A Tragedy of Ridiculous Men: Historical Commentary on Tony Richardson's The Charge of the Light Brigade (1968)

When I first saw Tony Richardson's The Charge of the Light Brigade (1968) I found it curious and frustrating. Its mixture of social satire and antiwar polemic didn't sit well with me, though I admired things about it: the meticulous period detail, Trevor Howard's performance, John Addison's music, and of course Richard Williams' animation. It's steadily grown on me, however: I've revisited the film three times and enjoy it more with each viewing. While certainly flawed, its virtues grow more apparent over time.

As I'm highly suggestible, Charge provided a springboard into researching the Crimean War. I first read Cecil Woodham-Smith's The Reason Why (1953), the film's primary source, which led to other popular histories and then first-hand accounts. As a collage of gallantry, imperial rivalry and military incompetence the Crimea rivals the First World War, in drama if not scope. Certainly its effects were more far-reaching than generally recognized: not only in medical and military reforms but the unification of Italy, Prussia eclipsing Austria as Central Europe's power broker and increased Turkish nationalism. Even as my appreciation of Richardson's film grew, research presented another question: how accurate is The Charge of the Light Brigade?

This article examines The Charge of the Light Brigade through an historical and thematic lens. I will lean on The Reason Why except where the film deviates from it. As with my Lawrence of Arabia pieces, I'll balance historical critique with understanding the needs for dramatic compression. Accuracy isn't an end of itself, but it's worth examining why filmmakers alter history for dramatic purposes. Especially a movie like Charge that prides itself on supposed authenticity.

The Filmmaker, the Playwright and the Angry Young Man: Tony Richardson, Charles Wood and John Osborne

Tony Richardson (left) and John Osborne.

A lifelong outsider, Tony Richardson fought his way up the entertainment ladder through stage, TV and finally film. He won several Oscars for Tom Jones (1963), but made his mark with subversive "kitchen sink" dramas: Look Back in Anger (1958), A Taste of Honey (1961) and The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Runner (1962). Along with Anger playwright John Osborne, Richardson founded Woodfall Studios in 1958. A signatory of Lindsay Anderson's Free Cinema manifesto, Richardson rejected formalization for a more true-life style: "As filmmakers we believe that no film can be too personal... Perfection is not an aim" (Richardson 95).

Richardson thought The Reason Why "a brilliant piece of historical writing" (231) and spent years developing the project. Along with Osborne, Richardson began researching Charge in the mid-'60s, scouting locations in Turkey and negotiating with Turkish officials and English diplomats. While in preproduction, Richardson discovered that actor Laurence Harvey owned the rights to Woodham-Smith's book, forcing Woodfall to tread carefully.

To avoid legal complications, Richardson encouraged Osborne to avoid Woodham-Smith, drawing on Alexander Kinglake's Invasion of the Crimea (1863-1887) instead. However, Harvey's company sued Woodfall on the grounds that Osborne disregarded these instructions; Richardson admits the writer "had helped himself liberally to stylistic phrases and descriptions in The Reason Why" (232). Osborne subsequently fell out with Richardson, attacking the director's "use and misuse [of] the talents of others... with mocking vampire contempt" (Heilpern 347). Connelly informs us that Richardson mostly discarded Osborne's script.

Richardson now turned to Charles Wood. Wood wrote several several plays, including Cockade, H. and Prisoner and Escort, which drew on his military background (serving, appropriately, in Lord Lucan's 17th/21st Lancers) to satirize British society. He collaborated with Richard Lester on Swinging Sixties touchstones Help! and The Knack and How to Get It (both 1965), along with the antiwar satire How I Won the War (1967). After Woodfall settled with Harvey, Wood openly utilized The Reason Why; Woodham-Smith receives a credit in the film. Wood says his script shows "everything I felt about the British Empire, the British army, England under Queen Victoria and the first of the modern wars" (Connelly 25).

One couldn't assemble a better team for a caustic satire. The son of a Jewish chemist, Richardson resented "that virus of the British - class" (37) for making his parents "tool, skimp, sacrifice so that their son would have the opportunities they never had" (45) and delaying his entry into theater and film. Working class Osborne was the original "Angry Young Man," his plays showcasing the disillusionment of postwar Britons, while Wood ridiculed English society through subversive comedy. It's hardly surprising that they produced a movie that "charges us to question authority" (Cahir & Cahir 165).

Sweating the Small Stuff

Bingham's Dandies cut tight to a shadow.

It's obvious that Richardson, Osborne and Wood took great pains researching their subject. Over the movie's four year gestation, Richardson enlisted experts Andrew and John Mollo to research the Crimean era. They compiled their research into a book, Uniforms and Equipment of the Light Brigade (1968). Cinematographer David Watkin based his aesthetics on Scottish painter David Octavius Hill (Richardson 238); Vanessa Redgrave noted that women only wore period-appropriate makeup (158). For a director who claimed that "perfection is not an aim," he thoroughly replicated 1850s style and appearance.

Most evident are the costumes. Richardson effusively praised both the Mollos and production designer Lila de Nobili, a veteran of Luchino Visconti's epics, for their meticulous attention to detail. Though they clashed with Richardson over aesthetic decisions, the result is quite impressive. Cardigan's 11th Hussars became notorious for what The Times called "the brevity of their [gold-laced] jackets... the incredible tightness of their cherry-colored pants" (Woodham-Smith 62). However, Richardson inaccurately attired the entire Light Brigade in these britches. Historically the 15th and 17th Lancers sported dark blue trousers; only the Heavy Brigade appears correctly attired in a brief appearance.

Then there's the dialogue. Wood stressed the importance of language: "Once you find a language for the characters to speak... the rest seems to follow"; he even remained on-set helping actors master the dialect (Connelly 39-40). At one point, Cardigan and Lucan exchange arcane insults: Cardigan calls Lucan a stew stick and a poltroon (coward); Lucan replies that Cardigan is a bum roll (ladies' underwear). Wood showcases the cavalry's laughably affected lisps, with Captains Duberly and Featherstonehaugh, along with Riding Master Mogg, pronouncing r's as w's ("Gwey, sneaky coluh!") like Elmer Fudd (Woodham-Smith 140). Astonishingly this was a point of pride, distinguishing cavalry from the phonetically proper infantry.

Wood also incorporates dialogue from Woodham-Smith's account. Hence Fanny Duberly's comments on the 11th's uniforms paraphrasing The Times extract above; Cardigan saying that Lucan wasn't "fit to command an escort," though Lucan said it about Cardigan (Woodham-Smith 57); Lord Raglan wanting to keep his cavalry "in a bandbox" (176); and Cardigan muttering "here goes the last of the Brudenells" right before the Charge (237). Notably, the fateful exchange between Nolan, Cardigan and Lucan draws from Woodham-Smith's account almost verbatim (233-237).

Richard Williams: Rendering an Era

Victorian self-image.

Richard Williams' animated sequences provide Charge its most unique aspect. Williams, creator of Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, The Thief and the Cobbler and The Pink Panther's title sequence, spent nearly two years preparing his animation with a small crew and Richardson's close supervision. Williams' initial brief was to illustrate scenes too expensive for the filmmakers (namely the Army's sea voyage to Russia); however, they quickly grew integral to the film. They're a key facet of Charge, providing historical context while highlighting the story's satire.

Punch cartoon ca. 1854. Source

Williams' engravings pointedly undercut and satirize High Victorian jingoism. Images of England's industrial might contrast with children slaving in coal mines; a British lion dons a bobby's cap as war erupts between Russia and Turkey; Victoria lifts up her skirt to unleash the Royal Navy. Williams grows most extreme celebrating the fall of Sevastopol: a lion, French cockerel and Turkey dance on a tightrope; Victoria and Albert dance an angelic ballet while scarfing on St. Basil's Cathedral; a lion with bayonet teeth munches the Tsar's head. Then a cannon shot brings reality crashing back.

