Peter O’Toole in Lawrence of Arabia (1962)

Years ago I read The Sev­en Pil­lars of Wis­dom, the remark­able account, by T E Lawrence, of his expe­ri­ences while serv­ing as a liai­son offi­cer with rebel forces dur­ing the Arab Revolt against the Ottoman Turks between 1916 and 1918. It’s a rol­lick­ing, rip-roar­ing tale, to say the least, replete with desert skir­mish­es, blow­ing up of trains and high-octane adven­ture but also much psy­cho­log­i­cal strug­gle, with Lawrence hav­ing to ame­lio­rate frac­tious trib­al enmi­ties in order to unite the Arabs against the com­mon ene­my. Then there is Lawrence’s own emo­tion­al tur­moil in bal­anc­ing his divid­ed alle­giance between the British Army, and its ulti­mate inter­ests, and his new-found com­rades with­in the desert tribes. The sto­ry was clear­ly ripe for an epic film to be made about it.

Suit­able, then, that cin­e­mat­ic heavy­weights Sam Spiegel and David Lean would be involved in the 1962 film ver­sion of these events,  Lawrence of Ara­bia, and an array of big-name, depend­able act­ing tal­ents: Peter O’Toole (in the title role, of course), Alec Guin­ness, Jack Hawkins, Antho­ny Quinn, Omar Sharif, Antho­ny Quayle, Claude Rains (along­side sev­er­al hun­dred extras). Actu­al­ly, Peter O’Toole hadn’t been the first choice for Lawrence: Albert Finney had been cast but was fired after two days for unknown rea­sons; Mar­lon Bran­do, too, had been offered the role; and both Antho­ny Perkins and Mont­gomery Clift were con­sid­ered. How­ev­er, O’Toole’s screen test and per­haps his resem­blance to the real-life Lawrence edged it for him. With his blond hair and pierc­ing eyes, he cer­tain­ly looked good on screen: Noël Cow­ard quipped: “if you’d been any pret­ti­er, the film would have been called Flo­rence of Ara­bia”.

The movie was helped tremen­dous­ly by the com­bi­na­tion of Super Panav­i­sion 70 cin­e­matog­ra­phy with the incred­i­ble back­drops afford­ed by the deserts of Jor­dan, along with a suit­ably majes­tic score by Mau­rice Jarre. It won sev­en Oscars, and is recog­nised as one of the great­est and most influ­en­tial films in the his­to­ry of cin­e­ma. Let’s take a look at Lawrence enter­ing the desert for the first time…

Peter O’Toole as Lawrence

Rudolph Valentino in The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (1921)

The rise to star­dom of the orig­i­nal Hol­ly­wood “Latin lover”, Rudolph Valenti­no, is a remark­able one. I’m pret­ty sure nobody who knew him in his child­hood could have had the slight­est inkling of what lay in store for him: he was born in 1895 in Castel­lan­e­ta, at the top of the heel of Italy, to a cap­tain of cav­al­ry in the Ital­ian army and a French moth­er. Although even as a boy he was known for his excep­tion­al looks, he did poor­ly at school, squeezed a cer­tifi­cate out of agri­cul­tur­al col­lege in Genoa, and couldn’t find work. As with so many oth­ers, he depart­ed for the Unit­ed States, and was processed at Ellis Island in 1913, aged 18.

Rodol­fo, as he was then (real name: Rodol­fo Alfon­so Raf­fael­lo Pierre Fil­ib­er­to Gugliel­mi di Valenti­na d’An­tonguel­la), sought work bussing tables at var­i­ous New York restau­rants. He was fired sev­er­al times, but even­tu­al­ly one skill that he did have – danc­ing – secured him work as a “taxi dancer” (hired to dance with cus­tomers) at Maxim’s Restau­rant-Cabaret. He befriend­ed a Chilean heiress there and became entan­gled in some­thing of a scan­dal which moti­vat­ed him to leave town, join­ing a trav­el­ling musi­cal which took him to the West Coast.

It was on the West Coast that things start­ed hap­pen­ing for Rodol­fo; he was encour­aged to seek screen roles and his “exot­ic” looks led him to win bit parts in sev­er­al movies. His big break, though, came when he won a lead role in the 1921 silent movie, The Four Horse­men of the Apoc­a­lypse, which became a com­mer­cial and crit­i­cal suc­cess and cat­a­pult­ed him to star­dom. He was mar­ket­ed as the “Latin lover” with a new stage name, and the movies The Sheik, Blood and Sand, The Eagle, and The Son of the Sheik all fol­lowed, each one cement­ing Valentino’s rep­u­ta­tion and star qual­i­ty.

He soon became the arche­typ­al sex sym­bol of the silent movie era, along­side the fair-com­plex­ioned, all-Amer­i­can male leads Wal­lace Reid and Dou­glas Fair­banks Junior, as well as the oth­er con­tem­po­rary hearththrob mat­inée idol of for­eign extrac­tion, Tokyo-born Ses­sue Hayakawa (who decades lat­er would appear as Colonel Saito in The Bridge on the Riv­er Kwai). Valentino’s sta­tus as a cul­tur­al icon was sealed in 1926 by his ear­ly death from peri­toni­tis, aged just 31. Mass hys­te­ria ensued, and indeed the events of Valentino’s funer­al are a sto­ry in them­selves (100,000 lined the streets to pay their respects, but so much dis­or­der broke out that 100 mount­ed NYPD offi­cers were need­ed to restore order).

Here is a mon­tage of Valenti­no footage in var­i­ous pub­lic­i­ty shots and off-screen sce­nar­ios – if your only image of him is in cos­tume and make-up (per­haps as “the Sheik”), then you might find this quite com­pelling and worth view­ing to get an insight into the “real” Valenti­no and why the women swooned…feast your eyes!

Rudolph Valenti­no