A Tribute to Peter O'Toole

He was Henry II, he was Lord Jim, Emperor Tiberius, Miguel de Cervantes and Don Quixote de la Mancha, Sherlock Holmes and Arthur Conan Doyle… he laid siege to Masada, he saw his beloved Troy fall, he wrote critiques of food made for rats and he even challenged King Henry VIII… and he will always be remembered as history's great enigma, T. E. Lawrence, as he conquered the Turkish Empire in a plight to save Arabia.

I won't pretend that I knew Peter O'Toole very well, because I don't.  If I say anything about him acknowledging his personal life here, it's just quick research.  All that I can say definitively is that when I read of his death just an hour ago, I knew we had lost a treasure of screen and stage and a true craftsman, as well as the actor who I most trusted, admired, respected for their work.  Ever since I saw Lawrence of Arabia at age 17, I knew that I had witnessed the performance of a lifetime, something that no other actor could possibly provide the role.  O'Toole inspired so many performers from such an early age and is well acknowledged for it; anything that I say can hardly add very much to what has already been said about him, except what I've seen and admired so much about his craft.

Long time friend of classic actor Richard Burton, with whom he collaborated on Becket, O'Toole shared with Burton the record of most Academy Award nominations never to have won (seven) at the time of Burton's death; O'Toole later broke that record in 2006 with his eighth nomination for the film Venus.  He did eventually receive an Honorary Oscar at the 75th Academy Awards and a well deserved one.  Like Burton, O'Toole was among the most energetic and enthusiastic of the performers from the classic era of filmmaking, which is why I came to appreciate him so much.  Every character of his was portrayed with incredible joy and commitment to a degree that some people may call flamboyance.  His performance in the musical film Man of La Mancha demonstrates O'Toole at his most excitable, playing both the playwright and his creation in both their most agitated and most vulnerable.  But at the same time, there are still any number of performances where he proved just as expressive in subtler ways; if you watch The Last Emperor, wherein he played Reginald Johnston, Scottish diplomat and tudor to Emperor Puyi, you see a man of honour and courtesy who expresses himself with incredible restraint, acting as both a voice of reason and a kindly, supporting man in a curious land which both he and his student have yet to fully comprehend.

Although today better known for his film work, any number of his performances showed his continual love and appreciation of the theatre.  His first major appearance in England was a highly acclaimed presentation of Shakespeare's Hamlet and he once said on Charlie Rose that the major difference between his generation and modern actors was that he was trained for theatre and nothing else.  I mentioned in my review of O'Toole's breakthrough film, Lawrence of Arabia, how I thought that O'Toole's Lawrence stood out as the grander and more exciting character when compared to Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird - with no disrespect to Gregory Peck - partially because of O'Toole's theatrics.  If you will, rather than giving a cinematic performance in a theatrical film - as I had often interpreted other actors to be doing in other epic films - he gave a theatrical performance in a cinematic film.  His was a performance that embraced and expressed every little detail within the character through both grand and subtler means and not just a stoic man of a single expression; his Lawrence is a man of unbelievable energy, fluidity, versatility and strength.

The same can be said for his other roles, not just Don Quixote but also his other Oscar-nominated performances, three of which were based on stage plays.  Look at his Henry II in The Lion in Winter, a role which he reprised after Becket and the film that many say should have won him the Oscar.  Look at the "My Life" soliloquy made to his sons and you see not a man simply angry but a man in agony, a man of fortitude, sadness and jealousy all at once, and all of these expressed in just three scenes each about thirty seconds long; not even his co-star Katherine Hepburn succeeds in conveying such a mesmerizing blend - no disrespect to her either.  Even later in life, in the role of King Priam in Troy, the first film of his I ever saw before I was even an admirer of his, he still gave incredible heart to a man of weary mind and body.  No other actor really was quite as successful at bringing to life what may otherwise be such dramatic and theatrical characters.

