How Steven Spielberg’s favourite movie of all time shaped his career
In the words of Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Every artist was first an amateur”. It is indeed an undeniable truth that all masters start as apprentices at some point. However, the name Steven Spielberg is now so synonymous with cinema that it seems incredulous that he could ever fanboy over another filmmaker. It would be like John Logie Baird eulogising Home and Away, but when he gets talking about David Lean and Lawrence of Arabia, you can’t stop him from gushing like a guizer in heat.
It’s not particularly unusual for Spielberg to share his love for another movie. Over the years, he has admired countless directors, praised numerous movies, and shared his appreciation for the most unique cinematography. It all points to a filmmaker utterly obsessed with the notion of visual storytelling who is willing to share that passion given half a chance and a dictaphone. However, in the long line of directors Spielberg has championed as the saviour of cinema in one form or another, Lean remains his untouchable favourite and perhaps the ultimate filmmaker.
This is not a unique proposition for film lovers. Having creators to idolise is a large part of why people love movies. However, few get to actually meet their heroes, let alone share their thoughts. In the glorious march of Spielberg’s career, he went from hero-worshipping Lean to sitting alongside him during a screening of the restored cut of Lawrence of Arabia that he had helped put together.
Looking back at the start of that romance, Spielberg recalls watching the film the “first weekend it came out in Phoenix, Arizona.” It was a complex love at first sight, “I couldn’t comprehend the enormity of the experience,” Spielberg explains. The director was taken aback by the sheer magnitude of what he had seen and needed another viewing to truly comprehend the picture: “So I wasn’t able to digest it in one sitting. I actually walked out of the theatre stunned and speechless.”
David Lean’s masterpiece was released in 1962. It won seven Oscars and clearly captivated a 16-year-old Spielberg. “At the time, I didn’t quite understand the impact that it had on me,” Spielberg continues. The filmmaking star went out and bought the Maurice Jarre soundtrack, which he says he listened to constantly. He would fixate on the accompanying booklet that explained certain aspects of the filming. It would produce one intense urge that would lead to a lifelong obsession: “I wanted to know how that film was made.”
“How do you get those moments,” is a quote that proved pivotal in cinematic history. The young desert-living Spielberg was suddenly thrust into the spotlight of fate, and his future was made clear, all thanks to the cinematic magic of David Lean’s seminal picture. While his fascination with film had been present throughout the majority of his conscious life, the picture changed Spielberg’s life and set the young boy’s sights on making movies in earnest. It’s hard to think of any other viewing of a movie having such an impact on cinema at large.
Years later, Spielberg would follow his idol’s epic-making footsteps and eventually, he got to meet his hero. “When I first met David Lean, it was like meeting my guru,” recalled the director. And his influence continued therein when they met — Lean imparted tips and tricks to further Spielberg’s triumphant career.
One of the key influences of Lean’s work was the tireless nature of filmmaking; something accentuated when it is done through the necessary lens of sincerity. Shots on Lawrence of Arabia may have taken days to capture, but the movie itself stands as testimony to the worth of the effort involved. Spielberg has always carried this ethos into his own work. He describes via the figurative analogy of either using CGI or a National Geographic expert photographer to capture a far-flung natural phenomenon: “Use CGI they’ll never tell the difference,” he declares in the guise of a producer, before providing the dismissive reality, “Well, people can tell the difference.”
This fidelity to natural wonderment and the art of cinema’s inherent organic magic has imbued the filmographies of both Lean and Spielberg with the unplaceable gold dust that makes so many of their movies glow. Without this dedication to the authenticity of the visual representation, it is difficult to see how audiences would have connected with their works so innately.
When dissecting particular moments that make Lawrence of Arabia glow, Spielberg considers “the mirage sequence as still the greatest miracle [he’s] seen on film.” But the ultimate superlative that he bestows on it is as follows, “What makes that film unlikely any film that can be made again is that it was done naturally, with the elements of light and sound and maybe the greatest screenplay ever written for the motion picture medium […] It was a miracle.”
Few movies can be considered miracles, yet fewer movies have spawned a career like Steven Spielberg’s, so perhaps he’s right on the money.
