100 years ago a classic entry in the genre of British adventure fiction was published, but don’t expect any gushing centennial retrospectives. Not surprisingly, given its age, Percy Christopher Wren’s Beau Geste has some triggering content, largely racial slurs and stereotypes. The colonial setting alone would be enough to brand it taboo these days. The fact that three privileged white boys are the protagonists would also be held against it.
In 1924, however, this tale of derring-do in the Foreign Legion (or, if you prefer, Lègion Étrangère) was tailor-made for cinema, and Hollywood responded with a 1926 silent film (with Ronald Colman in the title role), as well as a 1939 (starring Gary Cooper) talkie. Another remake in 1966 with Dean Stockwell has gone down the memory hole. In 1977 the aptly named satire, The Last Remake of Beau Geste, also joined the ranks of the little noted nor long remembered.
It’s not hard to see why Hollywood was attracted to the tale. The French Foreign Legion had many elements that made it more interesting than conventional military outfits. The Foreign Legion was so-called not because the troops were deployed to foreign lands but because it was the only unit of the French military that accepted foreigners. They were particularly convenient in conflicts where a high casualty rate was assured, as French citizens would be less concerned about the deaths of foreigners than of their countrymen. As a reward, a legionnaire was granted French citizenship after three years of duty or being wounded in action. In the latter case, he was Français par le sang versé – French by spilled blood.
The Foreign Legion was notorious for attracting men on the lam for one reason or another (“the exile of the self-condemned”), so adopting an alias or a nom de guerre was commonplace. Consequently, the legionnaires were a more colorful lot than regular soldiers and the potential for intrigue was much greater. Throw in the Sahara Desert with searing sunshine, oppressive heat, sand as far as the eye can see, plus the possibility of le cafar (literally, the cockroach), a peculiar sort of madness that afflicted legionnaires in the Sahara. All that plus nifty uniforms.
So you have all the elements for cinematic success. It doesn’t hurt that the enemies are turbaned Mohammedans who ride camels. That might be a problem in some circles today, but it is much more scenic than fighting people who look like you and have more or less the same weaponry.
Having grown up during the Victorian era and matured during the Edwardian era, Percy Christopher Wren (1875-1941) wrote in a style reflecting the mindset of the British Empire pre-World War I. Beau Geste, though published after the war, takes place before that conflict and does not reflect any of the disillusionment that characterized postwar English poetry and fiction. Its detailed portrayal of life in the legion might lead the reader to assume that Wren had been a legionnaire, but that is doubtful. More than likely, his detailed portrayal of legionnaire life is based on what he read and from conversations with veterans. While the book may reflect attitudes that seem quaint today, its portrayal of how men behave in do-or-die circumstances is relevant to the contemporary manosphere.
The story concerns the Geste boys, three orphaned English brothers who have been adopted by their well-to-do Aunt Patricia, who has also adopted her niece Isobel as well as two other young relations. After the Blue Water, a valuable sapphire, vanishes, the aunt’s brood, particularly the Geste brothers are prime suspects. Michael (aka Beau), the oldest brother, sneaks away and joins the Foreign Legion. He is quickly followed by Digby, his fraternal twin, and John, his younger brother. We do not know which, if any, of the brothers was the culprit.
As boys, the Geste brothers played at soldiering and war but they quickly find out that the Foreign Legion is a long way from their romantic notions of adventure, glory, and honor. In addition to a marauding tribe of Bedouins called Tuaregs, the soldiers must contend with the terrain, the climate, and a sadistic commandant, Sergeant Dejaune (for some reason, renamed Markoff in the 1939 movie).
It would be tempting to dismiss Beau Geste as mere escapist fiction but as is often the case in the more enduring examples of popular culture, there is more than meets the eye. Bringing a different mindset to the material, 2024 readers/moviegoers might notice themes overlooked by their counterparts of a century ago.
Male disposability was not a concern 100 years ago (which is not to say it wasn’t a reality) but it is an integral part – perhaps the principal theme – of Beau Geste. In fact, if you watch the 1926 and 1939 films, it is evident right from the start.
In narrative terms, the “hook” is something in the beginning of a story that transfixes the reader/moviegoer and, hopefully, keeps him on the hook for the remainder of the tale. The hooks in the aforementioned movie versions of Beau Geste are among the most memorable in cinema.
The films start with a relief column arriving at Fort Zinderneuf in the middle of the Sahara Desert (the movies were actually filmed outside of Yuma, Arizona). The French officer in charge of the column can’t get a response from anyone in the fort even though he can see soldiers holding rifles in the embrasures along the parapet. After a rifle is fired from the fort, a bugler is dispatched to scale the wall and open the gate. But the gate remains closed and the bugler seems to have disappeared. After finally gaining entrance to the fort, the commanding officer discovers that the soldiers in the embrasures are all dead, a ghoulish chorus line of fresh corpses with a permanent thousand-yard stare. No one is alive, yet there is no evidence that the fort was breached by the Tuaregs. Adding to the mystery, the commandant, Sergeant Dejaune, has been killed not by a bullet but by a French bayonet. Then, after the befuddled officer returns to his troops outside the gate, the fort catches fire and burns to the ground. Like the commanding officer, we wonder what the hell’s going on here?
While this opening is a classic cinematic set piece, it is also a sterling example of male disposability. Since the fort was short-staffed, Sgt. Dejaune had the soldiers’ corpses propped up in the embrasures to prevent the attacking Tuaregs from finding out how badly undermanned the fort was. As each soldier was killed, his corpse was propped up, posed with a rifle, and secured in the embrasure. While one might think this macabre scene was a product of Wren’s imagination, it was apparently based upon a real incident at a fort under siege.
