'Becket' examines the rather intricate relationship between the headstrong 11th-century King Henry II of England (O'Toole) and his lifelong friend, Thomas Becket (Burton). On the surface, the two appear to be really close chums who spend their time wenching and drinking - king and servant, but friends foremost. However, there are layers below this, as Henry clearly revels in his lust for living and more than a little affection for his servant Becket. Unable to consummate his love for his fellow man, he drowns his desires in women. Becket is much more of an enigma, and his motivations are somewhat elusive. He clearly relishes the company of his king, but is not entirely comfortable with his attentions. He is a Saxon, one of the conquered, requiring him to straddle the gulf between honor and collaboration, serving his Norman King in several capacities – as a valet, a bodyguard and a military adviser. He wears his compromises poorly, and longs for a simpler, honorable way of living.
When the Archbishop of Canterbury dies, with view to subjugate the mighty Church, Henry picks Becket to be the successor, despite not even being an ordained priest, which proves to be his undoing. As soon as the miter is upon his head and the silver cross in his hand, Becket becomes a thorn in the king's side, opposing him on a point of principle, straining their friendship and putting Becket's life in peril. Henry loves Becket, as he adores no other human being in his life, and it hurts him to the core that Becket chooses honor over their friendship. 'Becket' soon moves from power play to power struggle, a struggle that Henry is not ready to lose.
On the surface, Becket appears to be a humdrum king versus a dignified politician war. But, here, the primary conflict is between the throne of England in its debauchery, and the Church, with its compromised morality. The characters, even while wearing robes of power, stink to highest heaven in every sense. While protected by their power, they freely admit the moral sewer they occupy, and serve their gluttonous appetites with aplomb. Absolute power allows the veneer of quality to drip away, and we can be most thankful for this lack of varnish. Just as the characters' loyalties to one another are called into question, so, too are ours: 'Becket' enters a moral gray area from which it never fully emerges.
Becket crackles with whip-smart dialogue and is anchored by a sharp screenplay that finds resonance even today. Peter Glenville directs with a flamboyant hand, but mostly he lets his two leads have free rein, and the results are glorious. Richard Burton is always at his best when reserved, and this is no exception. Peter O'Toole rips into the script as if he invented the art of acting, and belts out some of the best lines. He has a slithery charm that suddenly erupts into volcanic expulsions of blind fury. His chemistry with Burton is ripe with homo-erotic undercurrents, which O'Toole mines with relish in a hysterical performance, full of cunning, eloquence and mad outbursts.
Years later, Becket remains just as incandescent and relevant!
When the Archbishop of Canterbury dies, with view to subjugate the mighty Church, Henry picks Becket to be the successor, despite not even being an ordained priest, which proves to be his undoing. As soon as the miter is upon his head and the silver cross in his hand, Becket becomes a thorn in the king's side, opposing him on a point of principle, straining their friendship and putting Becket's life in peril. Henry loves Becket, as he adores no other human being in his life, and it hurts him to the core that Becket chooses honor over their friendship. 'Becket' soon moves from power play to power struggle, a struggle that Henry is not ready to lose.
On the surface, Becket appears to be a humdrum king versus a dignified politician war. But, here, the primary conflict is between the throne of England in its debauchery, and the Church, with its compromised morality. The characters, even while wearing robes of power, stink to highest heaven in every sense. While protected by their power, they freely admit the moral sewer they occupy, and serve their gluttonous appetites with aplomb. Absolute power allows the veneer of quality to drip away, and we can be most thankful for this lack of varnish. Just as the characters' loyalties to one another are called into question, so, too are ours: 'Becket' enters a moral gray area from which it never fully emerges.
Becket crackles with whip-smart dialogue and is anchored by a sharp screenplay that finds resonance even today. Peter Glenville directs with a flamboyant hand, but mostly he lets his two leads have free rein, and the results are glorious. Richard Burton is always at his best when reserved, and this is no exception. Peter O'Toole rips into the script as if he invented the art of acting, and belts out some of the best lines. He has a slithery charm that suddenly erupts into volcanic expulsions of blind fury. His chemistry with Burton is ripe with homo-erotic undercurrents, which O'Toole mines with relish in a hysterical performance, full of cunning, eloquence and mad outbursts.
Years later, Becket remains just as incandescent and relevant!