Williams draws heavily on contemporary Victorian art. The most obvious influence is Punch magazine, whose cartoons critiqued English politics and culture. Williams borrows specific images from Punch: the Russian bear menacing a fez-sporting Turkey; a sword-bearing Liberty, accompanied by an English lion, defending "Right Against Wrong." These segments illustrate Britain's sense of superiority as the 19th Century's economic and cultural center, and role as "the world's policeman."

Richard Williams' interpretation.

Mark Connelly notes that several sequences resemble John Tenniel's illustrations for the novels of Charles Dickens (41). This is most evident in the "war fever" segment; grotesque caricatures of politicians and officials as snaggle-toothed demons, gnawing chicken and screaming for "WAR!" This sequence demolishes England's moral pretensions. The defense of "Poor little turkey" is imperial gamesmanship; Britain and France prop up the Ottoman Empire to secure their respective empires from Russian encroachment. (The initiating "churchwarden's quarrel" [Royle 15] in the Holy Land, where Catholic and Orthodox monks clashed over the key to the Church of the Nativity, seems irrelevant.)

Here it's worth mentioning John Addison's score. For live action the music is either romantic (Nolan's soulful clarinet theme), funereal (Nolan and Co. surveying the Alma battlefield) or angry (discordant trumpets over the pre-Balaclava arguments). Over the animations, however, Addison becomes positively bombastic: blaring trumpets, lively woodwinds, snatches of Rule Britannia and La Marseillaise, a chorus proclaiming "The rule of British pride and strength." For the Crimean voyage, Addison even borrows a cue from his score for The Cockleshell Heroes (1955), a much more conventional war movie. His scoring provides another layer of satire.

As we've seen, Richardson, Wood and Williams get most of the details correct. In its look, feel and syntax, Charge rings true. Whether it's more broadly truthful, of course, is another matter.

Class Warfare: Indian Officers Versus the Purchase System

Upper class twits.

Not surprisingly, Charge's major themes concern class differences within Victorian England in general, and the military in particular. Early scenes contrast the ornate lifestyle of British officers with their poor, illiterate recruits, though Richardson abandons this angle later on. Everpresent is the clash between high-bred Lords Cardigan and Lucan and their ostensibly low-born subordinates. The filmmakers direct their opprobrium to the prejudice against officers with Indian service, and the purchase system.

Richardson captures the prejudiced, anti-intellectual attitudes of the British Army. Cardigan sniffs at Nolan as "some damned novelist!" and refers to him and Morris as "Indian devils." Observing a flogging, Mogg tells Nolan that an army founded on ideals and professionalism instead of discipline would be "Hun-Christian!" Lord Raglan sums things up later in a blackly comic speech: "It will be a sad day when England's armies are officered by men who know too well what they're doing. Smacks of murder!"

These sentiments are broadly true. Prejudice against "Indian" officers was pervasive in the British Army, a curious phenomenon given Wellington's service in India. It's undeniably true that aristocrats abused the purchase system: with no prior experience, Cardigan bought his lieutenant colonelcy of the 15th Hussars for £35,000 (Woodham-Smith 35)! These facts certainly suit Richardson's satirical intentions. Even so, it's undeniable Charge greatly simplifies these issues.

Generals in waiting.

Our modern, democratic society loathes the purchase system on principle, the embodiment of privilege overriding merit. Yet according to Woodham-Smith, "the purchase system expressed a principle which is one of the foundations of the British Constitution... No sentiment is more firmly rooted in the English national character than a hatred of militarism" (28). After Napoleon's coup d'etat and Prussia's powerful Junker class, fear of a standing army was hardly ridiculous. It's noteworthy that the system produced fine generals like Clive and Wellington, and in the Crimea James Scarlett and Sir Colin Campbell. Not to mention Nolan, who bought his lieutenant's commission in 1841.

All the same, the system's shortcomings were self-evident. Merit and money didn't often coincide, with many aristocrats seeing peacetime service as a platform for easy prestige. After the Crimean debacle, public outcry spelled purchase's demise. During the late 1860s Lord Cardwell enforced a sweeping series of military reforms, including abolition of the purchase system. Their leading proponent was Sir Garnet Wolseley, a Crimean veteran who opined "almost all our officers...were absolutely unfit for the positions they had secured through family and political interest" (Woodham-Smith 141).

We also can't assume the experience of Indian officers made them fitter for command. Britain's imperial armies occasionally encountered organized, well-armed foes, as in the Anglo-Sikh Wars of the 1840s. More often they were brushfire wars against Pathan brigands and African tribes, a far cry from fighting Russia. Alan Clark's influential World War I history The Donkeys (1962) ridiculed Haig, French and others for thinking experience fighting Boers and Pathans translated to competence fighting against Germany. If we accept Connelly's argument that Charge's filmmakers drew from Clark (18), this seems like Richardson and Wood having their cake and eating it.

Captain Nolan: Ambivalent Hero

Nolan embarks on his toughest mission: converting Vanessa Redgrave to Toryism.

Embodying these themes is Captain Louis Nolan, Charge's protagonist. Biographer David Buttery characterized Nolan as the "Messenger of Death," delivering Lord Raglan's fateful order that initiated the Charge. His exact role in the Charge, especially the circumstances of his death, remains controversial: Mark Adkin even accuses Nolan of deliberately sending Cardigan down the wrong valley! Richardson engages in considerable dramatic license to make him heroic.

Nolan was undoubtedly an extraordinary man. Son of a Scottish diplomat, he was educated abroad, serving in the Austrian cavalry before transferring to India. His books The Training of Cavalry Remount Horses (1852) and Cavalry: Its History and Tactics (1853) became standard works; he also designed a new cavalry saddle. Adkin claims Nolan "invited criticism by many who felt him to be conceited, rash and intolerant," (33), while M.M. Gilchrist argues this accusation came from jealous peers. He nonetheless impressed Quartermaster General Richard Airey; at the outbreak of war he sent Nolan to procure cavalry horses in Syria. He became Airey's aide-de-camp, playing a key role on Raglan's staff, until selected to deliver Raglan's "fourth order" on October 25th.

"You are drinking beer, sir! Porter beer!"

Film Nolan possesses many of the historical figure's traits. He's an expert horseman, even quoting a passage from Cavalry: "Horses are taught not by harshness but gentleness" (Nolan 167). Richardson accurately shows his friendships with journalist William Howard Russell and Captain William Morris of the 17th Lancers; however, his affair with Morris's wife is invention. He's shown being recommended to Raglan by Airey. Certainly his hauteur and contempt for hidebound, conservative army officers rings true, specific circumstances aside.

But Nolan also embodies the various officers who crossed Cardigan over the years. Among them: Augustus Wathen, whose feud with Cardigan led to the latter's dismissal from the 15th Lancers (Woodham-Smith 41-49); John Reynolds, protagonist of the "black bottle" affair depicted in the film (63-66); and Harvey Tuckett, with whom Cardigan fought a duel over a critical public letter (82-85). Nolan never served in the 11th Hussars and barely knew Cardigan; it was Lucan who earned most of his contempt. Additionally, while Richardson/Wood imply Nolan saw action in India this isn't the case; it was true of Captain Morris, who fought in the Anglo-Sikh War (Adkin 31).

It's acceptable for Wood to create a composite character, summing up decades of Cardigan rivalries and the
Army's broader systemic failures. Dramatically, strict accuracy would diffuse the conflict amongst a half-dozen officers with marginal screen time; concentrating on Nolan makes sense. All the same, such license distorts Nolan's character significantly. His brusque, insubordinate attitude at Balaclava is more understandable, even sympathetic, after being subjected to years of abuse by Cardigan.

