Sara Ezzat – January 2021

An empty desert fills the screen, two dust-covered figures stare into the hazy distance in silence. Slowly, silently, a dot on the horizon resolves itself into a man on horseback. The camera captures a mirage making it appear as if he is riding on air. It’s possibly the best entrance in cinematic history and I know it as I know the face of an old friend.

People sometimes look at me oddly when I say David Lean’s Lawrence of Arabia is my favourite film; released in 1962, it was almost 20 years old when I was born, but in our house we only had one VCR, my dad choose the movies and Omar Sharif was his favourite actor. He was the only Egyptian movie star in Hollywood after all. And so, time and again I would find myself watching Sharif emerge from that mirage to banter with Peter O’Toole. I long ago lost count of the number of times I have watched it, and yet every time there is something new I see, some piece of this film I understand in a way I never have before. I can trace the history of my media literacy in how I have learned to read this one film.

As a child, all I took in was the lilting music and the endless sand, I would fall asleep to Maurice Jarre’s swelling score and dream of adventure. Later I enjoyed the adventure story of the first half and would find myself lost in the more complicated plot of the second half. Then as I became politically aware I found I enjoyed the second half more.

 Over the years as I understood colonialism and racism better, I looked with a more critical eye at the portrayals in the film. As a child of an Egyptian and an Englishwoman, I find both sides of my colonial history in this film, watching it with increasing understanding of decolonization raises new questions. Considering the stark portrayal of racism in the film, it was unsettling to come to understand the unintended orientalism in the film and its use of brownface. Yet with perspective, I think it speaks to how, even with the best intentions, people’s unexamined prejudices become a part of their art.  I have seen the film dismissed as simply a white saviour trope with beautiful scenery, and though I see that trope is there, I think there is more to the film than that. I can (and have) filled page after page examining the politics in this film.

Speaking of the beautiful scenery, my perspective on that too has grown. When I learned about photography and video production, I began to see the film through Lean’s direction. To see the framing and the use of light.  The more I learn about the technical side of filmmaking, the better I understand the level of care and artistry that went into Lawrence of Arabia and the more I appreciate it. Another artistic element opened up for me when I got into costume design. Not only understanding the detail work on Lawrence’s Bedouin robes but seeing the way the costumes support the narrative of the film. The way a single blood stain changes the emotional resonance of an entire scene. The way O’Toole and Sharif’s costumes draw subtle connections between the characters.

 I always enjoyed the relationship between Sharif’s Ali and O’Toole’s Lawrence, but I have no idea at what point it dawned on me that what I was being shown went far beyond friendship. Years later as I learned about the Hays code and queercoding, I could place Lawrence and Ali’s in the context of representations of same-sex and interracial relationships. The more I delve into gender studies, the more I find to read into both men’s presentations of masculinity.

I have come a long way from the child who used to fall asleep to the score, yet I return again and again to this film, and every time there is a new layer to my viewing. It is, to me very much like the face of an old friend; ever-surprising, but always familiar.