Lawrence of Arabia

Director: David Lean

Year: 1962

Lawrence of Arabia matters, not just for and by itself as a film widely regarded as one of the best, but also for what went in to making it and what it represents in terms of the nature of creativity. Young filmmakers often talk about the need or desire to change the scope of the art form by doing something groundbreaking but few have the gall, ability or, perhaps madness, necessary to pull it off. Director David Lean is said to have gotten his inspiration in imagining what it would be like to see a speck appear on the horizon of the desert and slowly grow into a human being. That’s the central image and argument to hold for the nearly four hour running time. How can this seemingly insignificant man appear against the depths of the brutal and impervious desert and expect to become anything? Faith, courage and a burning desire to prove the naysayers wrong. “Nothing is written,” Lawrence reminds us.

Those things being said, if you can’t see Lawrence on a technically adept big screen (and I was fortunate enough to catch the latest 4k restoration completed in 2012 for my second-ever screening at the spectacular Galaxy theater in Las Vegas), I hesitate to recommend seeing it at all. Even if you have a beautiful home system you’re very proud of, it’s not what Lean had in mind when he made this film in 70mm. It’s bigger than life in every way imaginable, the character, the goal, the sound and, perhaps most strikingly, the many moods in the environment of the Sahara Desert.

T.E. Lawrence (Peter O’Toole) is a young, low-level British officer and cartographer in the early portion of World War I stationed in Cairo. Because of his quirkiness, he is sent to check on their ally, Prince Feisal (Alec Guinness) to determine the strength of his revolt against the Turks. In one of the cuts that truly ignites what the film and its lead character are about to become, Lawrence blows out a match and we are transported to a miraculous sunrise over the vast Sahara in the blink of an eye. The starkness and sharpness of this cut is breathtaking and revelatory. It’s also a fantastic note to young filmmakers who insist on “fixing it in post”: the work of the actual cut is now but a key stroke, the requisite heavy lifting remains in the pre-production planning and production set work. 

Watching Lawrence, I simply couldn’t get Steven Spielberg and George Lucas’s early work, particularly the Star Wars and Indiana Jones franchises, out of my head. These films were some of the most impactful films I grew up with and, in many ways, made me want to be a filmmaker just as Lean’s work had done for them. The landscapes, shadows, score and overall feel of what Lean established is clearly and, as it should be, unapologetically on display in Spielberg and Lucas’s work.

Regarding the nature of creativity and groundbreaking work, it’s vitally important to remember that creation, on all levels, is founded in modeling (repeating that which was done before). Things are constantly evolving, though sometimes that evolution appears so slow in real time that it may seem stagnant. Work that is merely repetitious or incestuous of previous work tends to look that way. On the other hand, work that actively works to be change for change’s sake is often too self-aware to capture an audience with any meaning or resonance. Transformation that happens in slow but steady change – not throwing out all processes that go into making a film at once, but rather matching the level of intensity of the best of what was done before, bathing deeply in that greatness, then filtering the “new” story through it tends to be more meaningful and, perhaps ironically, even revolutionary. 

Groundbreaking work is akin to a mutation in nature. Some mutations are perceived positively and are encouraged to grow. Others are seen as detrimental and, more often than not, allowed to fall to the wayside as perhaps necessary but misguided attempts. The truth is we don’t know which are which until the audience decides – which sometimes doesn’t happen with films even upon an initial viewing.

The final scene of this marathon lands Lawrence, at least in part, in one of my favorite genres: tragedy. For all the work our hero has done, he is now discarded after being unequivocally and unapologetically declared a pawn. The masterful wrap up of Lawrence, fading away from shadow into nothingness as he leaves the discussions of “peace” to the old men, is heart breaking and all too correct feeling. Lawrence is a broken, mysterious, impossible to nail down man. His discovery of his own bloodlust against the revulsion he feels for it in the loss of his first companion’s life is harrowing. All of these elements and likely ten thousand more are the treasures that await those willing to invest into one of the greatest films of all time. Just do everything you can to see it the way Lean intended – much, much bigger than life.    

Resonance Rating: 5 out of 5