Richardson and Wood don't elide Nolan's less flattering aspects. He's shown to be more eager for war than the senior officers, calling it "the stuff we've all been waiting for." His affair with Clarissa, wife of Captain Morris, undermines any claims to moral superiority. Nolan is very much an anti-hero, but still Charge's most sympathetic character. He's a smart, skilled, but arrogant man pushed over the edge by his superiors and ultimately sacrificed to their folly.

Rogue's Gallery: Lords Cardigan, Lucan and Raglan

The story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now.

Few would criticize Richardson's treatment of Lord Cardigan. Cardigan's egomania, exacting personality and martinet treatment are well-documented. As outlined above, the black bottle affair, arresting Reynolds for serving moselle in the officer's mess, was only one abuse amongst many. "Difference of opinion, even of the mildest kind, had a frightening effect on him" (Woodham-Smith 22), Cardigan subjecting his officers to strict discipline and humiliation. Even so, Cardigan's troopers reputedly admired him as the "Murat of the British Army" (David 364), a facet ignored by the film.

Richardson makes Cardigan his primary antagonist, the embodiment of aristocratic privilege against the young, reasonable Nolan. He routinely embarrasses his officers, forcing the green Codrington to eat lettuce and calling Mogg a "monkey" - and these are his toadies. Cardigan insults Nolan in the mess and enlists an unwilling Sergeant Major to spy on him. Every Sunday he pays soldiers to salute him on the street, stroking his ego and inflating his public image. While campaigning he plays the role of "gentleman adventurer"; forcing his men to pitch and repitch tents symmetrically, he spends evenings drinking on his private yacht with the porcine Squire De Burgh. Nothing shakes his sense of entitlement: not reprimands by Lord Raglan, not being booed at a theater, not the destruction of his Brigade.

Lord Lucan's portrayal is comparably one-dimensional. He's merely a foil for Cardigan, accentuating Cardigan's nastiness and providing another portrait of aristocratic idiocy. The movie omits Lucan's complicated back story: his forcible evictions of Irish tenants (Woodham-Smith 118-120), which earned him hatred in Ireland and criticism at home (123), and his service with the Russian army during the Russo-Turkish War of 1828 (34-35). But Richardson correctly shows his fractious relationship with Cardigan, stemming from Lucan's unhappy marriage to Cardigan's sister. Lord Raglan was so eager to keep them apart that he detached Cardigan to quasi-independent command. Not only did this exacerbate the feuding brother-in-laws, it opened a rift between Lucan and Raglan (194).

Lord Raglan, fighting the last war.

The filmmakers tread problematic waters with Raglan, the British commander-in-chief. Richardson depicts him as a senile old man still fighting the Napoleonic Wars: he'd lost an arm at Waterloo and spent years as the Duke of Wellington's secretary. He refers to the Russians as "the French" and literally dwells in Wellington's shadow after a statue's parked outside his office. Raglan is a comic figure, babbling to Fanny Duberly about "pretty things" like babies and table linen or awaking, terrified, at French cavalry appearing outside his office. Yet the humor takes on a dark tinge as this absentmindedness contributes to the Charge.

Raglan's performance in the Crimea remains controversial. Woodham-Smith's portrait anticipates the film: Raglan is well-meaning and amiable, but completely out of his depth leading an army: "Without the military trappings... one would never have guessed him to be a soldier" (156). Raglan mistaking the Russians for the French is well-documented, though perhaps not so malign as the film suggests (Woodham-Smith 162; Hibbert 277). Raglan's undeniable mistakes were trying to avoid Cardigan and Lucan's feud rather than resolve it, and his unclear orders to Lucan at Balaclava.

Other historians take a more sympathetic view. Christopher Hibbert admits Raglan's tactical mistakes but emphasizes his courage and generous nature which ensured a smooth relationship with his French and Turkish allies (who, notably, are all but ignored in Charge). Hibbert argues the press and government leaders scapegoated Raglan for higher-level administrative failings: "Members of the Government were determined that they... should not play the part" (228). Modern writers also differ in their assessments (cf. Adkin 240-241; Royle 398-400). Viewers must decide whether the film's Raglan is a fair representation.

The Curious Case of Mrs. Duberly

The Duberlys observe the Charge.

Most egregious, however, is the depiction of Frances "Fanny" Duberly, wife of Paymaster Henry Duberly of the 8th Hussars. Mrs. Duberly accompanied her husband on campaign, charming and browbeating Raglan and Cardigan for a front row seat. Her Journal Kept During the Russian War provides a valuable first-hand account of the conflict, describing how "the supporters of [England's] arms... be Liberty and Death" (Duberly 164). She was both admired and scorned; her books (later including an account of the Indian Mutiny) sold well, yet Queen Victoria forbade Duberly from dedicating her book to the Queen. Duberly was a woman who ventured into danger and spoke her mind, two things antithetical to Victorian values.

No one reading Duberly's journal, or E.E.P. Tisdall's Mrs. Duberly's Campaigns (1963), can avoid being impressed by this intelligent, fiercely determined woman. It's puzzling that Charge portrays her as a fatuous ninny, obsessed with war and sex. From her introduction Fanny ponders bedding Cardigan, drooling over his "beautiful head" and "looking like I want to be ridden by him." Richardson suggests that Duberly's promiscuity stems partially from social advancement, with his husband pushing Fanny on Cardigan. This culminates in Cardigan crudely seducing Fanny, a bawdy bedroom farce recalling Richardson's Tom Jones. This scene highlights Victorian hypocrisy, contrasting public virtue and private randiness (Cahir & Cahir 167).

Rumpy pumpy.

Rumormongers did romantically connect Fanny with Lord Cardigan. The Duberlys were frequent dinner guests of Lord Cardigan during the campaign, with Fanny's familiar conduct towards the general subject of much comment (David 422). Yet in private correspondence, she told sister Selina that "I detest him" (Tisdall 56), viewing the cavalier with mixed pity and contempt. Flattering Cardigan's ego was necessary to gain access to the front: for his part, Cardigan enjoyed flirting with a pretty woman in a war zone. Their relationship went no further.

If Richardson and Wood merely hoped to highlight Cardigan's debauchery, there were historical alternatives. For one, in 1843 Cardigan had an extramarital affair with Fanny Paget, sister-in-law of Lord George Paget of the 15th Hussars (Woodham-Smith 95-96; David 257-262). This liaison, which inevitably boiled over into public scandal, would have served Richardson's attack on aristocratic licentiousness without distorting the historical record. Even conflating George with his brother would be no more egregious than Nolan standing in for Reynolds et al.

Professor Connelly suggests that screenwriter Wood may have wanted to deflate Fanny Duberly's unblemished reputation. For him and Richardson, a war so ludicrous as the Crimea could produce no genuine heroes. This puckish conceit, in keeping with Wood's antiwar, antimilitary preoccupations, explains as well as anything the decision to misrepresent such a remarkable personage.

Balaclava: The Main Event 

Into the Valley of Death.

With the stage set, on to the film's main event: the Battle of Balaclava (October 25th, 1854). Fittingly, Charge's climax epitomizes the mix of authenicity with dramatic license. We'll not impute motive to any deviations when practical reasons can account; we can, however, consider their effect.

The scene opens with Lucan and his staff spotting "two flags" on the road to Balaclava. Lucan asks a subordinate if he's sure the flags mean a Russian advance - and is answered immediately by cannon fire! This remarkable moment is documented in Lord George Paget's memoirs, and recounted by Woodham-Smith (213). The shelling rouses Cardigan from slumber on his yacht, helped hurriedly into uniform by Squire De Burgh and Fanny Duberly, who first gives Cardigan a lusty kiss. The former is accurate; the latter, again, is not.

