Searching For History: Lawrence of Arabia as Portrayal of History

I would like to thank Professor Dana Och for allowing me to write about my special pigeon for my mid-term essay. I promise that I'll do something directly related to this class for the final.

And perhaps review Godard's Breathless and Fassbinder's Veronika Voss? Hmm...

Searching For History: Lawrence of Arabia as Portrayal of History

“We did not try to solve the legend of Lawrence of Arabia. We tried to perpetuate it.” – Sam Spiegel

David Lean’s Lawrence of Arabia (1962) is an interesting example of history on film. A biopic of T.E. Lawrence, the enigmatic British intelligence agent who led the Arab Revolt against Turkey in World War I, it is handicapped because historians do not agree on Lawrence’s importance, motivations or personality. Biographies run the gamut from Basil Liddell-Hart’s idolatry to Richard Aldington’s scornful Biographical Inquiry, praising and damning Lawrence with equal vehemence. Michael Asher’s comment that “there is no real Lawrence at all… only my own reflection in a glass” (Asher 3) sums up the controversy: Lawrence is a neurotic Rorschach test for biographers to project their own ideology, agenda and biases onto.

Though historians have criticized its lack of factual accuracy, Lawrence of Arabia is an accurate portrayal of history: that is, “the record of past events and times” (Dictionary.com), which in Lawrence’s case is hardly settled. It illuminates the controversy, half-truths and mythology surrounding T.E. Lawrence, exploring rather than solving the enigma through cinematic means – character interaction and clever use of visuals. Criticizing the film’s inaccuracy is absurd considering the lack of consensus about the man; the most the film could hope to do is reflect the controversy surrounding Lawrence.

The documentary approach of Carl Theodor Dreyer’s The Passion of Joan of Arc ensures strict fidelity to facts, and is certainly a brilliant cinematic experience in its own right. Strict adherence to facts can be well-served, but often leads to stiff, pedantic and boring filmmaking – a history lesson rather than entertainment. The dramatic invention of Lawrence is no less valid an approach than Dreyer’s, showing history not to be set facts but an amorphous series of arguments and perceptions, dependent upon the author, “composed of millions of people thinking of myths” (Zavattini 156).

When considering historical accuracy in film, it is important to note that, documentaries aside, cinema is a fictional medium. A director or screenwriter is no more beholden to facts than a novelist, painter or playwright, and invention and dramatic license are inevitable. However, films undoubtedly influence public perception of historical events, from D.W. Griffith’s Birth of a Nation to Oliver Stone’s JFK. While one might argue that movies have no obligation to accuracy, their combination of storytelling and imagery paints a vivid picture, in a form more accessible and wide-reaching than books. Thus, a reasonable reflection of history, if not specific facts, is generally desirable. Cesare Zavattini said “The moral… problem of cinema lies in being able to observe reality, not to extract fictions from it” (Zavattini 153); but such fictions are inevitable regarding historical incidents.

Carl Theodore Dreyer, in preparing Passion of Joan of Arc, exhaustively researched Joan’s trial, reproducing court manuscripts verbatim and portraying Joan as a simple peasant girl in an impossible situation. The film “avoid(s) the picturesque temptations of an historical drama” (Ebert), utilizing a single set, filming mostly in close-ups, with a single establishing shot, sparse costumes, no make-up, and a cast of mostly unknown actors. Dreyer’s film is accurate to the letter, striving for historical truth about the simple peasant girl who became a martyr, and much later was canonized by France. The director stated, “I wanted to interpret a hymn to the triumph of the soul over life” (Dreyer), and he certainly achieves a compelling cinematic experience out of simple facts.

Lawrence of Arabia is a complete contrast to Dreyer’s film: a huge, decidedly picturesque epic, filmed on location in Jordan, Spain and Morocco. Peter O’Toole and Omar Sharif were then unknown, but the supporting cast is full of famous actors – Alec Guinness, Jack Hawkins, Anthony Quinn, Claude Rains. Though screenwriters Robert Bolt and Michael Wilson used Lawrence’s memoirs, Seven Pillars of Wisdom, as a source, they did not refrain from dramatic license. Reflecting Asher’s comments, Bolt stated that “Ten different dramas could be gotten from [Seven Pillars]; which tenth seems most important will depend on yourself, not Lawrence” (Bolt 505-506). Thus, Lawrence should be approached as a work of fiction, without the documentary trappings of Dreyer’s film; an interpretation rather than the truth.

