The Beatles on Screen: From Pop Stars to Musicians 9781501327148, 9781501327131, 9781501327155

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For my husband Mark

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

As researching and writing a book can be a long journey, there are inevitably a number of people to thank for their help and support along the way. My husband Mark has been my strength during the length of this project and during our fifteen years together. It has been great to collaborate on our research projects together and you are also a very gifted photographer. I  love discovering new adventures with you, Beatles-​related or otherwise. I also thank you for your technical knowledge when it came to questions around film and television production, camera lens, film stock, and visual effects. All my love to you. Special mentions for all the Beatles’ clippings, extra support, intellectual stimulation; prayers go out to Jennifer Doan, John Jill, Linda Friend, Nick Davis-​Piotrowski, and my grandparents. Thank you to my true blues across the pond and beyond—​Lisa Finch, Brenda McDowell, Toby McGillis, Janice Mayo, Eric Richmond, Nate Bryce, Christine Whitney, Brett Mayo, and Doug Binando; and also to my fellow JGHS band geeks. To Brad and Peggy Wilderman of Beatles and Beans in downtown Bay City, MI—​I wish I could have decamped in your coffee shop while I wrote up my research. Thanks to Steve Thompson and Rosa Fong for their support and of course to my very own Fabs who have shared in and cultivated my Beatles and popular music passion: Janet Malusi, Mike Kirkup, and Heidi Kerbleski (Back to the Egg was a revelation). To my professional colleagues, friends, and students who mentored me, challenged me intellectually, and helped this project come to fruition: Tony Rongo and the Rongo Family, Michael Wemple, Ken Smith, Ruth Bonnell, James Lyons, Steve Neale, Caroline Taylor-​Green, Steve Harris, Kate Hext, Matthew Feldman, Natasha Vall, Paul Bailey, Bethany Usher, Paul Baldwin, Paul Dave, Warren Harrison, Lucy Jolly, Clare Fletcher, Sarah Baker, Ian Inglis, Beatles guru Mark Lewisohn for the kind words and encouragement, Phil Thickett, Sue Heseltine, Matt Grimes, Iain Taylor, Gemma Commane, Hazel Collie, Tony Cordell, Paul Long, everyone at BCU’s Popular Music Writing Group, and the Birmingham Centre for Media and Cultural Research. A very special thank you with my heartfelt gratitude goes to my mentors Rachel Carroll and Nick Gebhardt.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Last but not least, thank you to all of those at Bloomsbury Academic Press who have worked on all the fine details to ensure this book would be the best it could be—​the design team, the reviewers, copy editors; to editors Katie Gallof for believing in this project and Susan Krogulski for guidance and keeping this project on track and to the deadline, and to Ally-​ Jane Grossan for the initial conversations. And finally, to all of those reading this book, especially girls and women—​ this research was conducted with careful thought and analysis; it was written with a genuine interest and from the heart. The love and support I received outshone the negativity. Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t do, or that you can’t achieve. Yes, you can. Nothing can stop you if you don’t let it.

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Introduction

When asked about what it was like to see the Beatles for the first time on television, American actress and comedienne Whoopi Goldberg replied, “They were, you know, fucking amazing. The Beatles gave me this idea that everyone was welcome” (The Touring Years 17:56). Goldberg’s comments encapsulate the continued popularity, intrigue, and influence of a pop group that disbanded nearly fifty years ago. They were well-​known not only because of their music but also because their image and back story reflected a new wave of prosperity and mobility for the working classes. The image the Beatles projected over television sets, film screens, and live on stage throughout the 1960s quickly became mythologized and threatened to take focus away from the Beatles’ main objective—​to play good music that they believed in and to develop their musical craft to a level at which they could feel accomplished. In 1964 the Beatles found themselves as pop stars drawing in tens of thousands of fans to their shows; the loyalty and energy of those fans had reached unprecedented levels of “mass hysteria.” And like many teen idols and rock ’n’ rollers before them, the Beatles took to the silver screen and the relatively new medium of television to reach their audiences beyond the turntable and the concert hall. While these activities began as an attempt to more widely project their image and their music, and were crucially a chance to capitalize on their popularity before they became a passing fad, the Beatles would begin to use television and film to not only replace their need to perform live but to also project new, more authentic portrayals of themselves as they began to mature and develop into individual musicians. As Roessner (2015, 25)  proposes, playing live “not only predictably undermined their human connection with the audience, but also simply robbed them of their ability to communicate in a meaningful way,” and I argue that film was the new, preferred way for the Beatles to communicate with their fans. Of all the scholarship and intrigue the band has garnered since their arrival on the pop music charts in 1962, their feature and promotional films have received the least attention. Yet, it is

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this set of artifacts that perhaps helps to complete the picture of the band’s eight-​year journey as musicians. Using media like film and television as an alternative to touring enabled the Beatles to create a distance from the more extreme examples of fandom that they encountered and still provided a platform through which they could reach out to fans. The films also enabled the band to explore new artistic avenues for creating a synergy between musicianship, image, and performance—​ themes the band were already experimenting with on their songs and album packaging. And now, when a new authorized documentary about the Beatles’ days as live performers has been released, it affords a prime opportunity to examine these cinematic works to understand how production practices and generic conventions were used, challenged, and eschewed to reinforce the authenticity of the Beatles’ evolving image and how those approaches allowed the band to communicate these changes to their fans. On September 15, 2016, cinemas across the globe, social media site Facebook, and video streaming platform Hulu screened a new feature-​length film about the Beatles, authorized by the band’s company, Apple Corps. Featuring unseen performance footage and new interviews by surviving Beatles Sir Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr, it was the first such cinematic release involving the band since Michael Lindsay-​ Hogg’s intimate 1970 documentary Let It Be. Directed by Ron Howard (Apollo 13; The Da Vinci Code) and advertised on promotional materials as “The band you know. The story you don’t,” Eight Days a Week: The Touring Years is a documentary compiled of licensed and found footage of the Beatles’ live performances from 1963 to 1966, focusing primarily on their baseball stadium tours in the United States. The 4K digitally upgraded footage gives the viewer a sense of “being there” at historic performances such as the Hollywood Bowl and New  York City’s Shea Stadium while intercuts of nostalgic recollections from stars such as Susan Sarandon and Whoopi Goldberg, who attended these shows, further reinforces this sense of liveness, as well as underlines the Beatles’ appeal to stars and ordinary people alike. The footage is coupled with the “demixed” soundtrack—​a process overseen by Giles Martin, son of original Beatles producer Sir George Martin, which brings the band’s music, previously drowned out by screaming fans, back into the foreground of the audio mix. The interviews with McCartney and Starr emphasize this period as a key turning point in wanting to compose more complex songs and to distance themselves from their matching suited and Cuban-​heel booted, mop-​ top image most famously associated with their early Beatlemania image. On the surface, music press coverage and official promotional materials give the impression that The Touring Years is “the real” A Hard Day’s Night—​ the band’s first film released in 1964 and directed by Richard Lester in a pseudo-​documentary style. That film’s use of handheld cameras conveys a sense of authenticity in following the Beatles around on an average day of press conferences, appearances, and rehearsals before a

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live broadcast performance. The Touring Years, however, looks beyond the façade of witty repartee with journalists and the smiles of life on the road by including McCartney and Starr’s recollections of touring as tiring, stressful, and impacting upon their skills as musicians. Starr even goes as far as commenting upon how their mop-​top image no longer reflected the ideological and musical directions that the band had already begun to move toward in 1965, stating, “You can’t live all your life by what they want. We can’t go on forever as four little clean mop-​tops playing ‘She Loves You’ ” (1:18:55–​1:19:30). After A Hard Day’s Night, the Beatles would go on to make three more films with production company United Artists: Help! (dir. Richard Lester, 1965), the animated Yellow Submarine (dir. George Dunning, 1968) with a brief live action cameo from the band, and the aforementioned Let It Be. The Beatles would also direct and star in the fifty-​minute, made-​ for-​BBC Television special Magical Mystery Tour (1967). Over fifty years on, The Touring Years provides a crucial missing link in mediating the Beatles’ image and story on film. The priority for this book is to examine the Beatles’ films as a complete body of work in order to understand how the Beatles used film as an alternative to traditional promotional activities such as live performance broadcasts, touring, and press interviews to introduce and reinforce their evolving image and musical styles in a relatively short eight-​year period. In examining the Beatles’ films as a complete cycle, it becomes clear that the issue of a constructed authenticity and its ties to the Beatles’ image and musical development emerges as a key theme from the start, distinguishing the band from previous rock ’n’ roll and pop stars like Elvis Presley and Cliff Richard, as well as their contemporaries such as Gerry and the Pacemakers, the Dave Clark Five, and to some extent the Rolling Stones. Like most of these artists, the Beatles’ three-​picture contract with United Artists was primarily for the benefit of the band’s management, record label, and production company to cash in on the image and sound of Beatlemania that started sweeping both sides of the Atlantic by late 1963. The pop musical was a popular and established marketing strategy by the time the Beatles signed their deal with United Artists, and even if the films did not break box office records, it was viewed as a relatively inexpensive, low-​risk strategy. Any hesitation in signing a film deal with the Beatles was not unfounded. Despite a well-​ established mythology of Beatlemania that evokes images of cameras’ whip pans of hysteria or extreme close-​ups of screaming girls, the Beatles did struggle to break the American market when the single “From Me to You” and the album Introducing . . . The Beatles, both on Vee-​Jay Records, failed to make an impact in the charts or on radio station playlists. Swan Records’ release of “She Loves You” in 1963 did not become a number one hit until March 1964 when Beatlemania well and truly took hold. But A Hard Day’s Night, like each of the Beatles’ genre defying films, proved to be a pop musical that did not simply replicate the generic

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conventions of the traditional backstage musicals of the 1930s or the pop idol vehicles of the late 1950s/​early 1960s. Instead the film eschewed the established formula to give fans a “real,” more authentic portrayal of life on the road for the four pop stars from Liverpool, England than had previously been depicted before. While Donnelly (2015, 19) notes that A Hard Day’s Night is one of the first examples of a pop musical to give each of its stars a personality in playing a version of themselves, this book argues that each of the Beatles films maintains this motif as a device central to reinforcing the band’s journey in developing from pop stars to musicians. Using and experimenting with the medium of film is arguably a key component not just in regard to how the band projected a marketable image but is also in understanding how they saw themselves as artists working within the music industries. Therefore, this book does not see these films or the nearly fifty promotional films used for new singles releases as separate activities but considers these artifacts as an extension of the musical output. The rationale for this is that the Beatles arguably had an unprecedented degree of autonomy over how their output and image was presented in the United Kingdom. Singles, albums, and EPs for the UK market produced by George Martin did include consultation with the Beatles. Especially important was to ensure that the singles released did not appear as album tracks so as not to try to sell fans the same music twice. In the United States, however, Capitol Records did not include the Beatles in the consultation process, following instead traditional industry practices of including singles on the albums released, choosing the track listing, choosing the cover images, and paring down the number of songs on the albums to avoid “more publishing fees that would have to be paid” (Frontani 2007, 53). At the risk of overstating the importance of this input from the band on projects they were directly involved with, it does have an impact on how the films and promotional films were made and arguably, as the analysis will uncover, is used as a way to gain the Beatles’ trust and cooperation on these promotional commitments. So while the Beatles films are first and foremost made with commerce in mind, what makes them stand out from other pop musicals is that those directing and those starring in these films brought with them a sense of artistic integrity that reflected changing attitudes toward the hegemony of classical Hollywood’s standardized production-​line approach, allowing for opportunities to experiment with generic conventions and filmmaking techniques. For the Beatles themselves, being involved in this process gave them an understanding of how such contractual obligations could become an extension of their artistic output recorded on vinyl. Perhaps most importantly for this research, the films hold an insight into the band’s relationship with their fans and the band’s commentary on what it meant, and still means today, to be a Beatle. By primarily using textual analysis informed by an emphasis on film form and style, this methodology is useful in understanding how image and presentation of musical performance

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were initially used as part of a wider marketing strategy but, by the Beatles’ second film, that knowingness of the constructed image’s function began to influence a shift toward projecting an image as an authentic representation of the self that was already being reflected in their musical output and album cover packaging. From the start of their success, the band always seemed to be trying to escape their Beatlemania selves and this journey runs throughout each of the band’s five main films. The films provide visual evidence of how “Beatle” becomes defined through a constructed image early on, how this reinforces a mythology of the Beatles’ story that still dominates Beatles scholarship today, and how that mythology very quickly begins to stifle the band’s developing musicianship and individual styles. These films also provide insight into the band’s decision to stop touring and to stop performing live on television in 1966 when they begin to start fighting against the well-​established definition of Beatle—​mop-​tops, matching suits, screaming girls, “She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah”—​until what it means to be a Beatles or “The Beatles” can no longer encompass what they have become as individuals and as musicians. This book does not seek to disprove or deconstruct the Beatles myth but it is inevitable that through this book’s particular interdisciplinary approach drawing upon the theoretical lenses of image, performance and authenticity, and genre to explore the Beatles’ trajectory from pop stars to musicians, the analysis of these films may reveal some contradictions with the dominant discourse of the Beatles’ story.