Any more questions, My Lord?

Richardson next shows Russian troops quickly overrunning the British redoubts defending Balaclava. This distorts what really happened: the redoubts were defended by Turkish troops rather than British, who offered stiff resistance but fell to overwhelming numbers (Woodham-Smith 214-215). This alteration may have been a sop to the Turkish military, who contributed 3,500 extras to the production. The comic scene of Sir George Brown refusing to deploy his Infantry Division until he's finished breakfast really happened, though with George Cathcart instead of Brown (Hibbert 133).

More notable is the absence of Balacava's second- and third-most famous events: the "Thin Red Line," where Colin Campbell's 93rd Highlanders repulsed the Russian cavalry, and the Charge of James Scarlett's Heavy Brigade, routing a far superior enemy force. In the latter, Cardigan ignored a discretionary order by Lucan to counterattack the fleeing Russians. Many historians think that if Cardigan had advanced, the Russians would have been routed and the battle won (Woodham-Smith 227-228; Hibbert 140).

A cynic might suggest Richardson and Wood elided these incidents because British victories would distract from their antiwar theme. In fact, Richardson filmed at least the Heavy Brigade's charge (Richardson 239; Welsh & Tibbets 35-36). Since Campbell and Scarlett received prominent introductions earlier in the film (Campbell leading his brigade at the Alma; Scarlett, hosting a ball early in the movie), we can assume Richardson intended them to have larger roles. He admits having to "junk whole scenes, subplots and sequences" (239) from his four hour rough cut; he may not have missed excising his tormentor Laurence Harvey, cast as a Heavy Brigade officer.

This still appears to show the Charge of the Heavy Brigade. Note the blue pants and metal helmets on the British cavalry, distinct from the Light Brigade's red trousers and bearskin caps.

When the Light Brigade takes center stage, Richardson stands on firmer ground. He has Raglan patronizingly explain to Fanny Duberly his intentions with the Light Brigade, an invented but credible conversation as the Duberlys did observe the Charge (Tisdall 97-100). Using Watkin's panoramic photography, Richardson takes care to show the crucial difference in vantage points; the south valley with the captured British guns is visible from Raglan's perspective but not Lucan's, who can only see the well-defended north valley. It helps that Richardson found a Turkish location topographically similar to the real Balaclava battlefield.

The arguments between Nolan, Cardigan and Lucan over Raglan's orders, as noted, follows Woodham-Smith, as does Cardigan insisting Colonel John Douglas of the 11th Hussars give "your best support" (237). Nolan did ride ahead of the Light Brigade and was hit by a shellburst, delivering an ear-splitting shriek before dying (240). Richardson again follows Woodham-Smith, showing Nolan trying to divert Cardigan into the right valley. In contrast, Adkin thinks Nolan meant to spur the Brigade onward (156-158); David Kelsey argues his intentions can't be inferred either way. By accepting Woodham-Smith's account, Richardson puts an exclamation point on his critique: the only sane man dies immediately, allowing his superiors to destroy the Light Brigade.

Competent officers to the rear!

Finally, the actual Charge. Richardson stages it mainly in close-ups of bloody hand-to-hand action, the cavalry decimated by artillery but overrunning the enemy guns until a Russian counterattack overwhelms them. It's an ugly, violent sequence that aims for harrowing chaos rather than grandiose effects. Richardson elides the Heavy Brigade supporting the Charge until artillery fire forced it back, or the simultaneous, successful French attack on the Fedioukine Hills. Again, these omissions probably come down to budget, logistics and dramatic economy.

The coda again draws on Woodham-Smith: Captain Duberly musing that the Brigade's remnants are mere "skirmishers" (252); Cardigan fuming over Nolan's impudence, then being told "You've just ridden over his body" (252); Cardigan telling his men "It was a mad harebrained trick, but no fault of mine" and declining their offer to "Go again" (253); Raglan telling Lucan "You have lost the Light Brigade" (256). Raglan, Lucan, Cardigan and Airey commence squabbling over responsibility; juxtaposed against dead soldiers and destroyed horses, their petty bickering no longer seems amusing. A grievously wounded Captain Morris watches incredulously.

This provides Charge a grim, powerful climax, destroying any vestige of military glory or conventional excitement. In real life, it's claimed that army exercises forced the recall of the Turkish troops participating in filming, accounting for Richardson's close-ups and scaled back action. Intentional or not, the cluttered, dusty and inglorious depiction of the Charge perfectly fits his view of the Crimean War as a stupid blunder from beginning to end.

Conclusion

Too late the hero.

So ends The Charge of the Light Brigade. In some regards it's remarkably well-done, admirably capturing the look and feel of Victorian England, the British military and the Crimean War. In others, it shapes characters and incidents to fit its antiwar, anti-class themes. Despite their polemical preoccupations, we can respect Tony Richardson, Charles Wood and John Osborne for trying so hard to get things right.

Works Cited

Cinematic

Cahir, Linda Costanzo and Stephen Cahir. "History Revisited: The Charge of the Light Brigade." James M. Welsh and John C. Tibbets (eds.), The Cinema of Tony Richardson: Essays and Interviews. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1999. 161-175

Connelly, Mark. British Film Guides: The Charge of the Light Brigade. London: I.B. Tauris, 2003.

Heilpern, John. John Osborne: A Patriot for Us. London: Chatto & Windus, 2006.

Redgrave, Vanessa. Vanessa Redgrave: An Autobiography. London: Random House, 2004.

Richardson, Tony. The Long-Distance Runner: An Autobiography. New York: William Morrow & Company, Inc., 1993.

Welsh, James M., and John C. Tibbets. "Let's Talk Tony: Interviews With Colleagues." Welsh and Tibbets (eds.), The Cinema of Tony Richardson: Essays and Interviews. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1999. 23-47

Historical

Adkin, Mark. The Charge: The Real Reason Why the Light Brigade Was Lost. London: Leo Cooper, 1997.

David, Saul. The Homicidal Earl: The Life of Lord Cardigan. London: Abacus, 1997.

Duberly, Frances. Journal Kept During the Russian War: From The Departure Of The Army From England In April 1854, To The Fall Of Sebastopol. London: Longman, Brown, Green, and Longmans, 1856 (Second Edition).

Gilchrist, M.M. "Louis Edward Nolan." Dispatch: the Journal of the Scottish Military Historical Society. 12-15

Hibbert, Christopher. The Destruction of Lord Raglan: A Tragedy of the Crimean War, 1854-1856. Hertfordshire: Wordsworth Military Library, 1999. Originally published 1961.

Kelsey, David. "Evidence and Belief: Captain Nolan's Final Moments." The War Correspondent, Spring 2003. 70

Nolan, Louis. Cavalry: Its History and Tactics. London: Bosworth & Harrison, 1860. Originally published 1853.

Royle, Trevor. Crimea: The Great Crimean War, 1854-1856. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004.

Tisdall, E.E.P. Mrs. Duberly's Campaigns. Chicago: Rand McNally, 1963.

Woodham-Smith, Cecil. The Reason Why: The Story of the Fatal Charge of the Light Brigade. London: Penguin, 1958. Originally published 1953.

* * *

Additionally, I wish to thank Professor Mark Connelly for his assistance in preparing this article. He answered my questions about the film and his book quickly, succinctly and helpfully.

Lawrence of Arabia: Seven Scenes from Seven Pillars of Wisdom

Is Lawrence of Arabia historically accurate?

As further preparation for Lawrence of Arabia, I spent this week re-reading T.E. Lawrence's memoir Seven Pillars of Wisdom (London: Penguin Classics edition, 2000). Whatever its strict accuracy (and one must allow for embellishment and subjectivity in memoirs), it's an engrossing read on several levels: as literature, a military chronicle, an exotic travelogue, a political analysis, a psychological self-portrait. It's easy to understand how David Lean saw potential for an exciting film. But how does the movie compare to its source material?