O'Toole had long struggled with illness, including a diagnosis of stomach cancer in the 1970's, but this hardly stopped him from carrying on and though his career had its peaks and low points, no one could disregard the passion and strength of his presence and skill.  It was a sad day for me when he announced his retirement in 2012, yet it also seemed appropriate; though I may have wanted to find out, how can one predict the nature of the man's career after such an enormous number of honours and distinctions?  Peter O'Toole broke through with a character who was certain he could change history and in a way, he himself did; I may never see an actor of such equal power and I would not be disappointed at all.

It is as Don Quixote once said: Peter O'Toole come in a world of iron and made a world of gold.  My condolences go to his family and my thanks to him for his vibrant and resounding contribution to the world of film.

Seamus Peter O'Toole

1932 - 2013

"Nobody loves poetry like a Russian." - Doctor Zhivago

Directed by David Lean

U. K., 1965

192 minutes

First viewed: March 2012

Titular quote by: Alec Guinness as Yevgraf Andreyevich Zhivago

Clint Eastwood once said of Sergio Leone, “I think he idolized David Lean.”  Well, you know what?  I do too!

Lean was the epitome of the epic film director; his films have been sighted by countless directors and critics as being among the greatest cinematic achievements in history.  Most of all, however, along with The Bridge on the River Kwai and Lawrence of Arabia, his adaptation of Nobel Prize winner Boris Pasternak’s masterpiece novel constitutes his most popular works and, of those three, is his most accessible film.

Set against the turbulent backdrop of Imperial Russia from 1903 until the end of World War II, Zhivago is the story of an orphan who grows up to become a doctor in Moscow, but also retains a talent as a poet.  Also in Moscow during that time period, a teenage girl named Lara, who is studying at a girl's high school, but is ultimately taken possession of by the greedy lawyer Komarovsky.  When World War I and the Russian Revolution break out, Yuri and Lara's paths collide when they join the army's medical unit and thus begins their tragic affair that will outlast all their other relationships.

In a sharp turn from his role as Sherif Ali in Lawrence of Arabia, Omar Sharif plays the titular doctor in an incredibly understated performance which is characteristic of an observer more than a man of action; to be sure, understated in this role is perfectly acceptable and Sharif's Yuri is a genuinely kind and relatable protagonist.  His co-star, Julie Christie, is rather obviously older than seventeen in the role of Lara, but such age differences hardly mattered in 1965 and she grows very steadily and beautifully into the character.  These two characters are the driving force behind the film, and although the film's colossal production value and the supporting cast does occasionally outmatch them, their chemistry is truly captivating.

Among the supporting cast is a line up of truly remarkable stars; Zhivago’s cast may well be among the greatest ever assembled.  Rod Steiger has the showiest role as the lusty, manipulative Komarovsky, perhaps playing a little too showy and corrupt for his own good, but never to a point of outrightly cartoonish.  Meanwhile, Alec Guinness, a staple of Lean's filmography, is perfectly cast as Yuri's brother, Yevgraf, but his talent is ultimately wasted, with Lean turning him simply into a narrator and a cameo in two scenes; this partially explains why Guinness and Lean never joined up again until 1984's A Passage to India.  Geraldine Chaplin is simply lovely as Zhivago's wife, Tonya, but again, her character is left slightly by the wayside in favour of creating a tender ingenue-type to contrast the devastated and energetic Lara.  But, unquestionably, my favourite character has to be Pavel "Pasha" Antipov, the one character who goes through an obvious development; Tom Courtenay rightly deserved his nomination for Best Supporting Actor as the soulful idealist student turned cold communist by the knowledge of his wife's first affair.

Following on the success of Lawrence, Lean employed several of his former crew in the production of Zhivago.  Who, you might ask?  Well, practically everyone in the major departments!  Especially notable among these are three persons.  The invaluable Robert Bolt returned to write Zhivago's screenplay, one of the most elegant ever written; Bolt's dialogue feels as if it could have been composed by the doctor himself.  Freddie Young's elegant cinematography beautifully captures the grandiose landscapes and John Box's haunting art direction, notably the famous ice palace.  Finally, the ever beautiful theme tune by Maurice Jarre is absolutely mesmerizing. With all my talk about these subjects, it almost makes me rethink my goals and consider being a director of photography or composer... but not quite.