Theoretical frameworks and literature survey The Beatles’ story has been well documented by journalists, music fans, and scholars, and the intrigue in the Fab Four and their legacy shows no immediate signs of waning. Many a popular music documentary or retrospective finds the space to name-​ check the Beatles’ influence on popular music culture while scholars have scrutinized every aspect of the band’s career. In this section, I explain the historiographic and theoretical frameworks this research draws upon and survey the handful of books that already consider the Beatles’ films to establish how this book unpacks and builds upon existing discussions. There are three key aims to this research: (1) To demonstrate how the Beatles’ approach to the pop musical enabled them to continually evolve their image and sound while still maintaining commercial success; (2) How the Beatles experimentation and rejection of generic film conventions and commercial practices influenced the way other artists approached film and television; and (3) How the Beatles’ films were used to create more authentic forms of evolving an artist’s image and sound, which have become common practice within the music industries today. Image was an important element of the Beatles’ persona and how they would go on to perform different versions of themselves, as early as their

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Hamburg days when they performed regular residencies between 1960 and 1962 in the clubs along Grosse Freiheit in St. Pauli’s red light district. The Beatles’ decision to take advantage of local manager and club owner Alan Williams’s deal with Hamburg-​based club owner Bruno Koschmider to provide more bands from Liverpool would become a crucial moment for the band’s development and future success. Inglis (2012, 29) recounts how, by 1959, the band’s career progression “had stalled [.  . . achieving] some local visibility but little else.” The opportunity to play in Hamburg would also give each member a weekly income earned from doing what they enjoyed when the alternative, had they remained in Liverpool, would have been hard manual labor or the dole queue. Upon arriving in Hamburg, the Beatles, then originally consisting of Lennon, McCartney on guitar, George Harrison, Lennon’s art college friend Stuart Sutcliffe on bass, and Pete Best on drums, soon adopted the leather jackets, jeans, and cowboy boots so in vogue in German teenagers’ fashion (Inglis 2012, 53). Their greased back hair was exchanged by all but Best for a style that would become known as the mop-​top, given to them by German artist and friend Astrid Kirchherr. Kirchherr was part of a subculture of young artists and intellectuals influenced by existentialism, a combination of interests that very much appealed to Lennon and Sutcliffe’s sensibilities. What began arguably as a look derived from a group of young men away from home, travelling on the European continent, with a disposable income to spend on post–​Second World War luxury items such as clothes to look cool, to visually represent their newfound freedom and sense of optimism, would soon be exploited as a key marketing tool upon their return to Liverpool. As the Beatles rejoined the Merseyside club circuit and undertook an extended residency in the Cavern Club on Mathew Street (minus Sutcliffe, who remained in Hamburg to be with Kirchherr), they were often billed on promotional posters as being “direct from Hamburg, Germany.” This sense of otherness and the exotic to set them apart from other beat, guitar, and vocal groups as something new and different heavily relied upon marketing their refined image of tailored suits and an identity constructed around working class, Northern England, specifically Liverpool. For example, in America the Beatles’ first album on the Vee-​Jay label, Introducing . . . The Beatles, features the phrase “England’s No. 1 vocal group” across the front cover. Their first big album success in America, Meet the Beatles (1963) released by Capitol Records proclaims the Beatles are “England’s Phenomenal Pop Combo” across the front above Robert Freeman’s stark black-​and-​white photograph of the band in silhouette. How the Beatles’ image is portrayed in the American press and received by American audiences is the focus of Frontani’s (2007) key book, which considers how those press materials along with the Beatles’ wider mediated image was linked to cultural and historical events of the 1960s. Drawing upon Richard Dyer’s Stars (2004) as a foundation, Frontani (2007, 3) identifies four main categories

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of media text from which an image can be produced: “promotion, publicity, work product, and commentary/​criticism.” The aforementioned examples of Englishness can be seen as work product output that reinforced the band, their management, and the record companies’ promotional strategies. Publicity would include interviews and press calls while commentary/​ criticism would be journalists’ reviews or editorial comments on the band’s output. Frontani (2007, 3)  notes that the original suited, mop-​top image associated with Beatlemania “was framed along traditional notions of entertainment,” in particular the early variety show and light entertainment formats popular in Britain in the early twentieth century. While we can agree that the Beatles’ manager Brian Epstein felt the band needed a “more presentable, more commercial” image after signing a management contract with them in 1962 (Frontani 2007, 3), it is important to establish that the Beatles also agreed with Epstein that the leather look was becoming passé. In addition to requiring the band to clean up their stage presence (no swearing, eating, or smoking on stage) and performance style (set stage formation, and bowing at least at the end of the show if not between numbers), Epstein did initiate the idea of matching tailored suits. However as Lewisohn (2013, 1083) has revealed in his comprehensive study of the Beatles, they were not as resistant to change as legend suggested and they even had their say in how the suits should be customized to their specifications. While more polished and commercial, this image was arguably also meant to look nonthreatening to parents as well as trendsetting to young fans, and commanded that they be taken seriously by record executives in London. What this anecdote also signposts is the level of creative input the Beatles had from the very start of their professional career regarding their image, the projects they would be involved with, and the presentation of the finished product where possible. I do not want to overstress the degree of autonomy the Beatles had—​they were still operating within the traditional structures of the music industries’ priorities of promoting, selling product, and making a profit—​though it is important to establish that the Beatles were savvy enough to be aware of the processes and mechanisms they needed to navigate through in order to achieve the success they desired. This, as one example, is evidenced in Lennon’s seemingly throwaway and comedic mantra used to motivate the band as they were on the cusp of stardom, that they were working to be “the toppermost of the poppermost,” a reference to the hit BBC music show Top of the Pops (1964–​2006, UK) where the most successful pop bands in the music charts were showcased on television (Spitz 2005, 358). In examining press materials like those analyzed in Frontani (2007) or Lewisohn’s (2013) work or listening to the countless press interview archives readily available on CD and the internet, there starts to emerge a sense of when the Beatles are just going through the motions of promotional and publicity obligations and when they feel creatively stimulated by and passionate

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about a project they are working on. For example, the humorous retorts the Beatles would give when answering the same handful of questions at press junkets became part of their initial “cheeky” mop-​top image, but arguably also allowed them some control over what they were offering to the public in an increasingly mediated and celebrified world. Similarly, they were genuinely open to working with a film director like Richard Lester who had worked with the satirical show—​the Goons—​in which Spike Milligan and Peter Sellers were involved, a duo loved by the Beatles (Neaverson 1997, 13). In addition, while Lennon published two books of work play, poetry, and drawings, Harrison explored Eastern music, and McCartney became influenced by experimental media and the avant-​garde. The freedom the Beatles commanded to experience these types of activities and to be involved in key decision-​making processes undoubtedly came to shape the band’s ever-​evolving sound and image. Using image as a theoretical framework established by Frontani (2007, 3) as a foundation, this work instead subverts his definition that “image refers to the vehicle by which audiences know the Beatles,” (original emphasis) to instead propose that image was also the vehicle that the Beatles used to explore and navigate their musical development and maturation. In this way, I am able to give attention to how the Beatles’ image was mediated through their film work rather than focus entirely on how it was received. In Dyer’s (2004) work on the star system, a lot of time is spent in establishing how and why stars are products of wider industrial mechanisms and yes, the Beatles’ films do have a key promotional role as artifacts that sell new music and keep the band in public view when they stopped touring. Of Dyer’s work, the questions that intrigued me the most when considering the Beatles’ film career were, “What do stars signify” and “How do stars signify?” (Dyer 2004, 2). What factors caused the Beatles’ image to evolve? What were the meanings behind how the Beatles performed music and what role did the formal aspects of film play in that meaning construction? Why did the Beatles experiment with form and narrative rather than stick with the successful pop musical formulas? Also, Dyer discusses performance signs, how we as the audience read them, and how these signs give insight into an actor’s character. Dyer (2004, 134) lists facial expression, voice, gestures, body posture, and body movement as signs of performance. However, when analyzing the Beatles’ musical performances, I found these signs too limiting. I also consider dress, framing of the image, lighting and editing techniques, and how the Beatles use the camera to engage with the audience. By expanding the reading of signs to include these elements, the musical sequences allow for an exploration of the Beatles’ image within the confines of the “official,” authorized story, giving insight into a commentary on their role as pop stars and musicians and the increasing tension between the two. Roland Barthes’s work provides a useful lens in understanding how image was a reflection of the Beatles’ identity, or a performance of identity,

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through the various public personae that they projected. Much of Barthes’s work is devoted to understanding how images are constructed through layers of meaning while his later work considers the relationship between performer/​ creator and audience in deciphering and reading meaning. In Image Music Text, Barthes (1977, 17)  argues that “the photographic message is a continuous message.” Though each of the Beatles’ films were created as stand-​alone artifacts and each can be categorized as a different genre, the thematic links of image and performance as a cycle of work have yet to be explored. A detailed textual analysis of the aforementioned roles of camera framing, editing, and musical performance provides an effective methodology in understanding how and why the Beatles evolved their image at all and how this was communicated to fans. At a time when the heavily constructed film star was giving way to the “ordinary” celebrity where only so much information could be constructed and controlled by a press secretary, these films provided a space for the Beatles to project their opinions and commentary on their success and place within not just the music industries but within the emerging youth culture of the 1960s too. To again draw upon Barthes (1977, 17), he proposed that each of those messages develops in an immediate and obvious way a supplementary message, in addition to the analogical content itself (scene, object, landscape), which is commonly called the style of the reproduction; second meaning, whose signifier is a certain “treatment” of the image (result of the action of the creator) and whose signified, whether aesthetic or ideological, refers to a certain “culture” of society receiving the message. (Original emphasis) The Beatles are not trained actors performing fictional characters. In each film they perform versions of themselves, coded and influenced by aesthetic and ideological references to their collective and individual interests. The variations of styles used from one film to the next, as well as in comparison to other films within the corresponding genres are what punctuate these specific moments in time as references for the audience to make meaning from. The relationship between the Beatles on screen and the audience is more complex than spectacle/​spectator as the performers “must prove [they are] not enslaved to the spectator” but instead must “guide meaning towards its ideality” (Barthes 1977, 74). It is through undermining and even eschewing generic codes and conventions in each film that the Beatles and the directors are able to guide fans through this process. Again, Barthes’s work focuses on the value of how texts are constructed by “the interweaving of codes, references, discrete assertions” (1982, 55), arguing that “what is begun by one is continued by the next, without interval.” In this way, each film focuses on its own journey motif within the narrative—​ the Beatles move to different locations, spaces,

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and even through time; they are being chased or are themselves chasing and confronting the past. As a cycle of films, these commentaries on the journey become an overlooked insight into life as one of the most popular bands in music history—​a life that became a template for many pop groups since, and one that leaves many music scholars and critics asking what made the Beatles so special. Film and the mediation of image are still relevant tools of that process. The images of the Beatles being depicted in each of these films becomes a useful way of decoding and understanding the links between sound and image that are often separated in film studies. McDonald (1998, 187 cited in Dyer 2004) notes that the field has been dominated by a discourse of the visual (a reference to Mulvey’s 1975 essay “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema”) and spectatorship (see Neale 1983; Mayne 1993) in a way that McDonald feels it “suggests that cinema is only a visual pleasure, ignoring the aural effects of film.” Even more recently, Goldmark et al. (2007, 4–​5) point to a conceptual shift in film studies whereby scholars should be considering “films as representing music, not simply as adding music as a supplement to a cinematic representation formed via image or narrative.” Donnelly (2015, 2) articulates this idea even further, arguing, However, analysis can still often spend a great deal of time and effort pulling apart “the music” and “the images,” but we should always remember that the two do not work as the sum of each added together. Instead, the fused elements redouble effects and create new configurations and significations. It might be surprising to think this would have always been a standard approach to studying the role of music in film, especially with a subject like the Beatles, but as their film output has been so neglected, the few books out there on the subject have first focused on establishing the historical and culture position of these artifacts. For instance, only two books to date have examined each of the films as a body of the Beatles’ work. Neaverson’s (1997) The Beatles Movies is the starting point, providing a historical context for their place within British film history. He provides production details and plot lines, and analyzes generic conventions and narrative forms. Frontani’s (2007) The Beatles:  Image and the Media examines image in each film as part of a wider study on how the Beatles’ image was projected in press and publicity materials in the United States. Both are important starting points for this book. Harry (1984) and Carr (1996) both provide overviews of the Beatles on film and television. While these two latter titles lack in-​depth analysis, they do act as historical records of events and include a wealth of stills from the films and behind the scenes photography from on location. A  final category of books focuses solely on individual film titles with A Hard Day’s Night being the most popular (see Rolston 2001;

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Glynn 2005; Morton 2011) and there is one volume on Yellow Submarine (Hieronimus 2002), but none offer a close analysis of the musical sequences in relation to the Beatles’ journey from pop stars to musicians. After image, the next framework that this study is situated around is that of performance codes and authenticity. In order to ensure that “the music” and “the image” are not separated in this research (Donnelly 2015, 2), I will be examining how image was performed in the music sequences, by drawing upon the work of P. David Marshall (1997). Marshall’s study of celebrities outlines how different media employ different “codes”—​ characteristics that audiences have been conditioned to read in certain ways. Throughout the Beatles’ film career, the band manipulated codes associated with the film, television, and music industries. This is significant because undermining established production codes allowed the Beatles to control the way their image was projected to their audience. The Beatles could also control their relationship with the audience as Marshall (1997, x) believes that “the celebrity is a voice above others, a voice that is channeled into the media systems as being legitimately significant.” Film performance became a key part of this communication especially after the Beatles stopped performing live. According to Marshall (1997, 187), “The film star works to create a distance from his or her audience.” By creating that distance, film stars are able to project an idealized image different from their private lives and interests. Film stars typically embody two different realities: their onscreen image and their “supposed ‘real lives’ ” (Marshall 1997, 187). Having an idealized image allows the film star to maintain a consistent and reliable relationship with their audience. In many ways, the idealized image is one that the star’s fans idolize, make a personal connection with, and strive to be like. As a way of differentiating between the two realities, stars use “a number of codes to indicate his or her ultimate independence” (Marshall 1997, 187). How the performer approaches the role, when the performer plays roles different to their usual roles, and the way the performers portray themselves to the public are all ways in which the star can promote autonomy from their screen image. However, this can also be achieved in the ways in which generic film codes are either adhered to or challenged. For instance, A Hard Day’s Night, though billed as a pop musical, was purposefully shot in black and white and filmed primarily on handheld cameras in order to give the film a more realistic, cinema vérité aesthetic. The film’s style is meant to distinguish it from similar pop musicals where the stars played fictional characters acting through a fictional narrative. In this way, film codes are manipulated in a way that does not distance the film’s stars (the Beatles in this case) from the audience, but instead tries to replicate the energy and excitement of a Beatles’ performance on a cinematic level for a global audience. A Hard Day’s Night acts as a re-​presentation and a behind-​the-​ scenes portrayal of what it must have been like to be preparing for the