Rather than an excruciating line-by-line analysis (see again Jeremy Wilson), this article examines seven key scenes from Lawrence of Arabia based on their relationship to Seven Pillars. We'll view the filmmakers' choices through three general criteria: 1. How does the scene draw from Lawrence's writings? 2. Is it accurate or at least within the bounds of reasonable dramatic license? 3. What dramatic purposes do any changes serve?

1. Ali at the Well 

Perhaps Lawrence's most memorable scene is Sherif Ali's introduction at Matsurah Well: a black blob appearing on the horizon and slowly approaching, Lawrence and his guide Tafas watching in trepidation. He shoots Tafas, member of the rival Beni Salem tribe; Ali is a Harith, their blood enemy. Ali takes Lawrence's service pistol, previously gifted to Tafas. Lawrence then denounces Ali as a murderer and continues his journey to Feisal alone.

This scene draws on an incident in Seven Pillars (81-83), but the two depictions couldn't be more different. The real Sherif Ali traveled with a slave, and the two switched identities to fool Tafas. Lawrence treats the incident comically, far from the movie's deadly encounter. Lawrence also shows that Bedouin allowed common use of desert wells, even among unfriendly tribes. Here, Lean readily jettisons reality for artistic effect.

Lean introduces several thematic strands. It establishes Ali and his bipolar relationship with Lawrence. Lawrence starts as civilized man disgusted by the "savage" Ali; the two develop inversely throughout the film, reversing roles in the final act. The idea of Arabs torn "tribe against tribe," and Lawrence's efforts to unite them for a common cause, is dramatically established. Regardless of realism, the scene is both artistically impressive and dramatically important.

2. Feisal's Tent 

From his first meeting with Prince Feisal, Lawrence felt him "the leader who would bring the Arab Revolt to full glory" (92). As portrayed by Alec Guinness, Feisal embodies Arabia's glorious past and dreams of independence, with a shade of worldly cynicism. He has no illusions about British war aims and ultimately accepts an unfavorable compromise.

Lean and writer Robert Bolt draw loosely on Seven Pillars but use this encounter as a dramatic springboard. Obviously it's an important scene for Lawrence and the other characters. It's also crucial in delineating themes and plot devices that will recur throughout the film.

Lean introduces Colonel Brighton, a composite character representing military convention. Brighton emphasizes the importance of discipline, disputed by Ali (who wants modern weapons) and Feisal (who doubts its value). Lawrence immediately (and inaccurately) disagrees with Brighton and advocate a third way: guerrilla warfare. This piques Feisal's interest, allowing him to confide his fears to Lawrence that the English "hunger for Arabia."

In the subsequent "miracle" scene (drawing loosely on Lawrence's interlude at Wadi Ais), Lawrence realizes the Arabs must move north and seize Aqaba to regain the initiative. This is misleading. Contrary to Brighton's claim that the Royal Navy has "better things to do," they worked closely with the Arabs in seizing the port of Wejh (January 1917). After this, Lawrence says in Seven Pillars, "the Arab movement... had passed beyond danger of collapse" (169). Aqaba was not then a desperate gambit but a logical next step.

Dramatically, this scene places Arab and British war aims in opposition. The Arabs want complete independence; the British want to limit the uprising, in furtherance of imperial goals. Lawrence must choose one side or the other, or else be hopelessly conflicted. There's much truth to this characterization, though oddly Lean makes Lawrence ignorant of the Sykes-Picot Agreement until much later! This scene is dubious historically but provides a solid basis for further drama.

3. Gassim: Nothing is Written 

One of Lawrence's best scenes is the rescue of Gassim, an Arab tribesman lost on the road to Aqaba. This sequence, strikingly shot by Lean, closely follows Seven Pillars' description (260-264). Shortly afterwards Lawrence eschews his uniform for white robes, the Arabs accepting him as "El Aurens" - the cornerstone of his legend. Here Lean deviates from Seven Pillars: Auda abu Tayi (who in reality joined the Aqaba expedition at its onset) wonders why Lawrence risked his life for a man "not worth a camel's price" (263), while Lawrence had been wearing Arab robes long before.

Dramatically this scene serves two major purposes. First, as mentioned, it marks Lawrence's acceptance by the Arabs, especially Ali, who soon becomes an inseparable friend. Second, it highlights Lawrence's first triumph over Fate. Ignoring Arab fatalism, Lawrence proves he can overcome long odds through determination: "Nothing is written!" This minor triumph sets the stage for greater victories at Aqaba and Damascus.

Lean later provides an ironic coda when Lawrence executes Gassim for murdering a Howeitat (tellingly, with Tafas's revolver). "It was written then," intones Auda, reasserting Fate's power over Choice. It also introduces a new theme - Lawrence's enjoyment of killing. The real Lawrence executed another Arab, Hamed, for a similar crime earlier in Seven Pillars. Conflating the two events is acceptable dramatic license.

4. Meeting Allenby 

Lawrence spends a single page detailing his first encounter with General Edmund Allenby. He enthuses about his new commander, "physically large and confident" (330) and more willing to help the Revolt than his predecessor General Murray. Lawrence's admiration for Allenby, both man and military commander, is clear throughout Seven Pillars, even describing him as a father figure.

Lean transforms this "comic interview" into one of the film's pivotal sequences. Lasting nearly 15 minutes, it serves a myriad of functions. Bolt elucidates Aqaba's strategic importance, quoting Lawrence's arguments in Seven Pillars (cf. 281). The British officers who, just a scene before, inundated Lawrence with racial slurs now cheer him as a hero. Besides introducing Allenby and developing Brighton (who gains genuine admiration for Lawrence), it probes Lawrence's psyche at a key moment in the narrative.

Lawrence comes across as a broken, neurotic wreck. His pride in capturing Aqaba has dissipated, after losing his servant Daud to quicksand and his encounter with racist officers. Worse, Lawrence realizes his own blood lust, "enjoying" his execution of Gassim and fearing its future implications. Exhausted and afraid he desperately begs for reassignment. He has the bad luck of meeting Allenby, here not a supportive superior with "confidence... like a wall" (553) but a deceitful villain.

Where Murray dismissed Lawrence as "the kind of creature I can't stand," Allenby immediately recognizes Lawrence's military value. A guerrilla army harassing Turkish supply lines is a boon for future offensives. He also pegs Lawrence's Achilles heel: vanity. Dismissing Lawrence's concerns, he elicits complements from Brighton (officer), Dryden (civilian) and a Mr. Perkins (enlisted man), covering all bases of flattery. Then he holds a public military conference, expounding Lawrence's genius to his entire staff. Thus Allenby's defining traits: military skill and psychological perfidy.

Lean and Bolt re-introduce earlier anti-war/imperialist themes. Lawrence suspects Britain won't honor their promises, an inquiry Allenby and Dryden both dodge. The scene ends with Allenby, Brighton and Dryden deciding not to give the Arabs artillery. For now, Lawrence is satiated by vague promises of post-war freedom, and concrete promises of arms and money. His ego flushed by adulation, he returns to the desert.

5. Deraa Is The Key

Surely the most traumatic incident in Seven Pillars involves Lawrence's capture, torture and gang rape by Turkish soldiers in Deraa in November of 1917. Many historians doubt this incident actually happened, a debate beyond this blog's scope. Lean and Bolt make it a central scene in Lawrence, but distort both the background and its effects significantly.