As when they were alive, the dead men are only valued because they offer utility. But in this case, you can’t blame women. It shows that an alpha male, such as the ambitious Sergeant Dejaune, will sacrifice as many beta males as possible to achieve his goals. Of course, the military is hyper-hierarchical, so why would an enlistee expect anything else? Today it is axiomatic that if you don’t want to be sacrificed on the altar of gynocentrism, the last thing you want to do is get married; as a corollary, if you don’t want to be sacrificed on the altar of hierarchy, the last thing you want to do is join the military. Every renowned officer’s career is based on two hecatombs: one full of his enemies, the other full of his own troops.
The flip side of the military experience is the camaraderie, the band of brothers phenomenon – in this case literally. The 1926 movie starts out with a title card of an Arabian proverb: “The love of a man for a woman waxes and wanes like the moon….but the love of brother for brother is steadfast as the stars, and endures like the word of the Prophet.” The Geste brothers’ bond sustains them through the hardships they endure; their relationship is all that protects them from succumbing to despair or nihilism.
In fact, the bond was there right from the start. As boys, Beau and Digby promised a Viking funeral to whichever one died first. Hard to replicate that in an abandoned fort full of dead soldiers but brother Digby pulls it off. It turns out that Digby was the bugler who first entered the fort. Upon discovering the body of his brother Beau, he remembers his pledge to give him a fiery Viking funeral – so the fort is reduced to ashes along with Beau’s body while Digby escapes.
Beau’s send-off is particularly impressive when contrasted with the rude treatment his dead comrades received at the hands of Sgt. Dejaune. One might say a glorious death is a death nonetheless and no matter how much pageantry involved, the whole concept of glory is ridiculous. On the other hand, there is something deep in the male psyche that yearns for a kick-ass bon voyage party celebrating his entry into his version of Valhalla. If you’ve ever read about Hunter Thompson’s funeral, you know what I mean.
Ironically, today cremation is more popular than ever, but all the mourners get for it is an urn full of ashes. Not much spectacle involved there. Just roll the departed into an oven and crank it up all the way. No one gets to see the loved one’s body consumed in flames. Now that would provide closure! I’d think a funeral home that offered a Viking funeral would do a land office business, but I suppose most if not all cities, counties, and states have rules about that sort of thing. Hell, if they frown on shooting off fireworks on the 4th of July, it’s safe to say that won’t let you dispose of daddy’s corpse in a burning boat, even if it’s just a kayak.
Walking a thin line between the ugly realities of combat and the “glory” of doing one’s duty no matter the consequences is what has made Beau Geste of longstanding interest to the male audience. You can find any number of antiwar films or jingoistic films. Finding one that is both at the same time is rare. Percy Christopher Wren died in 1941 but it would certainly be interesting to know what he thought about the early years of World War II.
Duality is also inherent in the very name phrase “beau geste.” My American Heritage Dictionary defines the phrase as (1) “A gracious gesture,” as well as (2) “A gesture noble in form but meaningless in substance.” The first definition eventually becomes apparent when we learn that Beau was eavesdropping when his Aunt Patricia sold the Blue Water and substituted a glass simulacrum in a desperate bid to keep her estate afloat and avoid evicting any of the tenants. Not wanting to see his aunt disgraced when her globe-trotting husband comes home and discovers the ruse, Beau stole the glass bauble and took off for the Foreign Legion to divert suspicion from his aunt. When Digby and John follow him, she is, for all practical purposes, beyond suspicion. In addition, John is in love with Isobel, Aunt Patricia’s niece, and wants to make sure no one suspects her.
Eventually, however, we learn that Aunt Patricia’s husband has died far from home totally unaware of the fate of the Blue Water, so the beau geste was not necessary. In effect, Beau’s death, and later that of Digby, were for nothing. So perhaps the second definition of “beau geste” is more apropos. Yet a third meaning of “beau geste” is a good joke. In this case, the joke was definitely on the Geste brothers.
While we’re parsing the meaning of “beau geste,” let’s take a look at the word “gallantry.” Again resorting to my dictionary, I see it is defined as (1) “Nobility of spirit or action” or “Chivalrous attention toward women.” The two definitions are so far apart it seems unlikely that one word could encompass both. Yet Beau Geste manages to bridge the gap. The first definition is apparent from the behavior of the brothers, all courageous under fire. The second part is less obvious, yet, as explained above, it turns out to be the plot point that sets the whole Foreign Legion adventure in motion.
The phrase “conspicuous gallantry” often crops up in military circles (in fact, there is a Conspicuous Gallantry medal awarded in the UK). In other words, it is not only important to be gallant but to have one’s gallantry obvious to one and all. Inconspicuous gallantry won’t garner you any accolades. Much like Ishmael in Moby Dick, only one survivor lived to tell the tale of Fort Zinderneuf, and he went AWOL after the place burned down. That is the novel’s narrator, John Geste.
So there is a great deal to ponder in Beau Geste. Just because gynocentrism and male disposability were not hot topics 100 years ago doesn’t mean they didn’t exist. Once one becomes conscious of them, one can’t but wonder if the two are inevitable. Are they hard-wired into the male psyche in all societies to some degree? Or are they strictly cultural inculcations? If so, is it possible to overcome them?
Sorry if I included too many spoilers in this essay, but if you have neither read Beau Geste nor seen one of its film versions, it is well worth making an effort to acquaint yourself with the tale. Among other things, it is, as the Brits would say, a ripping yarn!
QUESTION FOR GAMERS: Is there a Foreign Legion or Beau Geste video game out there? If not, maybe there ought to be.