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first Ed Sullivan Show appearance (February 9, 1964, to an estimated US TV viewing audience of 74 million; see Spitz 2005, 473) or to have been in the audience for that show. However, as this work will show, the Beatles’ second film Help! uses film codes in a way that allows them to comment on how old fashioned the Beatlemania image looks in an opening title sequence that lampoons A Hard Day’s Night and the fanatical behavior of fans. While allowing fans into a fictionalized and at times satirical version of the Beatles’ selves, it also creates a distance to prepare fans for the changes toward the Beatles’ sound, look, and overall approach to music making. Television stars, on the other hand, seek to “break down those distances and to develop a conception of familiarity” (Marshall 1997, 190). Television, in direct opposition to film, established itself as a medium of intimacy where viewers allow newsreaders and reporters, musicians, chat show hosts, reality television stars, and so on into the privacy of their homes. Viewers see the relationship through television as one of trust and in order for viewers to continually tune into a particular broadcast every night or even a character-​driven drama series each week, there are established codes of standards and expectations to adhere to. The Beatles’ entire image had been created out of the familiar—​from being portrayed as ordinary boys next door to reaching out to their audience through the medium of television. Television was used to help the Beatles break into the all-​ important American market with their live appearance in February 1964 on the Ed Sullivan Show, a family-​friendly variety and chat show showcasing popular musical talent, and the Beatles would also make Magical Mystery Tour in 1967 for broadcast on BBC television during the Christmas season when the whole family would be watching around the sole television set in the living room. Magical Mystery Tour had hoped to establish the Beatles as leaders of the new counterculture in which experimentation and creative freedoms would challenge the traditional approaches to art, culture, and critical thinking. I argue that the value of television as a medium to connect large numbers of viewers to the star/​personality/​celebrity is so effective that after a number of failed Hollywood films and unsuccessful albums, Elvis Presley turned to television in 1968 for a comeback special that rejuvenated his career in the final phase of his life. He was even visually “reborn” from his black leather, 1950s greaser look in which he consciously made fun of  his image (the hip shakes and lip snarls), allowing fans to sit close to him and even touch him, to reemerging in the angelic white, sleeve winged, rhinestone glittering jumpsuits for his 1970s swansong. This is why the Beatles’ decision to stop performing live on music television programs like Top of the Pops and Ready Steady Go! (ITV, 1963–​1966, UK) and to instead submit promotional music films to be broadcast, often featuring the Beatles obviously lip syncing and not singing or playing instruments at all, becomes an important turning point in how pop stars are promoted. The

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Beatles challenged this trend in order to further create space between them as pop stars and their fans in order to establish themselves as musicians. The third type of celebrity that Marshall identifies is the pop music celebrity and the performance codes most associated with this celebrity are those centered on live performance. Marshall (1997) believes that in the case of the pop star, concerts are used to emphasize community and to reaffirm the bond between the star and the audience. In order to create a solidarity between the musician and their audience, there are certain codes and signifiers, ways of reading live performance (the elevation of the stage, the direct address to the audience, the opportunity for the audience to sing along), used to make the experience feel as genuine and real as possible. Marshall (1997, 194) uses the example of 1980s pop group New Kids on the Block who were “entirely fabricated and therefore possess no ‘authentic’ value whatsoever.” One could argue that the same could be said of the Beatles’ image especially during Beatlemania. Yet it was elements of the band’s image and their lyrics that were the New Kids’ “legitimate claims to authenticity” (Marshall 1997, 194). The Beatles had similar claims to authenticity in that they wrote their own music, they had a say in their image and what songs would be included on their albums, they had input into how their image was mediated through film and television, and soon after the death of manager Brian Epstein in 1967 they began to manage their own affairs, culminating in the creation of their own record label Apple Corps in 1968. Sometimes the Beatles’ projection of authenticity proved problematic to their role as pop star, especially when the band became less guarded about the answers they were giving to journalists about religion, segregation, war, and drug use. Each of the Beatles’ films comments on, as well as questions, the band’s relationship with the audience through the use of the musical sequence. In the films, the musical sequence at times replicates the ideas of community and solidarity but, upon closer examination, many of these moments include visual elements that subvert that purpose to create “tension between artifice and authenticity” (Marshall 1997, 194). For example, the band might be performing in a cage, on a hill surrounded by the military, or be obscured in shadow with backs to the camera. This approach again harkens back to the layering of meaning in images that Barthes proposes (1977, 1982). The sequences are placed in each of the films as moments of high anticipation. Not only do the sequences reveal a new song, but the sequences also represent the moment of direct communication between the band and their fans. The Beatles utilized these musical sequences to communicate their ideas and beliefs about celebrity and musicianship, and to have that craft be taken seriously, in ways that no other pop musical had done before. Linked to the understanding of performance codes is Janne Mäkelä’s (2004) work on John Lennon, which defines the ways in which musicians during the 1960s were able to move away from the codes of constructed pop stars in order to establish themselves as musicians. Mäkelä (2004,

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238) refers to this idea as that of the “rock auteur” in which the “performer possesses an ‘aura’ of artistry and . . . represents ideals of creativity, uniqueness, self-​expression, independence, and sincerity.” As the Beatles’ film cycle progresses, each of these ideals begins to develop and documents how each member’s individual ‘aura’ emerged. I  would also argue that a key part of this development was influenced by certain social, cultural, and political events that the Beatles were undoubtedly aware of, and had commented upon publicly. The idea of authenticity that I refer to is generally accepted as being connected with the rock musician—​the antidote to the saccharine radio-​friendly pop songs of the early 1960s. Rock musicians emerging in the mid-​1960s, like Pink Floyd and the Doors, created music that extended beyond the requisite three-​minute single, often drawing upon artistic synergy from art school tuition, literature, and psychedelic drugs. The difference between the pop star and the musician, as understood by the trajectory the Beatles took, is a difference between obvious artifice and the attempt to represent the sincere and genuine sentiments of art and music as culturally important and having value. Grossberg (2000, 202) defines the ideology of authenticity as assuming “that authentic rock depends on its ability to articulate private but common desires, feelings and experiences into a shared public language. The consumption of rock constructs or expresses a ‘community.’ ” For the Beatles, film is used to help the transition between Beatlemania and a community of equals sharing equal interests. While the screaming fans were a focal point throughout A Hard Day’s Night, Help! immediately establishes the boundaries as the band’s main female companion is played by Eleanor Bron who was twenty-​seven at the time of filming and sits quietly and in respectful admiration during the “You’ve got to Hide Your Love Away” sequence. This idea of community linked to the band’s evolution into musicians is further reinforced with Magical Mystery Tour in which a coach full of people join the Beatles on their journey around the Devon countryside. Also, Grossberg (2000, 202–​203) highlights another aspect of authenticity, that of “the self-​consciousness of art” in which authenticity is “always constructed through the creativity and skill of the artist.” Womack (2005, 2010) and Everett (1999, 2001) both provide very different approaches to how the Beatles’ music achieved this level of authenticity. Womack focuses on lyrics and themes, arguing that their music contains autobiographical elements representing aspects of the self and selfhood—​a songwriting device that arguably becomes more prevalent as later records such as The Beatles (aka “The White Album, 1968), Abbey Road (1969), and Let It Be (1970) are recorded in stages without the full band present. Everett instead focuses on a musicological study underpinned by a historical context that examines social and cultural influences. Marshall (1997, 161) notes that the 1960s was a period in which “some performers constructed their authenticity around naturalness and the rejection of performance codes.” While both Marshall and Grossberg

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agree that these trends were most commonly found in folk performers, the Beatles’ performance and musical styles in their films clearly signal shifts toward this kind of authenticity in their image and persona to match the evolution in complexity their music was taking. Mäkelä (2004) not only defines authenticity but also breaks the concept down into two categories listing relevant criteria. Mäkelä’s definition of authenticity in the context of the rock musician (or “rock auteur” as he refers to it) informs the approach to authenticity in this book. Mäkelä (2004, 98) states, “authenticity is not ‘natural’ but a cultural construction that is deployed with considerable symbolic force and is constantly used as an argument to justify and legitimate certain forms of music.” In order to move away from the artifice of popular music, the Beatles adopted new codes and symbols in their image and performance style, which can be seen in all of their films and promotional videos after A Hard Day’s Night. It is also interesting that the band’s own authorized fan club magazine the Beatles Book (aka Beatles Monthly) primed fans for the more adult image the Beatles embraced in 1966/​1967 by drawing mustaches onto pictures of the Beatles published in the magazine (see Kirkup 2014). To align themselves with the rock community, both Mäkelä (2004) and Frith and Horne (1987) acknowledge the importance of musicians from the 1960s relying on their education at art schools and colleges after National Service (compulsory military conscription) in Britain was phased out in 1963. This opportunity to study art helped to create a new synergy between art forms and music to enable a complete visual and aural experience. In this way, the function and behavior of community shifted from active participation in the live performance to one of shared “communal experience” (Mäkelä 2004, 99). The difference meant that all played an equal role in the experience rather than adhere to the star/​fan binary. Also, the art school experience allowed musicians to justify music’s place within the art community because musicians were applying theories and ways of thinking associated with traditional forms of art to their music. This is particularly true of John Lennon who studied with Stuart Sutcliffe at the Liverpool College of Art. By 1966, albums being released by pop bands such as the Beach Boys (Pet Sounds) and the Beatles (Revolver) were being regarded as legitimate forms of artistic expression as defined by the constructs of rock authenticity, rather than purely as a commodity. This is also marked by a shift from the pop single to the long-​player album around this time. The criteria that Mäkelä (2004, 97) outlines as part of his definition of the rock auteur are: The ability . . . to break new ground, innovate and cross or blur genre boundaries; the ability to perform their own original material, especially by writing their own songs; the exercising of a measure of control over various facets of the production process; and some sense of personal overarching vision of the music and its relation to the canon.

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The specific examples of how the Beatles achieved the status of rock auteur in both music and film are too numerous to account in this introduction and will instead be highlighted in the analysis of each film. More generally, the Beatles were actively involved with the production of their films and music, had always written their own material from the start of their career as well as carried their vision of musicianship and art through various levels of experimentation. Mäkelä further divides the idea of rock authenticity into two categories: “romantic authenticity” and “modernist authenticity.” Romantic authenticity is categorized as being influenced by “tradition and continuity with the past, a sense of community, sincerity, direct expression and ‘natural’ words.” (97) Output such as Beatles for Sale (1964), Help! (1965), and Rubber Soul (1965) all feature songs that are aligned with romantic authenticity. On the other hand, modernist authenticity is defined as emphasizing “experimentation and progress, the status of the artist, obliqueness and ‘shocking’ sounds” (Mäkelä 2004, 97). Work such as Revolver, “Rain,” and “Strawberry Fields Forever” are more aligned with this concept of authenticity. However, as the Beatles crossed into both categories often at the same time (Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, 1967 and “The White Album” being two examples), I believe it would stray from the main objective of this book to flag up the different instances by using these two terms separately. The final framework to establish for this book is that of genre. Each chapter will focus on genre more specifically as each film uses and challenges the conventions of different genres, though each can be classed as a distinctive genre from the other. For example, A Hard Day’s Night has been categorized as a backstage musical (Glynn 2005, 64), a jukebox musical (Sarris 1970, 161), and a British pop film (Medhurst 1995, 65)  but it, along with the other films, does not adhere to any easily definable genre type. Though each film can be attributed to the tropes of a dominant genre, fans never get a standard, formulaic turn and, just like the uniqueness of each album, the Beatles had moved onto a new style and approach on each subsequent film. Influence and experimentation moved at a fast pace during this time—​ Lester’s decision to shoot A Hard Day’s Night in black and white seemed groundbreaking and authentic amongst the Technicolor of Hollywood musicals. But in less than a year, when Gerry and the Pacemakers starred in Ferry Cross the Mersey (dir. Jeremy Summers, 1965) and the Dave Clark Five released their feature-​length effort Catch Us if You Can (aka Having a Wild Weekend, dir. John Boorman, 1965), the black-​and-​white, pseudo-​ documentary style already looked dated and neither film achieved the box office success of their predecessor. While Altman (1989), Mundy (1999), and Romney and Wootton (1995) offer definitions and discussions of a range of subgenres and types within the film musical, Neale (2001, 105) calls it for what it is: “The musical has always been a mongrel genre.” He continues by explaining, “In varying measures and combinations, music, song, and dance