Lawrence's reasons for entering Deraa were banal. Deraa (in present-day Syria) was an important railroad junction which Lawrence hoped to raid. While scouting in town he was arrested by the Turks and taken to a Turkish officer - supposedly Hajim Bey, the garrison commander. The officer "began to fawn on me... (offering to) make me his orderly... if I would love him" (452). Lawrence refused his advances, then was beaten and sexually assaulted by the Bey's soldiers. Lawrence escapes, and later learns that he was betrayed by Syrian nationalist Abd el-Kadr.

This incident obviously traumatized Lawrence, leaving deep physical and psychological scars. His post-war masochism likely originated with Deraa, and he remained incapable of sexual feelings afterwards. It's easy to overstate its effects, however. In Seven Pillars, Lawrence scarcely refers to the incident again. He's more distraught by a military failure, his continuing guilt over his liaison role and treachery by an Arab colleague. This is what convinced him to "beg Allenby to find me some smaller part elsewhere" (514), not trauma over Deraa.

Lean's restrained depiction of Lawrence's mistreatment is understandable. But Bolt's portrayal of Lawrence borders on ridiculous. Here, Lawrence and Ali stride into Deraa alone, Lawrence apparently thinking his mere presence will inspire a rising. Aqaba convinced him he can work "miracles," further inflamed by Allenby's flattery and subsequent successes. "Do you think I'm just anybody?" he asks Ali before embarking on his mission. This is utterly ridiculous hubris, and one of the film's weaker moments.

Bolt thought "Deraa is the key" to all of Lawrence's subsequent actions: his attempted resignation, the massacre at Tafas, his psychological collapse. In this he followed many biographers, who placed undue emphasis on Lawrence's psychosexual side. It seems altogether too convenient an explanation, if dramatically handy for a screenwriter.

6. Tafas Massacre 

Seven Pillars graphically describes the Tafas Massacre, a horrific incident during Allenby's Megiddo offensive. The Arabs brutally slaughter 2,000 Turkish soldiers, many after surrendering, in retaliation for sacking a local village. Some biographers shield Lawrence from responsibility, but Lawrence makes his own culpability explicit: "By my orders we took no prisoners" (653). Lean provides a reasonable dramatization of the event, but delivers a suspect characterization of Lawrence.

This scene brings Lawrence's neuroses to a head. Bolt offers a Freudian explanation for Tafas, Lawrence avenging his degradation at Deraa through massacre, now killing gleefully, surrounded by a bodyguard of hired killers. His descent into animal barbarism is contrasted with Ali's increasingly "civilized" behavior; the latter even echoes Lawrence's taunt from their first meeting: "Surely you know the Arabs are a barbarous people!" Lawrence ends the scene blood-soaked and mentally broken, having reached the apotheosis he'd tried to avoid.

As mentioned previously, Lean and Bolt largely draw on Anthony Nutting's biography of Lawrence. In Seven Pillars, Lawrence largely accepts the carnage as a fact of tribal warfare. The Turks after all precipitated it by murdering Arab civilians, initiating collective anger and brutal vengeance. Soon after the Bedouin captured Deraa and continued towards Damascus. The movie however treats Tafas as a hollow triumph, needless bloodshed born of one man's psychosis.

7. Damascus and the Arab Council

The worst scenes, historically-speaking, come at film's end. Lean and Bolt's version of post-war Damascus is recognizable only through a few colorful anecdotes gleaned from Seven Pillars. History is far more complex and interesting than what Lean and Bolt offer.

Lawrence describes raucous scenes in Seven Pillars, the town hall "packed with a swaying mob" (666) and arguing over Damascus's governance. The real threat, however, was neither Sherifian incompetence nor British indifference, but Abd el-Kadr: the same man who'd betrayed Lawrence at Deraa. Kadr and his brothers launched several attempted coups to undermine Feisal's authority, resulting in several skirmishes with Feisal's men. Kadr was eventually killed in November 1918 while imprisoned. The issue, therefore, was not (in Lawrence's account) tribalism but an ambitious man and his followers.

Far worse is the depiction of the Arabs as utterly incompetent. They appear as rubes baffled by machinery, allowing Damascus to catch fire (really set by Turkish troops) and Turkish wounded to die in hospital. In reality, the Arabs "quickly collected the nucleus of a staff and plunged ahead as a team" (671), creating a police force, fire brigades, mechanics and sanitation committees. The movie recounts Lawrence's encounter with an enraged British medical officer ("This is outrageous!"), focusing on its irony: after a movie of searching for his identity, Lawrence is mistaken for an Arab. What a time to highlight this!

Lawrence's narrative ends with him exiting Damascus, as does the movie. The situation left behind however is quite different. Feisal's government remained in power until 1921, when France ousted them at bayonet point. No conniver in Allied perfidy, Feisal fought the French tooth-and-nail before being placed as a contentious client on Iraq's throne. Allenby seemed genuinely to regret his role, doing his best to balance British, French and Arab interests as ordered. Neither man is fairly characterized here.

This anti-climax logically concludes the movie's anti-war themes and recurring hubris. Again, a major victory can't come without an offsetting failure, and bloodshed must amount to nothing. Perhaps we're to draw inferences about modern pan-Arabism; Nasser's United Arab Republic collapsed while the film was in production. Regardless, this scene is not only inaccurate but insulting, as this ostensibly anti-imperial film falls back on "White Man's burden" stereotypes. Here's one instance where the dramatic license proves genuinely regrettable.

Conclusion

Like all historical and literary adaptations, Lawrence of Arabia often sacrifices accuracy for artistic effect. In many cases it's justifiable or transcends the source. In several instances, however, it's highly questionable or even deleterious. Still, even the highly questionable scenes listed have some basis in Seven Pillars of Wisdom. As an adaptation, Lawrence is probably no better or worse than Hollywood's usual efforts.

Previous articles in this series:

• Lawrence of Arabia: The Film as Biography - analyzing Lawrence's portrayal of Lawrence
• "Common humanity's the one thing you can't have" - analyzing the "seduction scene"

Lawrence of Arabia: The Film as Biography

Reel Lawrence (Peter O'Toole) vs. Real Lawrence (T.E. Shaw)

With Lawrence of Arabia's 50th anniversary re-release approaching, fans may appreciate some perspective on this classic film. This will be the first of (hopefully) several pieces analyzing the film, from both historical and cinematic perspectives, in the coming weeks.

A logical starting point is the portrayal of T.E. Lawrence. I groped towards this theme in an old essay here, but since then I've read nearly 30 biographies of Lawrence, many reviewed on this blog. I feel qualified as a learned amateur if not expert to analyze the film's historicity. While authorized biographer Jeremy Wilson is harshly critical of its historical errors, I'm inclined to take a more nuanced view, viewing it through a dual prism as history buff and movie lover.

Is the film's Lawrence a reasonable interpretation of the historical figure or a complete invention? Before examining the character himself, we must consider briefly the film's background: who made it and when it was made. With all due respect to director David Lean, producer Sam Spiegel and Peter O'Toole, I feel the screenwriters are most central to this analysis.

Background

The Screenwriters

Imagining Lawrence: Michael Wilson (left) and Robert Bolt. (Wilson picture c/o Gary Crowdus)

Both Michael Wilson, who wrote early drafts of the script, and Robert Bolt, who delivered the final product, left a personal mark on Lawrence. The two writers differed in their approach: Wilson hoped for a broader political portrait of the Arab Revolt, while Bolt's focus was Lawrence himself. Both harbored left-wing sentiments that influenced their view both of Lawrence and the Arab Revolt generally.

Wilson's screenwriting career (producing classics like Salt of the Earth and Friendly Persuasion) was aborted by HUAC. His Communist affiliations led Wilson to be blacklisted through most of the '50s. After co-writing (uncredited) Lean and Spiegel's Bridge on the River Kwai he was eager to receive recognition for a major film. Wilson, however, couldn't accommodate Lean's vision of Lawrence, and Robert Bolt received sole credit on the finished film. Not until 1995, after Spiegel, Lean and Bolt were all deceased, did Wilson receive credit.