So, how could all the work of all these masterful artists possibly go wrong?  Well, from most critics perspectives, in terms of a story, it is slightly lacking.  In terms of critical reception, this is not Lean’s most popular work.  Upon its initial release, Zhivago was criticized for its emphasis on the novel's romantic content rather than its historical contents... um... Does the name Gone with the Wind mean anything to you?  It just seems an illegitimate argument when you consider how consistently that sort of shift in emphasis occurs.  Zhivago can easily be compared to Gone with the Wind in terms of its scope, character types, relation to a historical context, almost every aspect aside from the fact that I found Gone with the Wind much less captivating.   What I believe is that Lean's Zhivago is not so much a condemnation of history as a celebration of life, art and the complexity of love.   Lean and his crew are artists and this work celebrates the work of an artist.  How much of Pasternak's novel is really implemented into the film?  I don't know.  I have yet to read the novel - though I intend to - but for my money, Pasternak's disapproval of the Russian Revolution is very well balanced with Lean's vision.

Doctor Zhivago is continually cited by the older generations as being among their favourite films; now if only I knew more people of my generation who were able to appreciate its beauty, visually, narratively and romantically.  Admittedly, this is coming from a man who idolizes David Lean, but this is truly an epic romance to challenge.  Once they hear Lara's Lullaby, only the most cynical of viewers could possibly not wish to be lulled into its trance.  Zhivago is elegant, sweeping, melancholy, poetic and truly captivating.

And by the way, I am half Russian.

Star-rating: ********* out of **********

Final evaluation: Masterpiece

"What I owe you is beyond evaluation." - Lawrence of Arabia

This was my first film review. It began as an assignment in my last year in high-school. I have since edited it to more concisely express my opinions, but the content is all accurate to my very first viewing of the film.

Directed by David Lean

U. K., 1962

227 minutes

First viewed: April 2011
Titular Quote by: Alec Guinness as Prince Faisal

Back in the day before modern visual effects made modern epics - such as James Cameron’s Titanic and Avatar or Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings - possible, filmmakers who intended to create true spectacles were forced to do just that.  They found the right locations to film, they designed the sets and costumes to place there, they cast hundreds, even thousands, of extras, and they used all the false blood possible in order to convey the spectacle that audiences were beginning to demand. Several famed filmmakers rose from the ashes during that time, but few have had such a profound effect on the present day filmmaker as Sir David Lean, the director of The Bridge over the River Kwai, Doctor Zhivago, and the subject of my first review, Lawrence of Arabia.

Drawing inspiration from the autobiographical novel 'Seven Pillars of Wisdom', among other documents written by T. E. Lawrence, the film tracks Lawrence’s journey through the desert nations of the Middle East and Africa during the English occupation of WWI. Considered nothing more than a nuisance to his general in Cairo, Lawrence is transferred to a position on the Arab Bureau and shipped to Arabia on assignment to discover the motives of a certain Prince Faisal. Seeing the struggles that the Arabs face from the overruling Turkish Empire and amongst their own tribes, Lawrence’s insubordination comes to his aid when, without order, he forms together a band of Arabic allies, joint-led by himself, his reluctant compatriot Sherif Ali and the historical figure Auda abu Tayi, set on subduing the Turks through any means possible, most often violently.