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have been its only essential ingredients” (105). To some extent the form and use of music in the Beatles’ films is more aligned with the integrated musicals of the 1950s. Films such as Vincente Minnelli’s post–​Second World War An American in Paris (1951) and Fred Zinnemann’s screen adaptation of Oklahoma! (1955) began to use choreography in non-​musical number scenes, as well as began to break down the utopian, burst-​into-​song musical sequences and spectacles characteristic of 1930s musicals and revived in the early pop musicals starring Tommy Steele or Cliff Richard. It is worth establishing a historical context for the Beatles’ films and for film musicals in general. Jackie Stacey looks at the place of female film stars in 1940s and 1950s Britain in terms of women’s memories of wartime and postwar Britain. She focuses on escapism, identification, and consumption and this relates to the popularity of the Beatles films with the female audience. Mulvey states, “The magic of the Hollywood style at its best . . . arose, not exclusively, but in one important aspect, from its skilled and satisfying manipulation of visual pleasure” (1975, 8). This can clearly be related to wartime and postwar austerity and a desire for escapism. While musicals were a great favourite of those Stacey interviewed, it was not so much the music but rather the appearance of the female stars and the storylines that were central to her study. Appearance, particularly clothing, were becoming increasingly important to a more affluent, independent young generation in the 1960s and groups such as The Beatles led the way in young peoples’ fashion and, particularly, the transformation of male fashion to a vibrant, expressive and colourful scene that culminated in the group’s look (kaftans) for the Magical Mystery Tour. Jane Feuer focuses more on the musical as a genre and provides a visually centred analysis that identifies the Hollywood musical as being unique among genres because it “is not so much that its heyday neatly coincides with the studio years, but rather that its reflexive capability rendered it that genre whose explicit function was to glorify American entertainment while at the same time being itself a form of entertainment” (1982, 90). Carol Vernallis examines the aesthetics and cultural context of music videos and states, “Music-​video image gains from holding back information, confronting the viewer with ambiguous or unclear depictions—​if there is a story, it exists only in the dynamic relation between the song and the image as they unfold in time” (2004, 4). She highlights the differences between music videos and classic Hollywood, saying, “Music videos often lack essential ingredients—​ place names, meeting times, a link to both past and present, and fully realized protagonists and villains, they cannot be described as possessing a classical Hollywood film narrative” (2004, 15). She considers music videos as a distinct genre with their own visual codes. The interaction of the elements that contribute to the music video are explored and she provides close analysis of some acknowledged important videos within the genre. A Beatles film can be considered a collection of music videos with traditional Hollywood musical style woven into them.

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With the coming of age of the post–​Second World War baby boomer generation and the emergence of rock ’n’ roll in the mid-​1950s, Hollywood began to realize the potential for financial gain by catering films to this new demographic of teenagers who had leisure time and the disposable income to spare. Doherty (2002, 2) cites “the rise of television and the collapse of the old studio system” as factors that helped to break down the traditional familial unit that films had previously targeted in the 1930s and 1940s. With these interconnected technological and social developments, the film industry began to “narrow their focus and attract one group with the requisite income, leisure, and gregariousness to sustain a theatrical business” (Doherty 2002, 2). What emerged were inexpensive pictures made within the studio system that exploited or “capitalized on” the interests of youths, in particular teenagers (Doherty 2002, 6). However, because these films were made by adults who were often much older than the oldest of their target audience, the films tended to rely on stereotypes of youth culture, creating a binary representation. As Shary (2002, 5)  notes “Films were made that avoided or toned down the dilemmas of youth for the sake of celebrating its carefree aspects, or films were made to further exploit and enflame the dangers of teen delinquency and decadence.” Examples of the “clean teen pics” included two vehicles for 23-​year-​old crooner Pat Boone, Bernardine and April Love (both directed by Henry Levin, 1957), the Gidget series (Paul Wendkos, 1959), and Frankie Avalon and Annette Funicello’s Beach Party (William Asher, 1963), which also generated a number of sequels. These films also avoided “adult” issues such as premarital sex and pregnancy, drug use, violence, rebellious and insubordinate behavior, and so on. Films stereotypically depicting youths as delinquents included Blackboard Jungle (Richard Brooks, 1955) and Rebel without a Cause (Nicholas Ray, 1955). Notably Blackboard Jungle, with its use of Bill Haley and the Comets’ hit single “Rock around the Clock,” became a key turning point in the shift from teen pics to the pop musical with the relatively brief cycle of late 1950s films to heavily feature rock ’n’ roll music. Two of the first in this rock ’n’ roll cycle featured Bill Haley and the Comets along with American DJ Alan Freed who was instrumental in promoting rock ’n’ roll music during his radio shows. Rock around the Clock and Don’t Knock the Rock, both directed by Fred F. Sears in 1956 demonstrate the film industry’s quickness in capitalizing on Haley’s unexpected success and exaggerated scenes of youthful fervor and delinquency that his band’s music provoked. This cycle of films also established a set of generic conventions that quickly became a template for the series of Tommy Steele, Elvis Presley, and Cliff Richard pop musicals that dominated the cinema screens on both sides of the Atlantic in the late 1950s and early 1960s. These films more often than not focused on a fictional story leading to a finale where the star, sometimes with accompanying musical guests, performed at a “live” concert. There were often obstacles along the way to the final musical

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performance, such as misunderstandings with a love interest, adults who felt rock music was the undoing of morality, or even the authorities getting involved. Throughout the narrative, the films would also feature musical moments where the pop star would sing in a natural setting like a café or recording studio, or would sing as an opportunity to break from the troubles of the narrative, creating a brief utopian moment of respite (Dyer 2002; Altman 1981), or to “reconcile tensions and dichotomies,” often emphasizing white-​ centric heteronormative depictions on love and life (Mundy 1999, 63). Specifically, Mundy (1999, 56)  draws upon Altman’s (1989) work to explain that the classical Hollywood musical was reliant upon a series of dichotomies—​“dualities, of contradictions and oppositions, which, within the text, needed to be recognized, commented upon, and resolved.” Mundy notes that these arising problems or issues were commonly addressed and resolved in the musical sequence. He goes on further to point out that the conventional narration typically featuring spoken dialogue was where the “real” was placed, while the musical sequences where dialogue and lyrics are sung represent the idealized, potential solutions being considered outside “reality” (57). Despite some of the storylines’ attempts at addressing the value of rock ’n’ roll to young people, these films still maintained a clear division of good versus bad representation of youth, who were either portrayed as misunderstood rebels like the characters Elvis Presley portrayed in his films, or were obedient, well-​behaved, and hardworking like those portrayed by Cliff Richard. The characters played by pop stars like Presley and Richard never advanced past their respective stereotypes. Even the subject matter was contrived and patronizing toward their target audience of young adults. Of The Young Ones (Sidney J. Furie, 1961), for example, Neaverson (1997, 20)  argues that the film followed the typical musical format of being a “simple-​minded [tale] in which a fictitious conflict between youth and age is resolved by mutual understanding and co-​operation.” The production and postproduction of the genre was also quite simplistic, utilizing filming and editing conventions from classical Hollywood cinema. For instance, in Presley’s Jailhouse Rock (Richard Thorpe, 1958), his character Vince Everett is in the studio recording “Treat Me Nice” with his band. In the two-​minute musical sequence, there are only two shots and both are stationary; there is a wide angle establishing shot of Presley and the band, which occasionally cuts to a medium close-​up of Presley and then back to the wide shot. While the shots do cut on the beat of the music, the editing and the music bear no relationship to each other—​Presley is not looking at the camera/​audience, there are no extreme close-​ups to fully fetishize Presley’s image, there is no camera movement to reflect the up tempo, syncopated feel of the song. By not marrying the visuals to the music more closely, the sequence lacks the energy and excitement of being invited into this private, intimate space that fans are often not privileged to see.

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These early pop star vehicles soon became formulaic, lacking the imagination and risk taking required to move them away from traditional generic conventions and storylines more closely associated with classical Hollywood. While it may be a step too far to claim the Beatles’ films were wholly different or unique from previous Hollywood musicals and pop musicals, the films arguably became an important progression in the development of the genre, similar to the developments being driven in popular music by the influence and experimentation of each new Beatles record. Each of their films that followed progressively experimented with different genre types and conventions, from cinema vérité and fly-​on-​the-​ wall documentary to animation and the avant-​garde to reinforce their ever-​ evolving image and musical styles heavily influenced by the diverse social, political, and cultural landscape of the 1960s. Mundy (1999) and Donnelly (2015) are both quick to underline key differences that helped to move the genre of the film musical forward. It is because of Lester’s experience in directing advertisements, working with surreal artists, and the influence of British and French new wave cinematic movements that his work with the Beatles was able to “[break] new ground in rejecting the conventional format of pop musicals” (Mundy 1999, 171). This decision arguably only worked because it was an agreed and shared vision with the films’ stars—​ as Lennon was quoted as saying, “We weren’t interested in being stuck in one of those typical nobody-​understands-​our-​music plots where the local dignitaries are trying to ban something as terrible as the Saturday Night Hop” (Carr 1996, 30). Donnelly (2015, 22) notes that crucially, through the use of generic hybridization, the Beatles’ films, and A Hard Day’s Night in particular, set both the “standards of quality [and] the means by which pop music and groups could be represented in cinema.” The musical numbers in A Hard Day’s Night and Help! do introduce characters and at times help to move the plot forward. Across each of their films, performed music is used non-​diegetically, as a set piece, and as instrumental interludes to images unrelated to the narrative. The musical sequences can be used to understand how the music is used to create meaning and represent identity, as well as further explore themes of the self and identity used in the band’s lyrics. As Womack (2010, 262) notes, the whole of the Beatles’ output represents “the very act of life-​writing itself:  by authoring the text of their lives via their music . . ., the Beatles engaged in a self-​conscious effort to tell their own stories about the inherent difficulties that come with growing up and growing older.” The process Womack goes on to describe is a very complex one of recollections, reflecting, and critical evaluation that eventually leads to greater self-​awareness and self-​understanding to the question of “Who am I?” It is a question we see the Beatles continually grapple with as they transition into musicians and individuals. Despite the rise in popularity of the pop musical by pop stars’ management, film companies, and fans, the form and style of how popular music was used

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in the pop musical’s narrative structure was very similar to the musicals of the 1930s and 1940s and thematically out of step with the social and political changes within the youth culture’s increased focus on identity and individuality. This was a culture that the Beatles were very much part of and they came to be seen as leaders of the youth movement as they used music, film, and other media to increasingly voice their opinions on their celebrity status, drugs, civil rights, and religion. The Beatles’ films represent the progressing ideologies toward the youth culture and the new meritocratic mobility for the working and lower middle classes. The demographic of young adults in their late teens to mid-​20s even began to be studied and understood in different ways than the generations before them. For example, research conducted in the 1960s started to examine the “changing attitudes and ‘pathologies’ ” of youths, rather than focus solely on behavioral patterns and motivations (Shary 2002, 20). What the research uncovered was that, as these youths matured, they “began to have a different sense of their identity,” one that consciously questioned and evaluated “previously repressed or diffused class, gender, and race conflicts” (Shary 2002, 6). This demographic had begun to cultivate their own interests in media and cultural objects that differed from that of their parents and the establishment figures in positions of power. In their role as both consumers and producers, the youth culture began to influence the types of goods and styles that were offered in the marketplace, while their belief in the individual and the individual’s needs helped to influence what social and political issues were addressed and debated by elected officials in government (Marwick 1998, 17–​20). The band, who were all under the age of twenty-​five by the time their first two films were produced, used their celebrity status and influence to voice their opinions on such contentious issues despite Epstein’s “traditional notion of entertainment” where the Beatles were marketed to be “wholesome,” avoiding controversy by “keep[ing] their opinions to themselves” (Frontani 2007, 11). For example, A Hard Day’s Night uses the Beatles’ cheeky humor to make gentle comments about class, sectarianism, and sexual awareness of the opposite sex, while Help! references drug taking, orientalism (see Edward Said 1978), and the competencies of the British establishment. While these examples are presented light heartedly, it is also worth noting that the Beatles had been courted early on by Labour Party leader Harold Wilson during the 1964 general election campaign in which Wilson would win to become prime minister. Though Wilson won with a narrow majority, he, then aged forty-​eight, clearly saw the connection the Beatles had with a demographic he was trying to reach out to. Another example of the Beatles’ influence as members of this newly emerging youth culture is a central theme in Howard’s The Touring Years. The film, the early press reviews, and promotional interviews with Howard and McCartney center around the Beatles’ near nonperformance at the Gator Bowl in Jacksonville, Florida on September 11, 1964. McCartney, then only twenty-​two, vocalized his

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objection to playing for a segregated audience while speaking to the press, going as far as to say, with support from the rest of the band, that they would not perform where audiences were segregated. This clause even became written into their contracts for future live appearances. These are just a handful of instances in which the Beatles used their work and their position in the spotlight to publicly raise the issues that the youth culture was beginning to question.

