Doctor Zhivago (1965)

David Lean followed up Lawrence of Arabia with an even bigger success, joining producer Carlo Ponti to adapt Doctor Zhivago (1965). Boris Pasternak’s sprawling novel became a cause celebre when the Soviet government barred Pasternak from receiving a Nobel Prize for literature. The movie proved a colossal Road Show hit due to its stars, fashions and Maurice Jarre’s catchy score. It remains among the top ten highest grossing films (adjusted for inflation).

Doctor Zhivago (1965) is Lean’s most problematic epic. Like the source novel it’s long and almost plotless, relying on beautiful vistas and exorbitant production values to keep things afloat. Its main failings though are Omar Sharif and Julie Christie, two disappointing leads. All the same, Zhivagois an undeniably seductive experience.

Yuri Zhivago (Omar Sharif) pursues dual careers as a doctor and poet in pre-Revolutionary Moscow. He romances stepsister Tonya (Geraldine Chaplin) but constantly crosses paths with Lara (Julie Christie). Lara is engaged to Pasha (Tom Courtenay), a socialist agitator, but carries on with Victor Komarovsky (Rod Steiger), a well-connected lawyer. Zhivago and Lara serve together in World War I, falling for each other but separated as the Russian Revolution breaks out. At the urging of Zhivago’s half-brother Yevgraf (Alec Guinness), Yuri and his family flee Moscow to their estate, where Yuri encounters Lara again. The two begin an affair but the Revolution inevitably interferes.  

Doctor Zhivago trumps even Lawrence in its outsized spectacle. Lean spared no expense filming in Spain: John Box rebuilt 1910s Moscow on a garbage dump outside Madrid. Unable to locate snow for winter scenes, Lean laid miles of marble dust across the country side, finally sending second units to Finland and Canada. Along with the sumptuous décor, costumes and thousands of extras, it's epic filmmaking at its most ambitious.

The episodic story relies on set pieces, and Zhivagopresents some doozies. Lean conveys historical events with impressionistic effects: a violent troop mutiny, the family’s train journey through the Urals, a cavalry charge across a frozen lake (shades of Alexander Nevsky?). Yuri’s trek through Siberia has the same elemental power as Lawrence’s desert scapes. Even modest scenes abound with showy moments, some effective (melting window frost), others tritely “symbolic” (the weeping sunflower). It benefits too from Maurice Jarre’s sweeping score, from the romantic Lara’s Theme to violent choral pieces for scenes of revolution. 

If screenwriter Robert Bolt simplifies the period’s history he conveys its turmoil through elegant grace notes. The contrast between Komarovsky’s swanky dinner party and dragoons slaughtering demonstrators says more about Tsarist Russia than fifty pages of dialogue could. The Revolution plunges the country into civil war, famine and atrocity, the Reds proving even worse than their predecessors. Zhivago's family become refugees for Yuri's inadvertently "subversive" attitudes. Unlike Gone With the Wind, Zhivago uses history not as a mere backdrop but an integral part of its story.

Lean views the Revolution as an epic tragedy for the individual. Zhivago becomes an enemy of the people not only for his poetry but for his bourgeois lifestyle. Pasha transforms into Strelnikov, a heartless Red general unconcerned with collateral damage: “The personal life is dead in Russia – history has killed it!” Minor characters practically gloat of abandoning their families to the Revolution. Komarovsky survives by changing sides at the drop of a hat. One striking scene has Lara dwarfed by a poster of Stalin, a remarkable image of individuality subsumed to socialist ideology.

Zhivago’s early scenes work best, with its focused plot, limited setting and modest coterie of characters. It’s a soap opera but well-crafted and appealing. As Lean’s canvas grows larger the narrative unspools, relying on cheap devices (Tonya reading Yuri’s letters, Yevgraf’s narration) to spackle over plot holes. Long sequences feel self-contained: Yuri’s service with Red partisans is barely mentioned after it ends. A framing device with Yevgraf interviewing Lara’s lost daughter (Rita Tushingham) is uninspired and trite. And the last act, with Yuri and Lara waiting at frozen Varykino for an uncertain fate, proves interminable.

There lies Zhivago’s primary flaw: Yuri and Lara aren’t much of a couple. Partly their relationship is thinly sketched, but Lara’s character is also to blame. Pasternak’s novel makes Lara outwardly beautiful and vivacious, inwardly a troubled youth. In the film, Lara is a one-dimensional fantasy figure, a hot woman waiting to be bedded. The “ice palace” scenes stop the movie cold: Lean tries through sheer will to sell their connection, with Jarre’s music swelling as Yuri writes poetry, but it just seems phony.

Omar Sharif almost overcomes his painfully passive character, making Yuri smart, likeable and tragic. Julie Christie unfortunately is a wet blanket: so charming in Billy Liar and Darling, she’s profoundly out of her depth in period roles (see also Far from the Madding Crowd). The haphazard script doesn’t help but the stars generate little chemistry of their own accord. They’re pretty people without meaningful connection, leaving Zhivagowith an ineradicable hollow at center. 

The lackluster leads force the ensemble cast to pick up the dramatic slack. Rod Steiger steals every scene as an agreeably amoral chameleon. Tom Courtenay proves pitch-perfect playing a student idealist-turned-murderous warlord. Geraldine Chaplin makes an endearingly warm alternative to Christie. Alec Guinness handles his thankless narrator role with gravitas. Klaus Kinski gets a showy early role as a raving anarchist.

Doctor Zhivago will appeal to fans of historical epics, with David Lean’s craftsmanship mostly overcoming the slack plot and indifferent leads. It’s a deeply flawed film, but a richly absorbing one.