You needn't look far to find what is immediately so great about Lawrence of Arabia, but let me begin with one name: Peter O'Toole. Peter O’Toole’s performance is as complex and as memorable as a classical actor can get, from delivering every line he can with a clever eye and a suave smile to a point where he leads a vengeful charge onto a crowd of Turkish refugees. Being an adaptation of the autobiography of the actual T. E. Lawrence, a great deal of the work went into the development of the character, an egotistical man whose motives are generally ambiguous. When I first saw the film, I was certain Lawrence was only in the struggle for the glory of taking history into his own hands, but further viewings opened up further possibilities.  Lawrence’s alleged homosexuality and masochistic tendencies are hidden in plain sight throughout the film, which is also part of the joy of re-watching the film as you can continually search for subtle hints in both the writing and in O'Toole's performance. O’Toole ultimately did not win the Oscar for Best Actor, which is a real shame; as much as I respect Gregory Peck in To Kill A Mockingbird, O'Toole's joyful, energetic and heavily theatrical performance has transferred much more successfully to the present day and solidified his reputation as one of the true greats of cinematic history.

In the role of Sherif Ali, Omar Sharif provides Lawrence with a conscience and plays the role of the mediator with wonderful gravitas and internal turmoil, equally worthy of his Best Supporting Actor nomination.  The late Alec Guinness and the late Anthony Quinn also provide terrific performances, as do all the other actors in a fairly unorthodox ensemble. This is the only film in Academy Award history that ever featured a credited cast consisting solely of male actors; if I hadn’t mentioned that though, chances are no one would have even noticed should they ever consider watching it, for the story is engrossing from start to finish without the common Hollywood romance attached to it.

The grandest unacknowledged star in Lawrence of Arabia is the epic landscape, which is brought uncompromisingly to life by Freddie Young’s spellbinding cinematography. But perhaps it is more admirable, and more daunting, to consider this when also considering the filmmaking process itself. The film’s exterior scenes were shot over a 2-year period in some of the hottest conditions on Earth; the Panavision cameras needed frequent shading to avoid ruining the footage, and following every take, any disturbance in the sand made by man or camel had to be flattened again in preparation for the next shot. The art direction and costumes are gorgeous; every shade of every dye harkens back to the age of desert warriors. The dialogue in Robert Bolt’s screenplay is of the highest sophistication and intelligence that can be written, gripping, witty, poetic and highly quotable.  And Maurice Jarre’s original score is among the finest that has ever graced the silver screen; its use of a full orchestra to convey the sounds of traditional Arabic music outmatches even the Irish-piped themes of James Horner’s score to Braveheart, one of my very favourite film scores of all time.

Over the years, I’ve seen a fair deal of films that are considered classic epics from the 1950s/60s and more often than not, they’ve looked and felt long, garish, over-produced, forced and even silly at times; what separates Lawrence of Arabia from these is difficult to tell, although I have a feeling that it might partially be because it was not a Hollywood-based production but in fact a completely British financed production, so it has hardly any large exaggerated constructions and zero cheap-looking animated effects that seem to be there simply to show how much money they cost. This film is almost unmistakably the fastest moving 3 hours and 45 minutes I have ever seen; it’s an epic that fascinates and envelops its audience throughout with its complex, even disturbing anti-hero, its stunning photography and its historical background and story. How influential is this film exactly? Think of Steven Spielberg, Francis Ford Coppola and Martin Scorsese all listing this film and the other works of director David Lean as one of their greatest influences in becoming filmmakers, and considering my intent on following similar footsteps, I’m backing that opinion. Epics like this are so hard to find today and even harder to find made well.  In total, I've probably seen Lawrence of Arabia nine times and I was there in the theatre to celebrate its 50th Anniversary last year; any serious filmgoer or aspiring filmmaker should be encouraged to experience it the same way.

Star-rating: ********** out of **********

Final evaluation: Absolute Masterpiece!

"DAMASCUS!"

A Tribute to Roger Ebert

The first post on this blog is immediately the most unusual one for a while, for before I have even posted one review, I have immediately been informed of surprising and quite somber news.