Lawrence is faithful to the outline of the Arab Revolt, but is often scurrilous in factual details. Some scenes are dramatic license – for instance, conflating Lawrence’s rescue of an Arab tribesman, and execution of another, into a single character, Gassim. Several characters are invented, including the politician Dryden and Lawrence’s commander, Colonel Brighton (Turner 82-83). The largest error is claiming that Lawrence did not know of the Sykes-Picot Agreement to divide Turkey’s empire between the Allies – the catalyst for his conflict of interest (Lawrence 282-284). Historian’s complaints are factually valid, but the interpretation of Lawrence is more important. Rather than claiming to know who Lawrence was, as most biographers do, Lean reflects the historical debate, not arriving at a definitive answer.

To be sure, the film does not completely eschew interpreting Lawrence’s character. Most controversially, it depicts Lawrence as a sadomasochist who simultaneously abhors and enjoys violence. This is reflected in Lawrence’s putting out a match with his fingers (“The trick is not minding that it hurts!”), his speech about enjoying Gassim’s execution, and his gleeful involvement in the massacre of Turkish soldiers. Revelations that Lawrence employed other soldiers in ritual flogging after the war (Asher 369-370; Wilson 750-751) tempered criticism of this as mere sensationalism. The film also strongly implies Lawrence was homosexual, an issue still hotly debated (cf. Asher 298; Wilson 127-128). Forty-eight years later, these questions are not resolved, and the film’s interpretation of Lawrence is not anachronistic or dated.

Lawrence is also depicted as an egomaniac who sees himself as an infallible messiah for the Arab cause (“I did it [captured Aqaba]”; I’m going to give it [freedom] to them”; “Do you think I’m just anybody?”), though balanced with self-loathing. This view is naturally held by critical Lawrence biographers, including Aldington and Asher, with Jeremy Wilson taking the contrary tact. An ambivalent attitude is evident in both Lawrence’s actions – his shunning a knighthood, his simultaneous dislike of and assistance towards Lowell Thomas, his various assumed names – and his writings: “There was a craving to be famous; and a horror of being known to like being known” (Lawrence 580). This interpretation of Lawrence has historical basis to belie any claims of sensationalism or unfairness. However, the film is mostly ambivalent about its hero, merely reflecting the debate rather than staking out a position.

In the film’s second scene, mourners convene at St. Paul’s Cathedral for Lawrence’s funeral. Characters express their opinion on Lawrence, to a reporter and amongst each other. While Colonel Brighton thinks he is “the most extraordinary man I ever knew,” others – Generals Allenby and Murray, a medical officer – claim not to “know” him – that is, understand him. Reporter Jackson Bentley sums up the contradiction: “He was a poet, a scholar and a mighty warrior. He was also the most shameless exhibitionist since Barnum and Bailey.” Lean immediately establishes Lawrence’s enigmatic nature, and the importance of individual perception.

In early scenes, Lawrence’s colleagues berate him as “balmy” and “a clown”; General Murray calls him “the kind of creature I can’t stand!”; and Dryden thinks he has “a funny sense of fun.” Later, British attitudes towards Lawrence reverse, revering his success but still baffled by his personality. This is most graphically shown through Lawrence’s encounters with a medical officer in Damascus. Appalled by the ill-treatment of Turkish POWs, the officer confronts Lawrence, garbed in his Arab clothes, and strikes him. Later, the officer encounters Lawrence in uniform and, awestruck by the celebrity before him, shakes his hand. This represents one view of Lawrence, an unvarnished, glorious hero to, in John Buchan’s phrase, “follow to the ends of the Earth” (Turner 11). However romantic, this adds little to understanding Lawrence.

Major characters have more useful, if limited, interpretations of Lawrence, depending on how and when they encounter Lawrence. Colonel Brighton, who sees Lawrence’s achievements first hand, goes from dislike to genuine admiration of Lawrence: “He was the most extraordinary man I ever knew.” General Allenby, who meets Lawrence after his campaigns, sees him as a useful strategic tool, flattering his ego and manipulating Lawrence into returning to the front: “You’re the most extraordinary man I’ve ever met!” Auda abu Tayi, the flamboyant chief of the Howeitat, sees Lawrence as a kindred spirit, a desert warrior more Arab than English: “There is only the desert for you.” Each captures a shade of Lawrence’s personality while missing the larger picture, standing in for the biographers with their own flawed, biased interpretations.

