The King's Rebellious Archbishop

1001 Movies To Watch Before Your Netflix Subscription Dies, Part 24
Peter Glenville, director, Becket

King Henry II of England (Peter O’Toole) thinks being king is amusing. When not fighting useless wars to bolster his popularity, Henry engages in vulgar debauchery at London’s taverns and whorehouses. He merely tolerates his sons, despises his wife, and picks fights with the church. And he has elevated the Saxon Thomas Becket (Richard Burton) to aristocracy, apparently to provoke his French-speaking Norman court. When the Archbishop of Canterbury suddenly dies, Henry spots an opportunity.

Closely adapted from a play by French dramatist Jean Anouilh, this movie resembles widescreen Technicolor epics of its generation, movies often helmed by outsized personalities like David Lean and Richard Attenborough. But it has a different moral fiber, a conflict driven by two characters’ very different expectations. Henry, born to rule, has become an ethical black hole. Becket, a commoner, has authority thrust upon him, and finds himself transformed. The contrast will resonate for centuries.

Like wealthy people throughout history, Henry is fascinated by commoners. He admires their Saxon language, their earthy values, their disregard for courtly duties. But like most class tourists, he mistakes poor Britons’ tools of survival for moral laxity. He thinks he can become Saxon by getting drunk, having irresponsible sex, and generally behaving like a boorish lout. At the beginning, Becket is Henry’s enabler. By encouraging Henry’s flamboyant lifestyle, Becket gains the trappings of nobility.

Eventually Henry needs somebody pliant in positions of actual authority. He thinks he can control Becket, so he invests Becket with nobility and makes him Lord Chancellor. To Henry’s shock, Becket takes his authority seriously, even siding against Henry in a brief dispute. Petulant at this apparent betrayal, Henry creates new, meaningless responsibilities for Becket, and leaves his former friend running the household while he chases military adventures. Everyone expects Becket to fail, including Becket.

Peter Glenville directed this adaptation, having previously directed the play’s Broadway debut. To his credit, Glenville doesn’t merely film a stage play; though his long, eye-level takes create a theatrical look, his camera work is remarkably subtle, jumping between viewpoints without self-conscious showmanship. Keeping with contemporary film technology, Glenville’s production is somewhat set-bound. However, the sets are elaborate; the stone walls look hand-mortared, the furniture rough, like it was hewn from oak with an axe.

Peter O'Toole (left) and Richard Burton, as Henry II and Thomas Becket

Today’s audience, accustomed to HD imagery often shot through grey filters, may find Glenville’s saturated Technicolor pictures jarring. This technology creates screen images both more and less real than today’s directors favor. Glenville uses Technicolor’s vibrancy to his advantage. Henry flounces around England in military jerkins and tight pantaloons, ornamented with gold and jewels, to highlight his colorful but stern personality. Becket favors bright primary colors as a commoner, graduating to more somber tones later.

This happens especially when Henry presses his advantage. Having picked fights with several bishops by levying taxes on church property, he has few ecclesiastical allies. A vacancy in Canterbury, the primate church of England, leaves the state church rudderless. Before Rome appoints a successor, Henry races in and (possibly illegally) installs Becket as Archbishop, thinking the suddenly popular bureaucrat will favor state interests. Again, Becket surprises everyone by taking his responsibilities, and England’s faith, seriously.

Then as now, the relationship between Church and State is deeply problematic. Henry wants an Archbishop to sanctify his debauchery and glory-seeking; Becket wants a King that will fight for the virtues he pretends to have. Thrust into power over England’s immortal soul, Becket rediscovers the desperation and hunger his fellow Saxons never forgot. Secure in his cathedral, Becket feels no compunction against naming his former friend’s increasingly visible sins. The two are never reconciled.

Admittedly, this movie is somewhat squishy on history: the actual Becket was Norman, not Saxon, and though he died unpopular, Henry II was never as debauched as this depiction. These and other casual inaccuracies come directly from Anouilh’s play, which took dramatic license to convey its message. Like Shakespeare, Anouilh sees reality as less important than truth. This story takes Henry and Becket on one shared journey, from which they learn two very different lessons.

At nearly two-and-a-half hours, this movie is comparable to The Bridge on the River Kwai, and shorter than The Ten Commandments or O’Toole’s other legendary star vehicle, Lawrence of Arabia. Yet despite a running time that wouldn’t discomfort most cinema managers today, this film certainly fits the description of “epic.” It invites viewers to join its characters on a journey that leaves them, us, and their entire world transformed. We cannot finish this movie unchanged.