“Lawrence of Arabia” is a film about time and movement. A historical ham that, despite its large images, despite its desire to overwhelm, never ignores the psychological and even physical development of its main character.
How clever to start with the banal death of a man in a motorcycle accident, who is shown in almost four hours as he tries to shape the world according to his ideas with his hands, which are first delicate and then grip more and more powerfully.
In the meantime, this Thomas Edward Lawrence feels like a messiah who even believes he can walk on water. Nevertheless, he cannot prevent one of his protégés (who follow him like disciples) from sinking miserably into the quicksand. A scene that no viewer can be prepared for. Just as little as the almost violent cut of a burning match onto the rising desert sun and the camel rider behind the horizon. Buñuel’s knife. Kubrick’s bone.
Men’s cinema – cinema about men
This is all about men, about what drives them and destroys them. Survive. Women are only seen twice: as victims of carnage and as medics. It is surprising how Lawrence’s homoerotic desires and his sadomasochistic wishes are discussed, of course sublimated by his halo complex. 1962!
It’s also surprising how smoothly the script can unfold the passion of this son of the desert in almost four hours without the narrative’s breath becoming stagnant. (The interruption that awaits the viewer after a little more than two hours is also sorely needed). The only source that served as a model was the biography “The Seven Pillars of Wisdom,” which TE Lawrence, who had long since become a hero, wrote down from memory after all of his notes had been lost.
The literary connoisseur Lawrence – as he is called again and again, especially by those higher-ups who stand outside the theater stage smoking, drinking and whispering, only to then intervene in the event in a terribly thoughtless way, changing it to their advantage, as if it were a game Chess. Of course it’s all work on the myth.
Lawrence, who saw himself as an intellectual, later corresponded with all of Great Britain’s cultural greats. Peter ‘O Toole put his subtle reserve, but also his sparkling world spirit, into the nuanced vocal range that he gave to Lawrence. A gentleness that runs counter to his increasingly purposeful actions.
Madness in the desert
But “Lawrence of Arabia” is also a total contradiction. Dualisms and apparent opposites flow like water from the numerous wells, which seem like lifelines to the protagonists who are drowning in heat. But they never sweat. Only in the fury do they sweat on their foreheads like madness on Lawrence’s face as he takes down one Turk after the next with the pistol in his hand.
And then there is this huge, glaring desert, an amorphous place, as we have known since Baudrillard, where every grain of sand is full of symbolism. Almost two hours of nothing but desolation, sand, dryness, struggle for survival. A theater stage that Beckett would certainly have wanted for his finals.
Follow the author of these lines if you like Twitter, Facebook and on his Blog (“Melancholy Symphony”).