Jackson Bentley is the strongest representative of the historian. He is loosely based on Lowell Thomas, the Chicago-based reporter who made Lawrence famous through sensationalist reporting, a dramatic travelling slide lecture, and a biography, With Lawrence in Arabia. Richard Aldington says that Thomas “was sent out to find news to make propaganda, not to collect material for history” (Aldington 285), and the fictionalized Bentley accurately reflects this. Bentley meets Lawrence at the height of his fame, photographing Lawrence as he poses atop a wrecked Turkish train, with the Bedouin cheering him. Bentley is conscious of his myth-making, telling Prince Feisal that “I’m looking for a hero” who represents the “adventurous aspects” of war. That Lawrence was a media-created celebrity is inarguable, and Bentley’s willful myth-making distorts things far more than those who merely idolize Lawrence.

The two characters who come closest to understanding Lawrence are Sherif Ali, his companion and friend, and Prince Feisal, the leader of the Revolt. Ali acts as a foil for Lawrence’s evolution to Arab culture – and, later, his dissent into egomania and barbarism. Feisal encounters Lawrence sporadically, yet has an intuitive understanding of him. These understand a generally accepted truth about Lawrence: that he is the servant of two masters, not really at home in either Britain or Arabia. Feisal’s words to Allenby – “Aurens is a sword with two edges. We are equally glad to be rid of him, are we not?” – are cold, but accurate: Lawrence’s ties to the imperialist British, and his pro-Arab views, render him anathematic to both parties.

To emphasize this ambiguity, Lean employs a number of visual devices. Lawrence’s appearance changes constantly, including his costume – ill-fitting British uniform, flowing white Arab robes. Parading on top of the destroyed train, he reflects the sun in his robe, glowing like a “Sun-God” (Turner 83) as he poses for Bentley’s camera – the perfect, storybook hero. His robes deteriorate later in the film, leaving him a ghost-like wraith later in the film. Another device is Lawrence examining himself in the blade of his dagger – first during the expedition to Aqaba, where he is deliriously happy at his acceptance by the Arabs. Later, after the Tafas Massacre, he is horrified at his ghoulish, blood-stained appearance. In the final scenes, as Lawrence meets with Allenby and Feisal for the last time, he is reflected on a table, his face shrouded in shadow. At film’s end, Lawrence disappears ingloriously into the desert, leaving history – and his reputation – in the hands of others.

While Lawrence of Arabia is not an especially accurate depiction of its protagonist, its exploration of the Lawrence controversy is valuable. Documentary realism is one thing, but fiction can be equally valid. As George Macdonald Fraser writes: “Although films have sometimes blundered and distorted and falsified… at their best, they have given a picture of the ages more vivid and memorable than anything in Tacitus or Gibbon or Macaulay, and to an infinitely wider audience” (Frasier xii). Such is the case with Lawrence of Arabia: despite its historical errors, it serves as a useful introduction to the legend of T.E. Lawrence and the historical debate that surrounds him to this day. 

Works Cited

Aldington, Richard. Lawrence of Arabia: A Biographical Inquiry. Chicago: Regnary, 1955.

Asher, Michael. Lawrence: The Uncrowned King of Arabia. London: Penguin, 1998.

Bolt, Robert. “Lawrence of Arabia: An Apologia”. Adrian Turner. Robert Bolt: Scenes from Two Lives. London: Random House, 1998. 505-509

Dreyer, Carl Theodor. “Realized Mysticism in The Passion of Joan of Arc.” Criterion Website, 8 November 1999. Accessed 28 February 2010. http://www.criterion.com/current/posts/69

Ebert, Roger. The Passion of Joan of Arc. Great Movies Article, 16 February 1997. Accessed 28 February 2010. http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/19970216/REVIEWS08/401010350/1023

Fraser, George MacDonald. The Hollywood History of the World. London: Michael Joseph, 1988.

“History.” Dictionary.com. Accessed 1 March 2010.
http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/history

Lawrence, Thomas Edward. Seven Pillars of Wisdom. London: Penguin Classics, 2000.

Lawrence of Arabia. Director: David Lean. Perfs. Peter O’Toole, Omar Sharif, Alec Guinness. Columbia Pictures, 1962.

Passion of Joan of Arc, The. Director: Carl Theodor Dreyer. Perfs. Renee Jeanne Falconetti, Michel Simon, Antonin Artaud. Société générale des films, 1928.

Turner, Adrian. The Making of David Lean’s Lawrence of Arabia. London: Dragon’s World, 1994.

Wilson, Jeremy. Lawrence of Arabia: The Authorized Biography of T.E. Lawrence. London: Atheneum, 1989.

Zavattini, Cesare. “Some Ideas on the Cinema.” Aristides Gazetas. An Introduction to World Cinema: Second Edition. London: MacFarland and Company, 2008. 151-158

As a corollary, if you're feeling really geeky, you can read my rant about Richard Aldington's Lawrence of Arabia: A Hatchet-Job here.