`I am human. All too bloody human.'

Playing Lawrence left O'Toole with a lifelong interest in the man, and in archaeology, and he's traipsed to archeological sites in Israel, Turkey, China, and Cambodia. The last was when he was filming 1964's "Lord Jim," a legendary clunker though a memorable shoot. "I came out of my concrete hut one morning and I looked on the road, there were two stiffs," he says. "One was American. I was in Phnom Penh with a couple of stunt men and we were walking around the street to see what was going on, and the British Embassy was on fire. The American Embassy was on fire, and the customers were roaming around cutting their tongues with razorblades and using the blood to draw 'Yankee go home.' There we were filming and hiding. We got out by plane eventually."

One suspects that stories like this stream steadily out of O'Toole, but he insists that "I don't often think of former parts, but sometimes they pop up in conversation or into my mind and I can be amused." He'd never be able to itemize his most meaningful roles because "they are though they are human." He played Henry II twice, in "Becket" and "The Lion in Winter," and was nominated both times for Academy Awards. Other Oscar-nominated performances include "Goodbye, Mr. Chips," "The Stunt Man" and "My Favorite Year," in which he spoofed himself and played a jaunty, alcoholic movie star. He's still busy, with parts in two coming films.

For decades he was renowned for his carousing, often with famous buddies like Laurence Harvey, Peter Finch, and Richard Harris, now all dead. Along the way, he married and divorced the actress Sian Phillips, sired two daughters with her, and another son with girlfriend Karen Brown. In the mid-'70s, he nearly died from stomach cancer.

Asked if he ever regretted the drinking, O'Toole looks incredulous. "No. Not at all. It was a kind of added fuel. A booster. No, no, no the last thing it ever did was shape my bloody life."

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PLAYING THE PART

WHILE some might want to see parallels between his "Venus" character, Maurice, and himself, both aging actors watching their friends die off, O'Toole insists there are none. What he doesn't deign to say is that he, unlike his character, is and was a movie star. The only Maurice characteristic he cops to is the penchant for the grand gesture that he can't always deliver on. In the film, Maurice takes Jessie, whom he calls "Venus," shopping for a little black dress but neglects to bring any money. "I have borrowed money from the hotel manager before to pay the bill," he says with a laugh.

As the afternoon wears on, O'Toole seems to tire, and eventually he puts on his long overcoat and leaves, tipping the hotel staff generously on his way out the door. A smiling, middle-age woman picks him up in a white Subaru station wagon. It's not his wife, because he's "unattached" right now. It's a little deflating to see Lawrence's chariot now and to hear the doorman try to figure out who the tall, aged man was, and why he's famous.

It's better to remember O'Toole just before he left, pondering if he, like Maurice, is still capable of love. "I am sure of it," he says, the voice at first emphatic. "I am human. All too bloody human." He's full of temporary, private recrimination.

"Yes. What to do about it is another question. I think it would be a very shallow life for me if I couldn't."

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On the Web

For a gallery of images from Peter O'Toole's career, go to latimes.com/otoole.

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rachel.abramowitz@latimes.com