The creation of this blog coincided with the passing of one of the greatest public figures in film criticism. Roger Ebert, renowned film critic of the Chicago Sun-Times who, along with colleague Gene Siskel, coined the famous "Thumbs-up-thumbs-down" rating system, passed away earlier today at age 70, having lost his battle with cancer. A source of great inspiration and influence amongst his fellow reviewers, Ebert was one of the most read and knowledgable film critics I can recall, and his sudden passing marks the loss of a truly devoted man whose passion for films was whole-hearted, contagious and unhindered.

I recall first becoming thoroughly interested in professional film critics in 2009, when I first began watching film reviews on the CBC website and the short-lived and rather obnoxious "Rotten Tomatoes Show". Around that time, I believe in late July, one of the reviews I watched was for Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade; this was my first ever Siskel and Ebert review. Those familiar with that review will recall that Siskel was less satisfied with that film than Ebert was, and at that time, I was more willing to appreciate the critics I agreed with. Siskel later gained my respect through other reviews, of course.

This series was only one of the many ways that Ebert presented his reviews, but they were the most accessible to me and often the most relatable. Siskel and Ebert's discussions, along with those of Ebert's later collaboration with Richard Roeper, provided something that so many other programs didn't. The act of discussing films on television alone is something that I feel was revolutionary in that it provided two sides to the coin, and each would provide their own insights and thus provide a fuller more in-depth picture of the film in question. Their agreements in approving films were invigorating just as much as their disapproval of films proved entertaining and funny, and their more heated arguments proved riveting, shocking and, in many ways, incredibly cinematic. Their audience never agreed with either of them whole-heartedly every time, but never were their discussion boring. The very last of these reviews that I watched prior to Ebert's passing was Siskel and Ebert's enthusiastic review of A Fish Named Wanda and guess what: the very next day, I bought the DVD.  My opinion will soon be provided.

Ebert was capable of many things as a critic; his reviews were consistently well researched, and he proved incredibly knowledgable about the time periods and situations represented on the films he reviewed. More than anything though, I have to admire two thing about Ebert. The first of these things was his directness. The modern convention among film critics is to make their reviews flowery and insert witticisms, which they hope will make them look clever and unique among critics. Ebert, on the other hand, would review a film as if addressing an audience made up of intelligent, curious, open-minded people, and this is what made him such a relatable person. I myself will fully admit that I am guilty of attempting to be witty when I feel inspired to be, but this directness is something that I regard very highly and hope will come through in my upcoming blog posts.

Ebert's opinions, just as any critic's opinions would, did often counter the general opinion concerning it, but at the same time, he was aware of and willing to accept that. This relates to the second thing I greatly admired about him. With their Thumb rating system, Ebert and Siskel founded what has become the go-to method of establishing the quality of a film, but Ebert, in his more divided reviews and more heated arguments, proved his discontent with the idea of rating films based on stars and thumbs. This invariably relates back to his ability to address his audience. Recalling a heated and quite popular argument Ebert and Roeper had over Steven Spielberg's War of the Worlds, Ebert stated that ratings were relative and that the viewers should be intelligent enough to decide for themselves based on the discussion, not the thumbs, whether they will enjoy the film or not. This reveals Ebert's true strength; he was thorough in his calculation and his evaluation of the films he admired, then was able to relate that to the audience in order for them to evaluate whether they would appreciate the films he reviewed. Certainly, he was able to identify what certain groups among the audience - people of different ages, people with genre preferences, etc. - would react to and appreciate, but he wrote reviews and expressed his opinions so that they were accessible to the general filmgoer, rarely dictating whether other people should think the way he did.

Roger Ebert was a man devoted to the cinema and proud of it. Just like his colleague Gene Siskel, up to his passing, he never faltered or backed away from expressing what he felt needed to be expressed and understood about the films he saw. Even just before his temporary leave from criticisms two days ago, Ebert stated that it wasn't over and he would still review films that he wanted to review. I'm certain he meant it. Ebert's influence is incredible, and he will doubtless be remembered and greatly missed by his colleagues and readers. If I could be pardoned once to allow one quip in tribute of him, my thumb is definitely up for this remarkable man.


Roger Joseph Ebert
1942 - 2013