Chapter summaries A Hard Day’s Night begins with a train journey to London from what is assumed to be Liverpool. From an industrial north that holds few prospects for young adults to a mythologized, “Swinging London” south, this journey motif parallels the band’s own journey from pop stars to musicians. In the first chapter, I will discuss how the film undermines the narrative/​musical number relationship, arguing that the tensions caused formally relate to the theme of entrapment that the Beatles explore even at this early stage of their stardom. While Dyer (2002) presents the idea of the number being a utopian moment where the audience is able to escape along with the stars from the conflicts of the narrative, the musical numbers in A Hard Day’s Night work on two registers—​one that provides escape through music while fetishizing the celebrity image of the band, and one that visually reinforces the unglamorous and ironic commentary on celebrity. Using Marshall’s (1997) performance codes in relation to live music, this chapter gives a detailed textual analysis of Lester’s directional style and approach to the musical performances work to create a greater sense of authenticity and community. Through the film’s use of handheld camera, the role of the audience is changed to one of inclusion rather than passive viewing, updating the backstage musical as a pseudo-​documentary. Lester’s approach offers a refreshing alternative to the codes and conventions of classical Hollywood to create a film that represents the antiestablishment sentiments and rebelliousness emerging in the early 1960s. The analysis in this chapter not only establishes a context for the Beatles’ film career but also demonstrates how A Hard Day’s Night complicated the conventions of the pop musical, giving bands and directors new formulas for presenting popular music and images still influencing that relationship in contemporary film musicals. Feeling that the high demand for public appearances was having an adverse affect on their musical skills, the Beatles used their second film Help! as a way of adopting performance codes more closely associated with film stars. Chapter 2 focuses on how the music performance sequences in this film avoid the opportunity for a shared, communal experience between the band and the audience. Lester’s style, the locations used, and the fictional

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plot with a conventional narrative structure help to create distance between the Beatles and the iconography associated with Beatlemania and their pop star image. This film can be seen as a transition where the recording studio and the process of recording music are foreground over live performance. Away from conventional live performances and locations associated with live performance, Harrison, Lennon, and McCartney are each given a platform for showcasing the emergence of an individual musical style. Lester also experiments with visual effects and surrealist inserts to represent cinema, like the Beatles music, as becoming an increasingly artistic medium. Chapter  3 focuses on how Magical Mystery Tour was used as the culmination of the Beatles’ artistic and pop music synergy. This made-​for-​ television film was unusual in that it was produced and directed by the Beatles themselves. As further proof of their autonomy, the band had a high level of input on casting and the final edit, and they also financed the film through their newly created Apple Corps company. The Beatles used the medium of television and the conventions of experimental film to reach a mainstream audience in the hopes of challenging their role as pop stars. Magical Mystery Tour is the culmination of the Beatles’ interests in the counterculture in which they arguably use the film to position themselves as new leaders of the counterculture for mainstream fans. The film also reinforces some of the more controversial, nontraditional views on culture and social norms that Lennon and McCartney were candidly discussing in interviews. The chapter also considers the intended outcomes and reception of the televised film, questioning whether or not the Beatles had too much control over their output. I  will introduce the idea of image perception as a framework for understanding the creative turns the Beatles took in their artistic approaches to their output. Image perception is an argument developed by Aldred (2005) to explain the tendencies of people to manipulate and question image during the psychedelic movement of the late 1960s. Arguably, image becomes acknowledged as a performance and is a fluid rather than a fixed concept. This is a turning point where the Beatles’ films and promotional videos were consciously moving away from depicting their earlier manufactured pop image and became concerned with portraying the “real” Beatles—​that is, “presenting an image more consistent with the Beatles’ perception of themselves” (Frontani 2007, 16). This more authentic image came through not only visually, but also in the more introspective and nostalgic lyrics of “Penny Lane” and “Strawberry Fields Forever.” At the center of this chapter is the argument that the Beatles’ popularity with mainstream fans and critics problematized the band’s efforts to promote their utopian vision in Magical Mystery Tour. Despite being made with the least amount of input from the Beatles, Yellow Submarine was arguably the most successful of their films in creating visual manifestations of the Beatles’ music. Chapter  4 considers the role of the film’s experimental style that still manages to retain the traditional

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narrative/​ musical number relationship. Arguably, this more familiar structure and the use of animation actually allowed the animators greater freedom in creating the film’s distinctive visual style and in presenting the more countercultural/​psychedelic themes and motifs. Yellow Submarine was the result of numerous experimental techniques employed by the animation team who purposefully worked against the traditional stylistic conventions made popular by Walt Disney Studios. Such techniques to be used include introducing mainstream audiences to a combination of rotoscoping, cut outs, Pop Art, Op Art, live action, and graphic design. At the heart of the film is the journey from working-​class Liverpool, grey and sooty, to the utopian vision that is Pepperland—​a full color experience where music is used to conquer evil, paralleling the Beatles’ own journey from humble beginnings to leaders of the youth culture. Analysis of the music sequences shows how the animators were able to create a timeless myth that encompassed how the Beatles wanted to be seen. With the focus taken away from the Beatles’ iconic image, the band’s music could be featured on its own as a work of art. After a restoration and re-​release in 1999, the film went on to attract a new, younger audience and reconnect with the first generation of Beatles’ fans. Chapter 5 brings the Beatles’ film career full circle with the observational documentary Let It Be. As a documentary, Let It Be was meant to be an intimate insight into the real Beatles and their processes as songwriters, musicians, and performers. However, in trying to document the real, Let It Be ends up being as contrived and fictionalized as A Hard Day’s Night. One thing is clearly portrayed, however—​this is a band of musicians who have developed such individual tastes and styles that the Beatles as a unit can no longer function. This chapter takes the approach of examining the Beatles’ role as social actors and how a guarded awareness of the filming process started to highlight cracks within the well-​constructed Beatles’ myth. The final live performance provides an interesting comment on the effects of manipulated codes of the concert to such an extreme that passers-​by are attracted only by the unusual nature of the event rather than the stars and the event itself. The onlookers in the street below are asked for their opinion on the performance and, while the majority of views are positive, they are delivered with a politeness and complacency that differs greatly from the mass hysteria of their first film. Let It Be encapsulates a period of time when films documented the audience’s role within the live performance and as part of a band’s star power. These films included The Rolling Stones Rock ’n’ Roll Circus (dir. Michael Lindsay-​Hogg, filmed in 1968, released in 1996), Woodstock (dir. Michael Wadleigh, 1970), Gimme Shelter (dirs. Albert and David Maysles, 1970), The Song Remains the Same (dirs. Peter Clifton and Joe Massot, 1976), and The Last Waltz (dir. Martin Scorsese, 1978). In each film the audience is situated in ways that question or confirm their role in live performance that goes beyond simply affirming their solidarity

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with the musicians. In Rock ’n’ Roll Circus, as one example, the audience and the performers are on an equal level as the stars sit in the audience among the ordinary guests, blurring the established demarcations of the star/​fan relationship. This is in contrast to Let It Be, where the Beatles try to undermine the audience’s importance by creating a vast distance between them. By rejecting the symbolism of live performance codes, the audience is unable to visually and physically connect and communicate with the Beatles in any direct way, resulting in a blasé response about the impromptu concert. Finally, this book concludes with a discussion of The Touring Years as the missing link between Help! and Magical Mystery Tour. The film explores the Beatles’ role in reaffirming some of the mythologized reminiscing of these extreme moments of fandom as well as some of the more controversial moments the Beatles encountered such as performing at Japan’s famous Budokan arena, Lennon’s published statements on religion and the backlash particularly in the southern states of America that ensued, and the critical reception they were beginning to experience at press conferences. The film also provides new insight into the Beatles’ concerns about the segregation of audiences still happening in America and how they were able to play a small but important part in the civil rights movement through the power afforded by their celebrity. Howard’s documentary allows McCartney and Starr to speak on what was happening during this period of time for the band in more candid way then they previously had, while still working within the official narrative of the Beatles’ story. Juxtaposed with this is a fan discourse around nostalgia and how the Beatles as a cultural phenomenon provided an antidote to the increasingly complex social and political landscape of 1960s America and Britain. It also raises a discussion about the function of a pop star’s image in attracting fans and the role of live performance/​ touring in music industries’ promotional strategies. These are still key discourses within popular music culture and some of the differences between the approaches taken by the Beatles and those taken by pop artists today will be discussed.

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1 A Hard Day’s Night: Beatlemania hits the big screen

Writing for the Village Voice on August 27, 1964, film critic Andrew Sarris made a bold comparison between a faddish pop musical and one of the great Hollywood classics by calling A Hard Day’s Night “the Citizen Kane of jukebox musicals.” (Sarris 1970, 161)  He also used adjectives such as “brilliant,” “diverse,” and “studied” to describe the Beatles’ first pop film. Citizen Kane is of course best known for Orson Welles’s talents as a director and actor, a film made at the pinnacle of his career, using groundbreaking techniques and mesmerizing aesthetics. On the other hand, A Hard Day’s Night was produced quickly and on a low budget in order to fully exploit the Beatles’ talents before they had become the next passing fad. Though trying to ignore Beatlemania for as long as possible, Sarris could not deny the unusual nature of the film. The story of how A Hard Day’s Night came to be is the same as that of countless other rock ’n’ roll, pop musicals that preceded it. Producer Walter Shenson approached Brian Epstein in October 1963 with a three-​picture deal that would give United Artists the right to distribute the films and give the film company ownership of the original soundtrack rights. In return, the Beatles would receive large scale exposure in Europe and in the much-​coveted American market, as well as 25  percent of each film’s revenue. Arguably, Epstein’s mistake was in grossly underestimating the Beatles’ worth as he initially only asked for a 7.5  percent share in the deal (Ingham 2003, 193). Having seen the high turnovers Paramount and American International Pictures (AIP) made from the pop musicals starring Elvis Presley and Cliff Richard, United Artists were determined to secure a contract with the Beatles. By 1964, the Beatlemania craze was fully established in both Britain and America and there was already speculation as to how much longer the Beatles’ chart-​ topping success could last, especially as the band had already been recording and working professionally under contract with Parlaphone since 1962.

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Many writers have acknowledged A Hard Day’s Night as being innovative and as having contributed to the development of the pop musical. Donnelly (2001, 18, 19) argues that the film “rethought the possibilities for a film featuring pop music” and that it was not just “a simple vehicle for the group.” Similarly, Agajanian (2000, 96)  notes that A Hard Day’s Night “has been recognized as one of the first artistic pop musicals.” Reference has already been made to Medhurst’s (1995) deliberate exclusion of A Hard Day’s Night in his essay on the sixties pop musical, outlining a thesis to examine the “less celebrated mid-​60s films which sought out various solutions to the continuing dilemma of how to put British pop on film” (65). Yet, he ironically concludes that any pop musical to ignore A Hard Day’s Night’s successful innovations were actually quite stale and contrived. As outlined in the introduction, previous authors have focused on a basic analysis of genre and themes, but this chapter will consider the film’s reworking of the classical musical and how, through an analysis of the musical sequences, tension is created between the intimacy afforded between star and audience and the restrictive nature of stardom. Drawing upon Dyer (2002) and Sutton’s (1981) work on patterns of meaning in the musical help to gain a better understanding of how the musical sequences function in relation to the narrative to create a point of comparison from the classically inspired teen musicals. Dyer (2002, 20)  argues that at the heart of entertainment is the depiction of utopianism and that entertainment “offers the image of ‘something better’ to escape into, or something we want deeply that our day-​to-​day lives don’t provide.” For the Beatles’ audience, 1964 marked a turning point of new social mobility based on a person’s talents and creativity, rather than their position within the class structure. Marwick (1996; 1998) refers to this in his work as “meritocracy.” This is not to suggest that this new mobility was enjoyed by all or that it was instantaneous. There were still middle-​and upper-​class white men running companies within the media industries, exploiting their newfound talent. But the potential was there as part of the new optimism of the age, and television news and magazines began to report on musicians and other pop culture figures in ways that were once reserved only for the great Hollywood actors, royalty, and political figures, as stardom gave way to celebrity. In examining how the Hollywood musicals “promote an idealized ‘utopian’ view of life,” Dyer (cited in Babington and Evans 1985, 3) has studied the representational (character, themes, etc.) and the nonrepresentational (style, music and dance patterns). Applying Dyer’s scholarship to my analysis of A Hard Day’s Night has unraveled contradictions and complexities that do not fit neatly in his definitions. The function of the musical number can vary—​Dyer (ibid., 3)  argues that the number contains feelings of energy, abundance, transparency, community, and intensity. Similarly Babington and Evans (1985, 15) argue that the numbers are where “the most intense

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meanings are registered.” In the case of A Hard Day’s Night, the film works on two levels—​as a backstage pop musical that allows fans into a fictionalized recreation of pop stardom and as a self-​referential take on the subgenre that undermines traditional conventions, questioning the glamorized ideals of stardom that the audience brings to their reading and enjoyment of the film. While the film’s musical sequences provide the moments of close proximity and intimacy for the viewing audience, these are not moments of escape into some utopia for the band. Traditionally, classical Hollywood musicals used a structure that allowed for the narrative and the numbers to be integrated in a way that presents “tension between the real and the ideal,” with the real being represented by the narrative and the ideal depicted in the numbers (Mundy 1999, 56–​57). Another way the film differs from classical musicals is in how the latter used the numbers to communicate a lot of information or quickly push the plot forward, and Kislan (1980, 231)  uses the dance numbers in West Side Story (dirs. Jerome Robbins and Robert Wise, 1961) as an example of this. Neaverson (1997, 17), however, has noted that A Hard Day’s Night instead, embraces sequences which do nothing to advance the plot, and the group often seems merely to “exist” within a series of episodic situations rather than to act as highly motivated, goal-​orientated protagonists. However, the mixture of locations, film styles, and the way the fans are depicted, all create underlying tension of entrapment reflected in both the narrative and numbers. Mundy (1999, 57) notes how those performing in the numbers of traditional musicals often use a direct mode of address in order to “implicate [the viewer] in a space where the ideal appears to triumph over the real.” But a closer reading of the musical sequences in A Hard Day’s Night shows that it is not the Beatles who are addressing the viewer in this way. Instead, the stylistic codes associated with live performance and television creates the sense of direct address to the viewers’ experience, to show that they too are part of the Beatles’ story rather than just passive viewers. A  high level of inclusion is also reflected in Lester’s reliance on cinema vérité techniques. Most young fans would have read the close-​ups of the Beatles as intimate and exclusive moments in which to fetishize their idols. While the film does operate on that level, by taking into account all the other signs of confinement the theme of being trapped by stardom becomes starkly apparent. Unusually, the film begins with the Beatles already at the height of their success. Performing music and playing in a band to achieve fame was a crucial theme to the teen musicals of the 1950s and early 1960s. Such films depicted the struggles endured on the road to stardom but the Beatles’ film begins with that goal already achieved. It is not a rags-​to-​riches story, nor does it depict the plight of a teen trying to defy the order of the establishment,

