to make for a complete story. But, as one could guess, the story doesn’t stop at this perfectly placed and perfectly utilized intermission. Lean, along with Maurice Jarre’s score which would be a crime to omit from this discussion as it will now and always forever be my soundtrack to the desert (sorry Hans Zimmer), pulls us back in with another overture giving way to action, further developing the character of Lawrence, posing questions difficult to answer. Does his apparent gravitational pull to the desert occur from his own ambition or from fatalistic design? Does Lawrence’s longing for an average existence come from self-awareness of his own ego or is his back-and-forth approach to leadership a front for the powers that be, elevating his own mystic and elusive significance? These questions are introduced and explored to great effect prior to the film’s intermission— a feat worthy of acknowledgement by itself— and are only deepened and solidified in the film’s encore. For assistance in understanding our titular protagonist, the audience may look to a small moment early in Lawrence’s journey in which he loses his compass. Lawrence sets out for the expedition assigned to him with spontaneity, confidence, and zeal. But soon the harsh conditions of the voyage will transform him from a naive optimist to a lost sheep without a shepherd. Ultimately, the enigmatic persona of Lawrence likely cannot be fully understood; and that is a great thing for the film. But for this exercise, perhaps one of the film’s opening scenes can operate as a passable, oversimplified biography. In one of the film’s many iconic sequences—with a jump cut that might only be rivaled by Stanley Kubrick in 2001: A Space Odyssey— we see Lawrence blow out a match as opposed to manually removing the flame like before. The two methods of extinction may provide a perfect microcosm of the man himself— confident, brash, brazen, and—as he says— extraordinary, in one sense, and unsure of himself, reluctant, and quite ordinary in another.
Speaking of 2001, watching Lawrence of Arabia invoked a recollection of Stanley Kubrick’s magnum opus. Aside from the obvious threads to connect the two films such as their stunning portraits of the natural world (I’m not sure what I’m more impressed by, shooting in the actual desert or making me believe that the picture was filmed in actual deep space), what connects these legendary films for me is my own relationship to each of them. Harkening back to what I said in the opening paragraph, Like 2001, I can’t imagine a future version of myself sitting down to watch something I’ll end up holding in higher regard than Lawrence of Arabia. The list of all-time great films I haven’t seen is as long if not longer than the those I have. But, I’m fairly certain that these two films will be maintains on that list for many years to come. Additionally, my initial viewing of both 2001 and Lawrence of Arabia was one that did not quite reach the level of appreciation and esteem I am now attempting to deposit. The lesson is an important one— exposing yourself to a great, challenging piece of art is worthy of multiple attempts, particularly at different points in your life. A great film might resonate with you the first time you watch it or the tenth. When you watch a film can have just as much implication on your connection to it as how and why you watch it. As we gain more experience watching films and navigating the real world our ability to fall in love with film exponential increases. And with that, what more do we need to love movies as much as Hal loves the mission or Lean loves filming Peter O’Toole’s spellbinding blue eyes?
To Lawrence of Arabia, Mr. Lean, and all who had a hand in the film, thank you.
Sincerely,
movie lovers everywhere
Sources: IMDb, Letterboxd
Film: Lawrence of Arabia
Release Year: 1962
Director: David Lean
Production: Horizon Pictures