David Lean and the Making of Lawrence of Arabia

By Kevin Brownlow

For many people, David Lean symbolized what is best about cinema, a filmmaker who could make films that were both grand epics and intimate, intelligent dramas.

If David Lean were still alive today, he would have just turned 100. He was born in the English town of Croydon on 25 March 1908 and, because of his strict Quaker parents, was not allowed to watch movies as a child. After considering following his father's footsteps and becoming an accountant but instead at age 19 got a job at a film studio. He worked as a tea boy, messenger and clapperloader before graduating to the role of film editor, working for the great British directors of the era like Michael Powell and Anthony Asquith. His first four films as director were all collaborations with Noel Coward, including the much beloved Brief Encounter (1945). He followed this success with two highly acclaimed Dickens adaptations, Great Expectations (1946) and Oliver Twist (1948). After spending the first half of the 1950s continuing to make films within the structure of the British film industry Lean made the UK-US co-production Summertime (1955), a Venice-set romantic comedy starring Katherine Hepburn. Next came The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957), a wartime drama starring Lean's regular star Alec Guinness that was produced by the legendary Sam Spiegel. The film won seven Academy Awards including Best Picture, Best Director and Best Actor (Guinness) and this success lead to Spiegel and Lean re-teaming for Lawrence of Arabia (1962), a biopic of the British adventurer starring a then-unknown debutant, Peter O'Toole. Lean repeated the success of his previous film, winning huge critical praise and winning another seven Oscars, including Best Picture and Best Director once again. (O'Toole was nominated for Best Actor, but lost out to Gregory Peck for To Kill A Mockingbird.)

In many ways, Lawrence of Arabia represented the pinnacle of Lean's career. While Lean would continue to make wonderful epic films like Doctor Zhivago (1965) and Ryan's Daughter (1970), nothing before, and perhaps nothing since, has filled the screen with such majesty, expanse and hope as the never ending deserts of Arabia.

In 1997, Faber and Faber published Kevin Brownlow's biography David Lean: A Biography, a book that began as an autobiography told to Brownlow. Recounting Lean's many dramas on and off the screen, Brownlow's book demonstrates the endless struggle to bring one's vision to a film. To celebrate 100 years of Lean, we are presenting part of the Brownlow's celebrated biography. The following is an excerpt from Chapter 30 of David Lean: A Biography with the option to download the rest as a pdf file.

Download a PDF of Chapter 30 from David Lean: A Biography

On one of my visits to Narrow Street, I found David sitting in the garden with Sebastian, his gardener. The following conversation was under way:

"I think women are at least, if not more sexually active, more sexual than men," said David. "Men are like goats, in and out, bang, bang, good afternoon. But women really have the lingerers about them."

"But women have that maternal instinct that is alien to man, or a lot of men," said Sebastian.

"What, they don't like being treated as mummy's boy, you mean?"

"No," said Sebastian, "I think women look for a more stable situation, whereas a lot of men, because of their basic sexuality, go out and have casual little affairs."

David said, "You see, casual affairs doesn't mean basic sexuality. I think it means randy little cat. I don't really think that means anything. I mean, most women are much more deeply sexual than men."

"I don't know," said Sebastian, who was gay. "I can't really speak from experience."

"I think pretty well the whole of this creativity is sex. There's no two ways about it. And if you want to go and make a good movie, well, you know, the fact of it is that sex is terribly important. If you want to make a good movie, get yourself a new, wonderful woman and that movie will be fifty if not seventy percent better than it would have been if she hadn't existed. It lights everything up. I mean, I'm too old for that now, but…"

"Doesn't it take up all your energy?" I asked.

"No, it's very energising," said David. "You see, I think lack of energy and tiredness is sexual failure. If you've had a miserable affair with somebody, you're tired out."

I said, "But one hundred percent of your time is devoted to that picture.

How can you also have an affair with somebody?"

"I can tell you you can."

"I'll take your word for it," I said.

"You'll have to."

There followed a David Lean pause. "No, you're right up to a point. Of course you are. And you've got to have a very understanding woman, and you've got to have a woman who loves the movie that you're doing."

Barbara Cole was a no-nonsense New Zealander in her early forties. During the war she married an RAF pilot who was shot down over Germany when her son, Peter, was a couple of months old. Money was short, she had a young brother and her mother was suffering from tuberculosis, so she had to earn her living. She went into the film industry as a continuity girl, at first in documentaries and then in "quota quickies". She graduated rapidly into A features, such as The Square Ring, The Maggie and Hunted.

Married to the head of a television company in the Midlands, she started her own documentary-advertising company. When her husband began an affair with an actress, she left him and went to London. A friend introduced her to Spiegel and she was assigned to Lawrence as continuity girl.

Barbara flew out to Jordan with the camera crew. Because it was such a long flight she decided she had to sleep — even though she could never normally sleep on planes and took a sleeping tablet. All that happened was that she grew more and more exhausted, and woozier and woozier.

Arriving in Amman, it was too early to go to bed. Someone decided she needed a tomato juice.

"I drank this thing, realised it was vodka, and I was soon absolutely drunk. I thought, 'If I can stand up, I'm going to my bedroom to sleep this thing off.'

Before I could do that, David Lean walked down the hall towards me and sat down beside me. He said, 'Hello, you must be Barbara.'