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and there are no real conflicts or crises to overcome. For fans that feel an allegiance to a particular Beatle, each gets their moment to perform original compositions and these musical sequences work to emphasize the audience/​ fan’s role within Beatlemania as part of the band’s success. Most of the research on Lester’s style as a director makes the point of noting that despite not being a cinephile, Lester’s practical approaches to filmmaking were very similar to the techniques made popular by French New Wave directors such as Jean-​Luc Godard and François Truffaut. Adding to Lester’s style was an interest in jazz music that naturally made him aware of rhythm and pacing. In this way, Lester shows awareness throughout of the duality of the Beatles’ fame by reinforcing that theme of the story with his visual style. By using these unconventional techniques, A Hard Day’s Night is not only aesthetically separated from classical and pop musicals but it also gives an alternative to the restrictive, production-​line approach of Hollywood cinema. Paralleling the rigid structure of Hollywood was the “Tradition of Quality” in France. New Wave filmmakers found such cinema to be “old fashioned,” arguing that French cinema was the work of “skilled craftsmen—​not inspired by artists . . . who put their very souls into their work” (Greene 2007, 8–​9). The early New Wave of filmmakers, along with Lester, favored location filming, made possible by the new technological developments in handheld cameras as well as nonprofessional actors to symbolize their departure from carefully constructed artifice. In this way, these new filmmakers created films that upheld “the notion of truth(s),” not only through production techniques and the developing idea of the filmmaker as auteur, but also through “the need to draw close [. . .] to reality itself” (Greene 2007, 9). Lester draws upon this idea throughout the film and that sense of realism in his approach appealed to the Beatles too. The other technique that communicates a sense of realism is the use of television performance codes and the ways in which Lester highlights the mechanisms of television production throughout the film. The live show at the end is presented under the premise that it is being televised and the theater that the Beatles perform in has a television gallery space and a stage area that can accommodate television studio cameras. The viewing audience sees the Beatles performing from the gallery, on the on-​ set monitors, and even through the viewfinder of a stationary camera. Television was “the newly dominant and dexterous medium” that helped to “universalize” the Beatles’ image and performance style (Glynn 2005, 65). Television provided an immediate source of entertainment and information that could be updated and broadcast more quickly than the newsreels in the cinema. Jacobs (2000, 117)  argues that television quickly emerged as a medium that could draw on theatrical and cinematic styles to create an experience that was both intimate and expansive—​a tradition that television dramas and popular quality programming still

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achieves today (see also, Nelson 2007; Weissmann 2012). Also, actors had to be aware of the multiple cameras filming their every move during live broadcasts. Specifically, actors “needed to be aware of when and where aspects of their performance were being covered:  Is my face in close up now? Where do I  turn next?” (Jacobs 2000, 117). Also the initial pop performances on television were broadcast live, giving the viewer a sense of exclusivity and closeness they might not otherwise experience at an actual gig whereas, in the case of the Beatles, US stadium performances had the band situated in the middle of the playing field while the audience was some distance away in the stands. Marwick (1998, 73)  notes how television programs targeted toward the youth culture were “integral [to the] rock/​pop based youth subculture” and it was also the primary medium that the Beatles were promoted through. Between 1963 and 1965, they regularly appeared on music shows such as Top of the Pops, Thank Your Lucky Stars, and Ready, Steady, Go! and had record breaking appearances on The Ed Sullivan Show and Sunday Night at the London Palladium (see also Lewisohn 2004; Pieper and Path 2005). Even when the Beatles stopped performing live, Top of the Pops used their promotional music film performances regularly. I would argue that the reason Lester avoided traditional film codes, opting instead for “authentic” musical performances and television codes, was because conventional film form worked to distance the audience from the film star. The idea is that film stars act in order to build “the artifice of becoming the person one was playing” (Marshall 1997, 80). Since as early as the 1920s, the film industry worked hard to “protect the image the star conveyed to the public” (81). This control over a star’s image would naturally make fans want to know more about who the star really was in order to create those connections of investment and ownership associated with fandom and fan practices. Television, on the other hand, is a medium that resides in the intimate spaces of a person’s home. This sense of intimacy was exploited by television in order to give the illusion that “the hidden world of the stars” would be exposed in the more informal and “authentic” atmosphere of live television (Marshall 1997, 125). So rather than sharing the viewing experience with a cinema full of people in a darkened room, a live television performance created the sense that the performance was a personal one for the lone viewer or the nuclear family watching together of an evening. Marshall (1997, 119)  makes the point that the “television celebrity embodies the characteristics of familiarity and mass acceptability.” Such characteristics were an integral part of the design of their image and to their success at being accepted by the target audience and their parents. Since the Beatles were not trained actors and since they were not experienced in acting for film, Lester’s decision to focus much of the film’s action around what they were familiar with, performing

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live and on television, allowed the director to elicit a more continuous and natural performance from the band and enabled the audience a sense of community and a more realistic, behind-​the-​scenes experience than previous pop musicals. By complicating the traditional musical formula in these ways, Lester also complicates the narrative/​number opposition that Sutton proposes. Sutton (1981, 191)  considers the musicals in which the number appears “ ‘naturally’ as part of the plot,” as it does in A Hard Day’s Night, as the numbers either take place during the band’s free time or as part of the show’s rehearsal. But Sutton also argues that the musical sequences provide the viewer with “a feeling of energy, freedom, and optimism,” while the  narrative creates “a sense of inhibition and repression” (191). This separation of narrative and number functionality simply does not happen in A Hard Day’s Night. Until the climactic musical sequence of “Can’t Buy Me Love,” the numbers visually reflect repression and confinement. This again reflects the duality of meaning conveyed in the musical sequences as the viewing audience might experience a sense of intimacy in the use of extreme close-​ups and a lack of on-​screen fans, but for the Beatles, movement is restricted in the performance spaces and the close-​ups could be read as intrusive. Entrapment is not just depicted in physical spaces, but is also caused by the band’s class and age. As youths, the Beatles continually stand up against and defy symbols of authority, but as famous pop stars they are allowed into both discotheques and exclusive gentlemen’s gambling clubs. None of the establishment figures in the film, however, actually pose any real threat as they are presented as being comical caricatures (the gentleman on the train, “I fought the war for your sort”) or as being misunderstood (the police who just want to protect Ringo and Grandfather from being hurt). The narratives of Jailhouse Rock or The Young Ones (dir. Sidney J. Furie, 1961), however, thrive on the conflict within the social hierarchy to drive the narrative. Presley turns to music to escape the social prejudices his character experiences as the result of the jail time he served. Similarly, The Young Ones places the squeaky-​clean teens against a corrupt and selfish establishment figure. In both films, the music sequences clearly act as emotional outlets both for the characters who voice their frustrations and for those who use the number as a call to action. On the other hand, the Beatles are presented as the three-​ dimensional personalities their fans would have recognized from their television appearances and press interviews, whose wit and humor are as much of a desired spectacle as their musical performances. The narrative works to highlight the individuality of the band, just as the musical sequences do, but the narrative also works to stress the group’s unity, just as the musical sequences do. Arguably, it is the tension created within the number (rather than between the number and the narrative) that sets the A Hard Day’s Night apart from previous musicals.

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Context and musical sequence analysis The film’s story, written by Alun Owen, is presented as a typical day in the life of the Fab Four. From the opening moments, the viewing audience witnesses the fan hysteria and the nonstop engagements that fill the Beatles’ schedules to the point that they do not even have time to take a bite of their sandwiches. The Beatles run to the train station in another town to board a train to London, accompanied by their manager Norm, his assistant Shake, and Paul’s (fictional) grandfather. After giving the crowd of screaming girls the slip at the station, a car takes them to the hotel where their time is dominated by answering sacks of fan mail, appearing at a press conference, and rehearsing for a live, televised concert before boarding a helicopter to Wolverhampton in the West Midlands to do it all over again. The literal journey that the film portrays suggests that rather than living a luxurious lifestyle in Los Angeles, as Presley’s character does in Jailhouse Rock, “the boys” remain humble, hardworking young men who stay true to their roots and work ethic. The journey motif is presented as a more realistic and natural progression. The film does not begin with a pre-​credit sequence to introduce the characters and the dilemma of the film. Instead, it begins with a black screen with the title and name of the film’s collective stars superimposed in white. After a moment of silence, the familiar ametrical G seventh suspended fourth chord of “A Hard Day’s Night” reverberates through the speakers. The first glimpse of the Beatles is that of the band rushing toward the camera down a narrow street and being chased by a mob of faceless fans. It is not so much an introduction to Beatlemania as it is a recreation of actual scenes that materialized when the Beatles appeared anywhere in public in 1964. The use of such an upbeat number to open the film not only establishes a sense of utopianism, setting the tone for the rest of the film, but it is also a logical choice. “A Hard Day’s Night” was released as a single and as part of the soundtrack album on July 10, 1964, four days after the film’s London premiere. The song was performed on Top of the Pops on July 8. So rather than save the title track for a climactic number later in the film, “A Hard Day’s Night” immediately gives the fans something that seems exclusive and new. By reprising the song for the end credits, it recalls the energy and excitement of the film’s opening with its up tempo and cyclical theme of continually working, always on the go. The lyrics at the start of the film foreshadow the narrative adventures and create a love letter from the road—​a longing to be home with a loved one. In this way the music links to the visual frenzy of camera movement and quick cuts to reinforce the authenticity of the Beatles’ daily activities.

“A Hard Day’s Night” (opening credits) Even though the Beatles never perform the title track diegetically, Lester evokes a similar experience to that of a live performance by combining

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the up tempo soundtrack with the fast paced editing and freely moving camera work. The very first shot of the film achieves the feeling of a live experience by instantly reinforcing all of the major elements of Beatlemania iconography. The jarring opening chord, the uniform mop-​tops and tailored suits, the slapstick comedy as George actually trips and falls to the ground before bobbing back up with a smile, and the crowd of screaming fans that are in close pursuit are all “images with which the viewer can identify” (Marshall 2000, 166). By creating this immediate bond of familiarity with the audience, Lester is able to establish the basis for the authentic representation of the Beatles’ personae and their day in the life journey. It is a platform for setting up the film’s behind-​the-​scenes premise. Fans get to share in the band’s stardom with the promise to see what being a celebrity is “really like” from locations such as hotel rooms, a nightclub, and even the actual stage the band performs on. With the illusion of authenticity in place, the physical barrier of the concert stage and the fictional film’s fourth wall is removed. The immediate response to the opening sequence is that it could have been filmed anywhere, as Lester avoids wide shots and any identifiable landmarks despite filming it in London. Lester also avoids wide shots that could identify the location’s class association. There are no rows of terraced houses or factory smoke stacks associated with working-​ class northern towns. Instead, the primary action takes place near a city center where cafés and bars are located—​the kinds of places where young people would be seen hanging out in the new age of 1960s prosperity. By using handheld cameras and fast paced editing, the viewer gets the sense of following the pursuit as an active participant rather than just watching it unfold on screen as a passive spectator. From the start Lester is careful to distinguish between the on-​screen fans and the viewing audience. The hysterical groups of on-​screen fans are rarely shot in close-​up and Lester primarily captures the crowd in wide shots and out of focus, or just focusing on the sea of running legs. They are not allowed faces, identities, or back stories, and they are not allowed into the private spaces that the viewing audience is treated to. The camera becomes the audience’s subjective point of view. It works to reinforce the feeling of exclusivity and distinguishes the audience from the unruly behavior of the fans. The sequence also features a number of close-​ups and extreme close-​ups of the Beatles. In the first shot, the Beatles run straight toward a stationary camera until they are framed in an extreme close-​up before running out of shot. Shot six of the sequence (00:48) presents a close-​up of George, Ringo, and then John before cutting to a wide shot of all three in telephone boxes. Shot nine (1:11) is a lingering close-​up on John behind a café window. Shot thirty-​one (2:22) features a medium close-​up of Paul in a false moustache and goatee disguise, which fools the crowd of fans since facial hair is not part of the Beatlemania image. The final shot of the sequence is of the Beatles on the train, with the camera/​

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viewing audience looking out of the window to watch the mob they have just escaped from. As this further analysis reveals, Lester’s use of the close-​up, and especially the extreme close-​up, fetishize the Beatles’ collective image as well as each member’s distinctive “boy next door” good looks in a way similar to the glossy pin up magazines that feature Hollywood stars. By the end of the sequence, there is a feeling that the Beatles are attainable, close enough to touch in the camera’s close proximity to the band. The majority of pop musicals in the past, while fully exploiting the teen idols’ looks, did not utilize the close and extreme close-​ups to the extent that Lester uses here. The Beatles’ image is arguably “fetishized, made magical” in an attempt for the audience to “reclaim them through possession” (Frith 1988, 12). For some, “A Hard Day’s Night” in sound and accompanying visuals was a first introduction to the Beatles, an insight into what all the fuss was about, but for those already familiar with the band and their music, the opening sequence was designed in such a way as to create a sense of familiarity and friendship, representing authenticity through the synergy of camera technique, on location filming, the use of non-​diegetic music, and mise-​en-​ scene that previous pop musicals, even those shot in color, lacked.

