Sometimes, coincidence amazes. I was aware of the actor’s demise. The morning paper had the news. News read, I had moved on to the book at hand and its chapter on John Roskelley, the American mountaineer. Profiling him, author David Roberts quoted the climber: “One person I looked up to more than any other was TE Lawrence. He had an incredible story to tell, yet he talked about it in this casual, mundane way. He never really let on that what he did was so important to the world.”

For a minute I sat stunned. How often do two random things in life, like a piece of news just read and a book at hand, connect?

To say that I am a fan of Peter O’Toole would be both correct and incorrect. Aside from Lawrence of Arabia, Last Emperor, Troy and a few others, including the infamous Caligula, I haven’t watched all the films he acted in as the devout would. I admire Peter O’Toole — that is more to the point. Despite criticism around casting and characterisation, with that one film wherein he played Lawrence, O’Toole became unforgettable. He was palpably edgy as Lawrence, the archaeologist and misfit military officer who eventually towered above others by the sheer scale of what he did. O’Toole played the part with apt physical awkwardness to seem misfit in military and sexually ambiguous. Same time, he was adequately intense to seem the person who accomplished what Lawrence did. Doing so, he left an indelible impression.

He also had an utterly stylish way of speaking. To me, the best example of it — O’Toole by voice alone — was his Anton Ego from Ratatouille. A fine example of that voice and style in real life was his acceptance speech when presented an honorary Oscar. I remember the lines: “The magic of the movies enraptured me when I was a child. As I totter into antiquity, movie magic enraptures me still.” Totter into antiquity — what an exquisite choice of words! Some people find the opening lines more memorable: “Always a bridesmaid, never a bride my foot! I have my very own Oscar now to be with me, till death us do part.” The whole thing — the words, the delivery, the imagination — it rings of an era.

The above isn’t entirely why I felt a sense of loss at O’Toole’s passing. I grew up in a house, where an uncle who was deeply interested in films had preserved a copy of TE Lawrence’s book, Seven Pillars of Wisdom, on the shelf. I never read it. My uncle is no more. But I followed the advice he gave: don’t miss the movie, Lawrence of Arabia. By the time I was aware of the film it had already become an old film, come and gone years ago. Luckily, as the video age dawned, an enterprising library in Thiruvananthapuram offered the film on VHS. Later in Mumbai, employed and able to buy a VCD, the film was among the first I bought to keep for good. But a TV screen does no justice to the panoramic frames of David Lean’s movie. I remember that a technologically updated version was released in theatres. I missed that too. I take comfort in the fact that I at least have the VCD of the film, unique for its magnificent portrayal of the desert and the actors it brought together — among them four I liked: O’Toole, Anthony Quinn, Alec Guinness and Omar Sharif. Of the film’s main actors, Sharif survives.

As the Internet became more accessible, one read more about O’Toole. There was much on his drinking binges. As the news report on his demise mentioned, O’Toole had been quite a hell raiser in his days. But that winter morning in Delhi, reflecting on his passing, none of the hell raising mattered as much as this: O’Toole’s demise has finally made the film, Lawrence of Arabia, just that... a film. The movie which begins with a fatal accident and memorial service to the deceased had stayed magically alive as long as O’Toole, its Lawrence, lived. TE Lawrence died in 1935. The legendary film on him was released in 1962. For its fans, Lawrence of Arabia was alive until recently.

With O’Toole’s demise, David Lean’s masterpiece is now firmly a film, one of the greatest movies ever made, its lead actor nominated eight times for an Oscar in his career and never to win one, save that Honorary Oscar wrapped in an elegant acceptance speech.

It took me a while to return to the book.

Shyam G. Menon
(The author is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai)