One Paragraph Movie Review: Lawrence of Arabia

Three hundred and twentieth film: Lawrence of Arabia, the 1962 Oscar-winning epic based on a real guy and real events. TE Lawrence was involved in the Arab Revolt against the Ottoman Empire, and blew up a heap of Turkish trains and bridges and things and was absolutely a remarkable man. And like, I get it. I get why it won best picture. I get why it’s some people’s favourite movie. I get that it looks amazing and that it’s important and goodness, all those extras and camels and grains of sand. But it is, robustly and definitely, not for me. I’m not for the golden-haired saviour in Peter O’Toole, or the unfortunate brown-facing of Alec Guinness, or the Boy’s Own Adventureness of blokes showing how tough they are in grubby duds. Personal choice, no diss, but even with Omar Sharif being hotter than the desert he’s sulking through and a classic trope-starting quicksand scene, I was relieved when I realised there was only an hour left and overjoyed when it finished. Each to their own. Two and a half badly needed lemonades out of five.