Beatles

 

Paul is the one who wills it to keep going. His determination to make new songs from airy nothing is the first noticeable thing. He invents musical lines then experiments with them, tries new tricks, extends the possibilities. Like the others, the repertoire in Paul’s head is immense. They can all play with it, fool with it, improve on it. Their famed ability to shift direction creatively is ever on show here, one reason why eight hours of film is about right. We watch the conception, gestation, delivery, and life of the song. A year after everyone else, I watch Get Back over consecutive summer nights, a magical mystery tour that is a superlative historical document. John mocks, jokes, parodies, zones out. Behind the bravura Goons fireworks though is a listener, whether to the musical sounds or others’ words. He reads the room. His connection with Paul is strange, powerful, magical and mysterious. Ringo is a calm, amused presence. And then there is George, the astonishing riffer, turning very good into something else again. His role, almost taken for granted, is to take it higher, one reason why his leaving the band is the surprise dramatic climax at the end of 1/3. Around them swirl circles, the inner circle of lovers and studio music assistants and old friends. Then the next circle, imposing and slightly sinister, of business dealers, egotistical directors, and wannabe managers, the last obviously crooks. Meanwhile the Fabs sing about all of these types, all of them, in their lyrics, the knowingness going on in the actual artistic process, one of the film’s more subtle delights. 3/3 is the unique cultural symbol of their rooftop concert, something viewers understand so well it takes time to absorb that within the film’s narrative, it’s more like an unexpected transcendent lead break. Instead of going to Africa, the expectation set up through these January sessions, they go upstairs. Only we know it will be their last live concert together, the first time live for two years also about the first time they’ve heard themselves live for five. Down in Savile Row below, Londoners look up for the music source, fans who recognise the band instantly, day workers who think the band are “a good thing”, snobs who complain the noise disrupts business, bobbies with the task of having to turn off the amp. A bemused clergyman says it’s good to see there’s something for free in this country. The shift from the dour hangar at Twickenham to the bright new Apple studio of 2/2, to the rooftop colours the mood of each part, but it’s all studio. Which is part of the problem, Did the band break up because they were tired of being cooped up day and night, month after month? It must have been a contributing cause. What is never in doubt is the continuous original creativity shared in real time by the world.