“I Should Have Known Better” While historians may disagree over how widespread the effects of the Swinging Sixties was among youths living in Britain, the idea of a strong youth-​led community certainly existed, and was thriving in London. “I Should Have Known Better” represents that feeling of “togetherness” and “sense of belonging” (Dyer 2002, 26) on one level as viewers are witness to this private, “impromptu” performance, but on another level the Beatles are being filmed in a cage used to store large equipment and luggage. At one point, one of the two school girls looking on tries to reach her fingers through the bars to grab at a bit of Ringo’s hair. The sequence begins with the band inside the cage playing cards in an attempt to escape their manager. The handheld camera roams around the outside of the barred area, but it also cuts to shots inside the cage, often using close-​up to reflect the close proximity and the cramped space, using a juxtaposition that highlights the tension between intimacy and entrapment. The viewer in one moment is treated to the extreme close-​ups of each Beatle’s face, but then in the next moment reminded that the Beatles remain confined to the cage. For the Beatles this scene can be read as a chance to escape through musical performance or to at least temporarily distract them from the restrictive and intrusive nature of their newfound stardom. The absurdity of performing in a cage underlines Lester’s surrealist tendencies and it is up to the audience to decide if this is an intertextual nod to Presley’s Jailhouse Rock. The rest

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of the scene is comprised of the “others”—​the two flirty school girls for the viewers to be jealous and in awe of, and Grandfather—​working-​class and proudly Irish; the young and the aged, youth culture and the working class united together through the Beatles music. One shot even shows Paul encouraging Grandfather to sing along, and he obligingly tries. As with the title sequence, “I Should Have Known Better” is at first used non-​diegetically. When the song begins, it is used as background music to the Beatles’ banter and card game. The use of the song in this way lasts for the uncommonly long twenty-​three seconds before jump cutting to an extreme close-​up of John’s left profiled framed right and George in full close-​up framed off center to the left (13:27). In this shot, John can be seen playing the harmonica solo before singing the second verse of the song. At the end of the sequence, another jump cut returns the Beatles to their card game where the music becomes non-​diegetic again and fades out (15:35–​ 15:44). Using “I Should Have Known Better” non-​diegetically “in a manner similar to conventional incidental music” allowed Lester to have greater choice with where the action of the film could take place (Neaverson 1997, 19). The band was no longer restricted to performing in the local café or concert stage where this type of performance might have been more realistic, thereby freeing up the director to present a different kind of narrative. While Lester did strive to create an authentic experience for the audience, he did not intend for the performance sequences to be realistic to the point of limiting the film’s story (ibid., 19). Previous pop musicals basing the narrative around traditional performances spaces did so to “articulate the illusion of ‘real’ diegetic performances” (ibid., 18). So when Presley’s music is used in a manner other than as a live performance as in Jailhouse Rock, it is still being used diegetically as a record being played to a studio executive. But when Presley does perform his music, it is always in a viable performance space, such as the recording studio. Recalling the example of “Treat Me Nice” discussed in the introduction, the location of the studio and the “key factor” of the pop musical “being the audience’s belief that the star’s performances were authentic” limits the sequence to two conventional stationary shots—​ the wide close-​up of Presley and a medium full shot of Presley with his band in the background (Neaverson 1997, 18). While this performance might have been designed to function as a “genuine” live performance, its limiting setup prohibits any of Presley’s trademark rebellious charm and sexualized body language that fans would have recognized from his television performances, so Presley is not able to communicate with the audience as naturally and charismatically as the Beatles achieve. The sex appeal, the confidence, and the connection with fans would have comprised a more authentic representation of Presley’s trademark persona. Where the Beatles allow the camera in close and the scene features two young girls looking on, Presley’s performance space is devoid of that intimacy despite it being a private space, and he never makes eye contact with the camera/​audience, instead looking evasively out of the

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corner of his eye. So “I Should Have Known Better” may not be a “realistic” performance—​at one point Paul lip syncs to John’s vocal (14:50)—​but the performance does have a more natural, impromptu feel. The lyrics use the personal article to directly address the listener/​viewer as many of the band’s early songs did. In this way a throwaway, filler song that essentially means nothing (MacDonald 2005, 109) is transformed into a memorable, upbeat sing-​along in the film. Setups removed from traditional performing spaces also allowed Lester to be more artistic and experimental with his visual style. For this sequence, Lester mostly relies on framing John in profile to the right, with George framed slightly left of center in the background. There are variations of this setup that enables Lester to pull focus or set instruments into close-​up. It is interesting to note that his framing style and use of lighting is not dissimilar to the iconic photographs of the band taken in Hamburg by Astrid Kirchherr or of the Robert Freeman group shot used for 1963’s With the Beatles (UK) /​ Meet the Beatles (US) album cover. Frontani (2007, 73) notes the connection between Lester’s artistic sensibilities and the Beatles’ continual association “with the newest trends and artistic movements.” However, that device of fetishizing the Beatles’ image still comes through strongly in this sequence—​ the beauty of Lester’s photographic framing, accentuated by the close-​ups and the side lighting that creates a subtle contrast between light and shadows, highlights the physical attractiveness of each Beatle. And even though the lyrics suggest an innocent boy–​girl romance, the dangerously flirty school girls and the Beatles’ “confident successful sexuality” on display is “enhanced by the comparative physical unattractiveness of those around them,” in this instance, Grandfather (Glynn 2005, 44). But the setting reinforces a problematic tension between close proximity and intimacy, of seemingly attainable and actually unattainable, blurring the boundaries between the Beatles’ constructed image and the realities of their private selves.

“If I Fell” “If I Fell” is the first of the musical numbers to be performed in a traditional performance space—​ on stage at the Scala Theatre. While the sequence appears to adhere to the traditional conventions of the backstage musical, there are some noticeable differences. According to Dyer (2002, 28), the backstage musical makes use of a more “realist” aesthetic, where the “narrative and the number [are] clearly separated.” Yet in classifying “If I Fell” as a number in a backstage musical is problematic as the film also draws from the other types of musicals that Dyer identifies. The other two types of musicals are those that “retain the division between narrative . . . and number . . . but try to ‘integrate’ the numbers” and those that “try to dissolve the distinction between narrative and numbers” (Dyer 2002, 28). In

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the case of “If I Fell,” the Beatles arrive at the theatre and see the stage being dressed for their live television performance later in the afternoon. There is a mutual excitement within the band to try out the stage and the theatre’s acoustics. This act is an escape from the tedious press interviews in the prior sequence. So the song’s placement within the scene is a natural progression and the performance seems impromptu. But unlike “A Hard Day’s Night,” the song’s lyrics are not integrated into the plot so the performance of this song could have appeared anywhere in the film. But rather than place a slower ballad like “And I Love Her” here, a song too emotionally intense for the excitement of being on set, “If I  Fell” is instead used in a slightly humorous way as John begins to sing to a sulky Ringo. Throughout the performance there are smiles from the band between moments of noticeable concentration, but for the most part, the performance remains informal and addressed to Ringo. The Beatles and the camera move around freely throughout the sequence, stances are relaxed, the set is not yet formally dressed, and, perhaps most importantly, there is a lack of an audience. By downplaying the role of the fan and the on-​screen audience, the film is able to place greater emphasis on the inclusion of the viewing audience into this lighthearted and private moment. The sequence begins with John picking up his guitar in a medium full shot as Ringo sets his drum kit up (32:38). While John sings to Ringo, subverting the direct address meant for female fans, both have their backs turned toward the camera. The camera pans right following Ringo and John’s movement before cutting to a high-​angle crane shot from above the stage area (32:50). This shot is the first of this sequence to feature a group shot and all four are facing away from the camera. As the rest of the band makes their entrance to accompany John’s vocal and guitar, there is an extreme close-​up of Ringo’s snare drum and hand (32:55), which then tilts up for a close-​up of Ringo’s head. Ringo is facing John to his left and in the next shot, the camera cuts to what Ringo sees: a medium close-​up of John. The handheld camera shakes and is even slightly obstructed by Paul’s bass neck in the foreground (33:08), creating a sense of being on stage with the stage hands. Another cut is made to a wide, eye-​level shot of the group, with the camera positioned opposite from the last group shot at 32:50. Just as with that shot, the Beatles in the foreground have their backs to the camera, George in the middle ground is looking away from the camera, and in the background the television crew are set dressing and setting up equipment. The opening five shots provide the viewing audience with a new approach to diegetic music performance. The roving camera once again acts as their subjective view to allow the audience a feeling of exclusivity. In this way, Lester is able to provide a number of viewpoints—​the lighting rigger, the passing stagehand, and even Ringo’s point of view by cutting to a low angle shot /​reverse shot. With the fluid movement of pans, tilts,

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and walking the camera around each Beatle and their performance space, Lester breaks down the formal physical barriers of platform/​stage and seats/​audience, giving free access to roam around. The extreme close-​ ups not only provide the viewer with ample glimpses of their favorite Beatle, but the close-​ups on the instruments also underline the level of musicianship and a focus on the music and lyrics. We see close-​ups of drums being hit and strings being picked to de-​emphasize the Beatles’ image even when many of the elements of Beatlemania are present. Lennon doesn’t need to rely on showy or gimmicky trademark movements to be sincere. Lennon is singing the words produced from his own emotions and perhaps even from his own personal experiences. As Lennon’s career progressed and greater emphasis was placed on his musicianship, his lyrics became increasingly introspective—​a device used by folk and rock musicians to add a sense of authenticity to their performances. Though in direct address and written around the usual themes of “he loves her, she loves him,” MacDonald (2005, 111)  notes this was Lennon’s first attempt at a ballad and can be seen as a precursor to the desperation of “Help!” By visually undermining the generic conventions, it allows a feeling of carefree escapism but also a real sense of sincerity, without Lennon’s tough image in jeopardy of looking too soft; initially poking fun, but placing emphasis on the musicianship.

“Can’t Buy Me Love” The Beatles’ first single from the A Hard Day’s Night soundtrack was released in March 1964 before filming began and before most of the film’s other songs had been written. Audiences were familiar with “Can’t Buy Me Love” before they had seen the film, and its success at number one made it a likely choice as the film’s big climactic number. For this reason, Lester does follow classical musical conventions by placing the number in the middle of the film and by producing a stunning visual spectacle to match the energy of the song. The song is also used to realize the Beatles’ growing need for momentary escape from the pressures of stardom and, in this way, most closely reflects a traditional utopian moment/​break from the narrative. The lead up to the number is so obviously acted that it must be seen as a deliberately exaggerated nod to the genre. The camera cuts to a door with large white letters proclaiming ‘Fire Exit’ and, as Ringo throws the door wide open, he shouts, “We’re out!” with outstretched arms and a large grin. The theme of entrapment is at its strongest and “Can’t Buy Me Love” represents an undeniable emotional release from their responsibilities. Such a suggestion is made possible in the very unconventional ways in which the song is presented—​non-​diegetically, with exaggerated camera angles, filming at high speeds, and an extreme use of handheld cameras. The Beatles

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perform for the camera, but do not diegetically perform the song. The vast empty field they play in gives the Beatles uninhibited movement compared to the previously claustrophobic spaces of the train carriage, the baggage cage, the hotel room, and the press conference. The extreme low angled shots of the camera from the helicopter further highlight the freedom in the open space. Sutton (1981, 192) lists a number of similar environments that musicals utilize for escapist numbers and notes that such locations are used precisely because of their “excuse for movement” and their “common element of ‘play.’ ” He continues, Open space in the musical is the most expressive of media—​it gives the body room to move and, through this, the mind room to expand. Neutral space is charged with vital meaning by the dancer’s movement, it is encompassed by the individual or couple and becomes transformed into another world (their world). Linked directly with the Beatles’ uninhibited game play is the experimental film style. It makes it difficult to focus and to keep up with or to be included in the Beatles’ moment of escape. When the camera does get in close to each member, it becomes difficult to recognize who is who or to create a bond with a specific member. Whip pans and the constant interchange between extreme close-​ups and extreme wide shots also make a sense of inclusion by the viewer difficult. The sequence ends in a similar fashion to Singin’ in the Rain’s (dirs. Gene Kelly and Stanley Donen, 1952)  title performance by Gene Kelly, as the owner of the field, much like Singin’s police officer, breaks up the brief moment of freedom and returns the Beatles back to the reality of their lives as pop stars after only two minutes and fifteen sections of respite. This sequence is the most visually stylized of the whole film and while “the musical number is freed from its generic restrictions,” it does nothing to move the narrative forward (Glynn 2005, 70). With each sequence, Lester added progressive approaches to both style and social themes culminating in the music video, like stand-​alone marriage between visuals and music that could be achieved when the genre rulebook was put aside, matching the energy of the Beatles’ youthfulness and refreshing approach to music. The result is a sequence that “freed the representation of the musical number from its traditional generic slavery,” inspiring directors of pop musicals and music videos for many years after (Neaverson 1997, 19). For the first time in the film, there is direct engagement between the Beatles and the camera. Where the viewer had been allowed to tag along, Lester was careful not to give the viewer too much access. Throughout the sequence, Lester relies most on wide shots that downplay the Beatlemania image—​the physical trappings of their persona. The disappearance of Lennon’s cap as well as McCartney’s jacket and the lack of instruments become signifiers