Bolt was a school teacher-turned-playwright who'd just hit it big with his twin successes of The Tiger and the Horse and A Man for All Seasons - plays which examined historical/political issues through an individual lens. Spiegel initially planned for Bolt to "touch up" Wilson's script, but Bolt spent over a year reshaping the screenplay. He was an active member of the Committee for Nuclear Disarmament, a political commitment which jeopardized the film: Bolt was arrested for an anti-nuclear demonstration while writing the script. A furious Spiegel bailed Bolt out, humiliating the socialist playwright.

The controversy of "who wrote Lawrence of Arabia" is definitively examined by Joel Hodson's Cineaste article. Suffice it to say Wilson provided the script's narrative outline while Bolt contributed the dialogue and interpretation of Lawrence. Both, however, viewed Lawrence as "a romantic fascist" (Bolt) who mixed personal motives with military duty and love for primitive Arab culture; the Revolt itself as a classic case of imperial perfidy. In the midst of the Cold War, when the Middle East was again a battleground for great powers, and the aftermath of 1956's Suez Crisis, where Abdel Nasser's Egypt humiliated post-imperial Britain, Lawrence's message held deep contemporary resonance.


Biographical Context

Critical biographers: Richard Aldington (left) and Anthony Nutting

In his Apologia (pp. 505-509 of Adrian Turner's Robert Bolt: Scenes From Two Lives), Bolt claimed Lawrence's Seven Pillars of Wisdom was his only major source for the film. This seems hard to credit, however. The movie roughly owes its narrative contours to Seven Pillars but draws heavily on the contentious biographical debate of 1962. Two biographies in particular, written shortly prior to the film, likely influenced Bolt and Wilson.

In 1955, novelist Richard Aldington published Lawrence of Arabia: A Biographical Inquiry. Aldington brutally deconstructed the Lawrence legend, depicting his subject as every shade of cad: a liar, egomaniac, neurotic, homosexual and literal bastard. Aldington had a valid point that biographies up to then were uncritical and uniformly flattering. But his vitriolic tone, evident personal grudge against Lawrence ("the appropriate hero for his class and epoch") and willingness to always believe the worst of his subject led to bitter denunciation. Nonetheless, his claims seeped into public consciousness, difficult to dislodge even today.

A more direct influence was Anthony Nutting. A former official in Anthony Eden's Conservative government, he resigned in the wake of 1956's Suez Crisis. David Lean enlisted Nutting as a Middle Eastern adviser on the film, but Nutting found his advice mostly discarded. Most specifically, Nutting objected strongly to Sherif Ali killing Lawrence's guide at the well, feeling it a gross distortion of Bedouin culture.

Nutting published a slim volume called Lawrence of Arabia: The Man and the Motive shortly before the film's release. It shows that while the filmmakers largely ignored Nutting's Middle East expertise, they gleaned much from his interpretation of Lawrence. Nutting's depiction of a Lawrence as a self-anointed "Kingmaker," a grandiose neurotic and "rabid masochist" driven over the edge by Deraa matches Bolt/Wilson's interpretation to a T. No doubt Nutting's personal experiences influenced his interpretation of Lawrence's political dilemma.

Whether intentionally or not, Wilson and Bolt appropriated many of Aldington and Nutting's analyses of Lawrence into their scripts. It's quite probably intentional with Nutting, given his early (albeit fractious) association with the film.

Edit (9/17/2012): Reading Steven C. Caton's book Lawrence of Arabia: A Film's Anthropology, it appears Michael Wilson at least studied Aldington while preparing his screenplay (pp. 110-111).

Lawrence as film character

"Do you think I'm just anybody Ali?" Lawrence as egomaniac

With this background in mind, we'll examine the film's Lawrence through his primary character traits.

Egomania/Exhibitionism

Lawrence's defining trait is egomania. He constantly asserts his own importance: "Of course I'm the man for the job!" "We won't rest until they know *I've* taken Aqaba!" At his high points, Lawrence suffers from a God complex. At one point he poses "like a Sun God" (Turner) on a wrecked train as his followers cheer, or when he and Ali walk into Deraa single-handed, evidently hoping by simple presence to provoke an uprising. This is matched with manic-depressive states of self-loathing, as in his return to Jerusalem: "The truth is I'm an ordinary man."

The film also devotes much time to Lawrence's relationship with Jackson Bentley, an American reporter standing in for Lowell Thomas. The two men seem to dislike each other, but find each other useful for their own ends. Bentley is "looking for a hero" to use in propaganda promoting America's entry into World War I. Lawrence is looking for an audience. For all his distaste for Bentley's vulgarity ("He thinks you're a kind of thief!") Lawrence relishes the chance to show off to the world.

Lawrence's ego proves both a blessing and curse. On the one hand, it provides the inspiration for his military achievements. His grandiosity is justified by the capture of Aqaba and his brilliant campaign against the Hejaz Railway. Yet it's also his Achilles heel, as it pushes him into irrational actions like continuing a campaign with a handful of men and strolling into Deraa alone. Most painfully, it allows Allenby to manipulate him for military ends, fanning his fragile ego into borderline dementia.

Outsider Status

Lawrence is depicted as a bumbling buffoon in British company, spilling a colleague's drink and earning the contempt of most. This is matched by Lawrence's ill-fitting uniforms and casual, unmilitary behavior. He's loathed by his superior officers, and his peers treat him as an oddity. Murray doesn't think him a "real man" and loathes his intellectualism. His illegitimate birth, a closely guarded secret, no doubt enhances his inability to fit in.

Lawrence initially seems keen to leave to Cairo, and finds himself at home amongst the Bedouin. Through his exploits he befriends Ali and earns the respect of Feisal, Auda and other Arabs. Yet he still doesn't truly seem to fit in, expressing contempt at low ebbs ("so long will (the Arabs) be a little people" etc.) and viewing himself as fundamentally British. Certainly his capture at Deraa, where he's singled out for complexion, ruins any such impression. Yet his later attempts at fitting in amongst the British are unconvincing.

As Lawrence's abilities come to the fore, he gains the attention (if not respect) of his superiors. Allenby and Dryden both recognize him as a useful tool for their respective military and political ends. The soldiers revere his accomplishments but find the man a puzzle ("I didn't know him well, you know!"). Only Colonel Brighton seems to truly appreciate Lawrence's ability, and still can't claim to truly "know" him. By the final campaign his only remaining cause appears to be himself.

Despite his best efforts, Lawrence remains an outsider. His peers still can't appreciate his dual image. The Damascus Medical Officer denounces Lawrence as a filthy wog at the hospital then shakes his hand in uniform. The Arabs are left bewildered by his self-destructive ennui ("There is only the desert for you"). And his superiors discard him with the war over, all parties "equally glad to be rid of him."

Effeminacy/Homosexuality

One of Richard Aldington's most contentious claims was that Lawrence was a homosexual. At a time when homosexuality was still illegal in Britain, this was an explosive charge, which Lawrence's family and supporters vehemently denied. Though evidence is scarce, it quickly caught on with the public, through Aldington's book and popular media like Terrence Rattigan's play Ross. Sex sells, and an historical figure like Lawrence is hardly immune to gossip or innuendo.

David Lean later claimed "Lawrence was very, if not entirely, homosexual" and Lawrence is as clear as a 1962 film could be. As portrayed by Peter O'Toole, Lawrence displays awkward, effeminate mannerisms. He seems out of place in British uniform and is shown bumbling around Army headquarters, spilling drinks and mincing towards colleagues. When Lawrence receives his Bedouin robes, he prances around laughing giddily, even examining himself in the reflection of his dagger. More stereotype than nuance, the message is nonetheless obvious.

Lawrence's relationship with Farraj and Daud (his mischievous servants) and Sherif Ali also suggest this to a degree. Lawrence's friendship with Ali is central to the drama, with some viewing it as a literal romance. The absence of a female lead, and Lawrence's femininity, lend some credence to this view. However, Ali's proclamations of love towards the end are likely admiration and feeling of kinship than homosexuality. One must be careful not to over-apply critical analysis where a surface level is sufficient.

Sadomasochism

Another key ingredient in Bolt/Wilson's portrait is Lawrence as masochist. Lawrence's first major scene has him putting out a match, proclaiming that "the trick... is not minding that it hurts!" While pondering the Arabs' predicament in the desert, he squeezes a rock in his hand until he bleeds. After Daud's death in quicksand, he staggers through the desert on foot, ignoring Farraj's pleas to share his camel. He also seems fairly unfazed by a Turkish bullet.

This takes a nastier form in later scenes. After Lawrence executes Gassim, he finds to his horror that he "enjoys" killing. This prefigures his torture and rape at Deraa, which he's implied to have enjoyed as well. It finally reaches his apotheosis when he unleashes the Arabs at Tafas, slaughtering a column of Turkish stragglers. Lawrence is shown as a crazed participant in the killing, shooting and stabbing unarmed men with evident glee. After fighting it throughout the film, Lawrence finally gives way to bloodlust after the "citadel of [his] integrity" is violated at Deraa.

Servant of Two Masters

A theme that surely appealed to both Bolt and Wilson is Lawrence's devotion to "England... and to other things." Bolt made a career of characters who tried to "have it two ways," both on stage and screen. Wilson certainly sympathized with Lawrence's being forced to compromise personal belief for state goals.

The film's Lawrence is shown an outcast in British society but seemingly at home in Arabia. Despite his loyalty to the crown and respect for Allenby (whom he views as a father figure), he falls in love with the Bedouin lifestyle and feels personal responsibility to help "gain their freedom." Ultimately he convinces himself that if the Arabs beat the British to Damascus, independence will be theirs. Unfortunately the Arab Council collapses amidst infighting and incompetence, the British calmly waiting to take over. Defeated morally and spiritually, Lawrence is forced off-stage while Allenby and Feisal work out an expedient compromise.


Accuracy

"The most shameless exhibitionist since Barnum and Bailey": the real Lawrence with Lowell Thomas

In sum, Lean, Bolt and Wilson craft an extremely neurotic, tortured and eccentric Lawrence. How accurate is their portrayal? Taking the specific points into account:

• Lawrence's "egomania" is a matter of debate. Depending on the biographer, Lawrence was either a self-promoting charlatan, relatively honest or playfully exaggerating his exploits. In Seven Pillars Lawrence pens a chapter entitled Myself, where he examines his achievements and personality. He writes of his "craving to be famous... and horror to be known to like being known." This is shrewd self-assessment given his ambivalence towards Lowell Thomas, and hiding out in the Royal Air Force while dining with Bernard Shaw and E.M. Forster. Certainly, however, the film's extreme God complex is a gross exaggeration. The circumstances of Lawrence's capture at Deraa were much more banal than the film suggests, and Lawrence's writings (though subjective) generally credit Arabs and fellow British officers where appropriate. An extreme interpretation but in keeping with then-contemporary biographies.
• Lawrence was hardly an eccentric outsider. In fact Lawrence was affable and made friends easily; he got on with most of his colleagues in Cairo, and was respected by his superiors and elders. After the war he found it as easy befriending literati and political leaders as rankers in the RAF and Tank Corps. Nor was Lawrence ill-used, when he'd been entrusted with responsibilities beyond the average Lieutenant: interrogating Turkish POWs, analyzing Arab tribes and attempting to ransom the besieged garrison at Kut.
  Bolt apparently gleaned this from a passage in Seven Pillars where Lawrence claimed to make a nuisance of himself to avoid an undesired posting. Lawrence's penchant for practical jokes rubbed many the wrong way. But this was just one part of his character. He was not an unappreciated genius languishing in a useless job, but a well-respected, experienced junior officer with considerable charm. He was a logical choice for an Arab liaison.
• Lawrence's sexual leanings are impossible to prove. Many find passages of Seven Pillars of Wisdom homoerotic, as when Lawrence describes Bedouin man love in some detail. His relationships with Arab servant Dahoum before the war, and R.A. Guy while serving in the RAF, seem suspect to many. Against this can be weighed his flirtations with Janet Laurie and Clare Sydney Smith, and his claim that he died a virgin.
  Certainly though few have depicted Lawrence as a mincing effeminate. He was strong for his small size and considered tough and masculine. In this regard, the filmmakers go for sensationalism with a shade of unfortunate stereotype.
• Lawrence's masochism is well-established. In the late 1960s John Bruce, one of Lawrence's Tank Corps colleagues, told Sunday Times reporter Philip Knightley that Lawrence had Bruce flog him regularly as punishment for (imagined) sins. Lawrence's brother felt this self-punishment rather than sexual release. Despite this, most biographers are disinclined to view Lawrence as a masochist before Deraa, though he harbored a love of "testing" himself physically with exercise and strict diet.
• Sadism however is unlikely. Nowhere in Seven Pillars does Lawrence claim to have "enjoyed" executing Hamed or the massacre at Tafas. This more resembles Nutting's view of Lawrence unleashing the Arabs in murderous revenge for Deraa than Lawrence's writings. The real Lawrence harbored a "horror of bloodshed," for both practical and personal reasons, but not from secretly liking to kill.
• While many biographers insist on painting Lawrence in absolute terms, harboring one strict loyalty or another, the film's Lawrence torn between British loyalty and promises to the Arabs is reasonably accurate. Certainly Lawrence's writings, from Seven Pillars to diaries and correspondence, evince a great deal of anguish over convincing the Arabs to "fight for us on a lie," leaving him "continually and bitterly ashamed." The portrayal's flawed in particulars (eg., showing Lawrence as ignorant of the Sykes-Picot Agreement) but generally convincing.

The film's major omissions can be briefly summarized. Lawrence's pre-war adventures as an archaeology student go unmentioned, along with his involvement in an "archaeological" survey of the Sinai Peninsula just before the war and previous intelligence work with the Arab Bureau. He did not have the best relationship with General Murray, but then he reported to Generals Clayton and Wingate, not Murray. Of course his post-war career is also omitted. On a superficial level, Peter O'Toole is nearly a foot taller than the historical Lawrence!

Conclusion

"There was something about it I didn't like." - Lawrence as sadist.

The movie's portrayal of Lawrence is, historically, a mixed bag. Undoubtedly it leans heavily on then-contemporary analyses of Lawrence as opposed to Seven Pillars of Wisdom. Seeking the cinematically sensational and dramatically effective, Lean, Bolt and Wilson emphasize (and exaggerate) Lawrence's psychological foibles over his political dilemma. The sadism angle seems particularly suspect at 50 years' distance.

On the other hand, the movie gets more right than its credited for. Lawrence is most convincing showing Lawrence's personal conflict at "serving two masters" and feeling betrayed at war's end. Lawrence's ambivalence towards notoriety is well-captured, and his personal heroism ably portrayed. In many of its essential episodes, such as Gassim's rescue and his military leadership, the film does its subject justice.

Overall, Lawrence of Arabia's T.E. Lawrence is a fair, if exaggerated, portrait based on what was known in 1962. Many new discoveries and interpretations, from the release of War Office records in 1968 to testimony of previously-unheard witnesses (John Bruce, Janet Laurie) to biographies and released family correspondence, have challenged its depiction. But its view of a deeply tortured, larger-than-life hero remains largely convincing to this day.