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of masking the Beatles image—​an idea that is used to comic effect when Ringo dons an old overcoat and hat during the sequence in which he walks around the back streets of London on his own, enough of a disguise to hide his suit and mop-​top to evade the screaming girls. Shot two of “Can’t Buy Me Love” is a wide low angle shot of the back of the theatre (37:23). The Beatles are seen running down the fire escape, indistinguishable from any other group of young men. The camera tilts down to follow their descent before cutting to a close-​up of the grating under the stairs. Shots four, five, and eight are extreme close-​ups of the stairs from underneath and the high angle camera spirals around, following the band’s movement. When the Beatles reach the ground, Lester keeps the shots wide, using aerial shots to maintain an exaggerated amount of distance from the Beatles’ personal space. There are a few notable exceptions edited into this section. Shot fifteen is a subjective point-​of-​view shot in which Paul “attacks”/​jostles the camera with both hands. Paul’s “attack” on the camera is an obvious statement on the obtrusiveness of the media. The camera is tilted down to the ground before tilting back up to follow Ringo, tilting down quickly again to reveal the cameraman’s own Beatle boots (38:34–​38:40). This last shot suggests that the Beatles might have been allowed to operate the handheld cameras during the filming for this particular number; each was a keen amateur filmmaker. Interspersed among the wide shots are shots twenty to twenty-​three comprised of each Beatle recreating their iconic “jumps” for the camera, which were originally the basis of Dezo Hoffmann’s photographs “from Liverpool’s Sefton Park of the group leaping in the air” (39:08–​39:13; Glynn 2005, 72). When the camera cuts to Ringo, the short sequence of shots turns from iconic to satirical as Ringo only takes a small jump forward. Technically, the “Can’t Buy Me Love” sequence is a mixture of experimentation, French New Wave influence, and accidental circumstances. Much of this sequence was developed out of Lester’s practical experimentations with other projects, specifically his work with TV commercials where the object was to shoot a very brief piece around a product rather than a plot. With the instantaneous nature of television, not only would the advertisements need to be produced quickly, but they would also have to anticipate current trends and styles to attract as many potential consumers as possible. The fast pace of this sequence is informed by the speed in which television content had to be produced. Lester was aware of how quickly trends changed and how much slower the filmmaking process from preproduction to distribution to exhibition was. To save time with multiple takes and reshoots, often a time-​ consuming process, especially when working with nonactors, Lester “opted to shoot with multiple cameras,” a technique he experimented with while filming It’s Trad, Dad! (1962; Glynn 2005, 11). Walker (1986, 222) argues for speed as being an important element in both pop music and television at a time when young people dominated both media while the film industry

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was still run predominantly by older men. He continues his observation by using Lester’s examination of the traditional jazz music scene as an example, It’s Trad, Dad! was the first feature film that successfully made the presentation techniques of television commercials and pop shows on the small screen designed for the teenage and sub-​teenage audiences into an integral part of its jokey structure. While using multiple cameras allowed Lester to film more quickly and have more choice of footage to edit, the practice also gave the number “a ‘live’ feel” as well as “facilitated the staccato rhythm of editing Lester preferred” (Glynn 2005, 11). This live feel seems as though it should be ironic when compared to the conventional approaches previous pop musical directors took to ensure a “real” musical performance from their stars. But using multiple cameras gave the Beatles more freedom to do their jobs as musicians, not actors, without being restricted by a director controlling every move or stage directing to get the right shot. If there was a mistake in the take or setup, Lester had at least two or three other sets of footage captured from cameras at different vantage points. Avoiding multiple takes also meant that performers did not tire from continually having to repeat themselves, resulting in a fresher and livelier performance. Even when mistakes did happen, Lester more often than not left them in—​Harrison trips in the opening shot and he later knocks over an amp he is leaning on, while Lennon can be seen adlibbing throughout (sniffing a Pepsi bottle, the scene where he cuts the tailor’s measuring tape declaring “this bridge open.”). During the aerial scenes in “Can’t Buy Me Love,” a dying camera battery achieved the sped-​up effect. To compensate for the camera’s slow motion filming, photographer Gilbert Taylor sped the footage up, telling Lester it was shot “in accelerated motion” (Glynn 2005, 28). Lester was so impressed with the results that he had other shots for the sequence reshot using the same effects.

“And I Love Her”/​“I’m Happy Just to Dance with You” After the Beatles’ brief interlude outside of the theatre, they return to the stage to once again to rehearse another number for the upcoming live performance. “And I  Love Her” is the first song in the film to feature McCartney singing lead vocals diegetically. It also looks as though it has been carefully choreographed and rehearsed, and at the end of the sequence the authenticity is reflected in the long zoom out to reveal the lighting rig and studio cameras flanking the stage. The song is a slow ballad and Lester’s camerawork matches the song’s tempo, the slow flow of the music matching to the use of dissolves from one shot to the next rather than cutting to a

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drumbeat in other songs. This is a prime example of the emphasis and care Lester gives to representing the Beatles on screen as musicians. There are visual differences that show Lester’s reworking of generic conventions in order to better weave the narrative into the number. For example, Lester edits shots of the Beatles’ performance from the gallery monitors and from the studio cameras. When he does shoot traditional setups, the Beatles are positioned in an ordered fashion, symmetrically, to create a frame that looks visually stunning. There are also some technical flourishes such as the 90 degree pan around McCartney (50:10), allowing the lighting overhead to catch the camera and bring McCartney into silhouette, helping to shift the focus from his image to his vocals. While presenting the Beatles as both a group and as individuals seems like a difficult contradiction to portray, Lester’s careful cutting, framing, and camera height together make this possible. It is a key feature in both sequences, and both also physically elevate the lead singer in order to give each vocalist their due credit—​McCartney’s “And I Love Her” and Harrison’s “I’m Happy Just to Dance with You” (although the latter was written by Lennon-​McCartney for Harrison). This helps to reinforce the idea of each Beatle being an equal member of the group rather than suggesting one is leader over the others. In “And I Love Her,” the first shot is of McCartney in a wide shot, framed in the center of the screen standing on a hexagonal platform. George stands at a lower elevation off center to the left of the frame, while Ringo is positioned in the background and John sits in the middle ground on the right side of the frame. John’s positioning seems almost removed from the band, but his positioning ensures that he does not dominate over McCartney’s turn in the spotlight. And Lester does equally dissolve to close-​ups of Lennon throughout the song. In addition, Lester dissolves to extreme close-​ups of Ringo’s hands drumming on a set of bongos and uses the same idea to highlight George’s intricate solos on the acoustic guitar. After this number, the Beatles briefly return to the backstage dressing rooms and return shortly to the stage thereafter. The whole sequence is marked out as a bit of a novelty because as the Beatles take to the stage, Lionel Blair and his dancers are performing to a light entertainment, piano instrumental version of “I’m Happy Just to Dance with You,” as John mockingly dances along with their choreography, with large photographs of beetles hanging up in the background. The scene also explicitly mocks the contrived and outdated conventions of typical pop musicals, as Lennon exclaims, “Hey kids, I  have an idea. Let’s do the show right here. Yeah!” (53:31), and the others laugh knowingly. This number is in a faster tempo than “And I Love Her” and Lester’s direction once again works in syncopation with the musical style. As the song starts, Lester cuts, zooms, and pulls focus with the first beat and the use of zooms and differential focus immediately link to Ringo’s time keeping. In order to prioritize Harrison as the lead vocalist, Lester first uses wide establishing shots to zoom in on George

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in a full close-​up (53:44–​53:52). In the next shot, Lester once again uses differential focus with Lennon in the foreground, right frame, and Harrison in the background, left frame (54:03). This was an effect used throughout “I Should Have Known Better” when Lennon was the lead vocalist. Ringo is set up behind the drums with his back to the camera and after Lester pulls focus from John to George, he cuts to Ringo bobbing his head, mop-​top swishing in trademark fashion. These little moments of Beatlemania iconography punctuate the performance—​John stands playing his Rickenbacker electric rhythm guitar, moving to the music by bending slightly at the knees and George loosens up enough to shuffle his feet side to side as he often did when on lead vocals or during a guitar solo when performing live, usually eliciting even louder screams from the fans. The premise surrounding the setup of both numbers within the narrative also gives Lester an opportunity to highlight the association of the Beatles with television. Throughout both sequences there is an awareness of filming within the film and the mechanisms of television production. This awareness of the processes of television production mirrors the filmmaking. Throughout, Lester reminds the viewing audience that they are watching a film—​a constructed “reality” and the moments of “anti-​realism” in which boom microphones and camera operator’s shoes are in shot, the views of watching the Beatles from the gallery. In these two numbers, we see actor Victor Spinetti’s television director vision mixing and talking to the stationary cameramen on the studio floor, and we even catch a glimpse of Richard Lester himself on screen as if a floor manager overseeing the whole thing. “I’m Happy Just to Dance with You” begins by viewing the Beatles through a camera that is filming the action through the onset camera’s viewfinder while many of the Beatles’ extreme close-​ups in “And I  Love Her” are presented through television monitors. This motif of television and television production throughout the film is important—​ as Glynn (2005, 65) argues, the Beatles “were the first group to be marketed through television,” adding that A Hard Day’s Night “does not upset that successful strategy.” So rather than ignoring the new trend as previous pop musicals made under the Hollywood studio system might have done, fearing less competition from live musical performances captured on stage, A Hard Day’s Night not only acknowledges the possibilities of the new medium, but also embraces them both thematically and visually.

The final live concert sequence (“Tell Me Why”/​“If I Fell”/​“I Should Have Known Better”/​“She Loves You”) Perhaps no pop musical can resist the large spectacle of the final on stage performance. This is the moment the entire film has been building up to

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and if the function of a musical number is typically meant to be a release of pent-​up emotion and an extension of the feelings created by situations within the plot, then this final sequence does not hold back. Lester presents a thirteen-​ minute-​ long sequence that delivers the entire over-​ the-​ top spectacle of the classical musical number and it is half the length of a typical, real Beatles concert. Unlike previous pop musical finales, however, there is an energy and excitement matched by the camera work, editing, and now finally the screaming, crying studio audience of primarily young girls. This is Beatlemania unfiltered in its purest form. The sequence begins not on the Beatles, but instead capturing the hysteria of the audience using whip pans to go from one angle to the next. Before we see the Beatles live on stage, Lester presents close-​ups of enlarged cardboard cutouts of the band that dress the rear of the set. The set list comprises of three non-​singles, two of which we heard performed earlier in the film, and finishes with “She Loves You,” the 1963 chart topping A-​side single that MacDonald (2005, 83)  described as “one of the most explosive pop records ever made.” The finale comes to represent the Beatles’ televised performance on The Ed Sullivan Show from only a few months earlier. Its intertextual reference and the inclusion of television cameras to film recalls a sense of familiarity that “reinforces the feeling of close proximity” and authenticity (Marshall 1997, 192). For those who had seen the Beatles live, this recalls those moments in detail and clarity; for those who didn’t have that experience, they could feel as though they had because the fusion of music and television codes helped to symbolize “the ritualization of this claim to authenticity” in the close connection shared between the audience and the band (Marshall 1997, 193). The first shot of the Beatles on stage is of Paul and George sharing a microphone, as they would have done for a song with John on lead vocals. The full close-​up captures the mop-​tops and velvet collared suits, as well as places emphasis on Paul and George’s harmonies. The medium close-​up of John shows him smiling, looking around the audience, and finally making eye contact with the camera. John’s stage presence comes off as being strong and of noticeably enjoying the hysteria he has helped to create. The individual shots of the Beatles are mixed with close-​ups of the audience to show the close relationship between the two—​each is an equally important part in the Beatles’ image at this stage of their career. It is important to note that there are still distinctions being made between the on-​screen audience and the viewing audience, as Lester allows the camera to rove behind Ringo’s drum kit in order to take in not just the back of the Beatles performing, but of the packed auditorium the band plays to. Lester continues to use close-​ups on the instruments, intermixed with extreme close-​ups of each Beatle’s face. That theme of equally presenting the band as a unit, each individual, and the instruments is ever-​present in this sequence and both Lester’s

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style and the Beatles’ performance “deliberately break with [Hollywood] conventions” (Neaverson 1997, 20). Neaverson adds, the group’s musical renderings are shot from a multiplicity of angles . . . camera movements, with extraordinarily fast paced editing . . . and in a style which does not prioritize the singer above the instrumentation of the group as a whole. With this “live” concert performance, the Beatles were able to cement their role as pop stars, showing a freshness and authenticity that Elvis Presley and Cliff Richard had lost, and it also represented the first time there was a rock ’n’ roll band with each member functioning as an equal part of the group, with the film working to highlight each individual personality. By situating a pop musical around these strengths, Lester’s primary objective was not necessarily to exploit them in yet another teen film but rather, as Walker (1986) and Neaverson (1997, 21)  agree, to make a film that “attempted to present audiences with a different and more complex breed of pop star than had previously been seen in Britain or America.” Both Lester and screenwriter Alun Owen realized that they could build on the strength of the elements of the Beatles’ mediated image already firmly established and loved, rather than work to create something from scratch that fit the well-​ worn formula of the pop musical.

Conclusion A Hard Day’s Night is not a musical that fits the definition so neatly, nor does it limit itself to any one particular style or form. It complicates the classical formula by creating tensions not between the narrative and number, but within the number itself. Hollywood conventions are undermined throughout and, in doing so, Lester constructs a film that seemingly provides fans with backstage entertainment from their favorite pop group and at the same time reveals the dual nature of the film’s purpose: to also depict the realities of being a star and how that can stifle the craft of one’s art. This is true not only of the Beatles as musicians, but also of Lester as a filmmaker. United Artists only invested £200,000 in the film’s production compared to the $1million budget for Dr.  No (dir. Terence Young, 1962)  featuring the unknown Sean Connery in the lead, and were sure that money could be recouped in soundtrack sales should the film turn out a flop (Neaverson 1997, 12). For the American market, there was a more traditional soundtrack that featured the songs from the film along with George Martin’s orchestral score. The tracks that made up side two of the British release were saved for the US market on Capitol Records’ release of the Beatles’ Something

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New (July 1964). The lucrative music tie-​in products available seem to have helped to allow a lack of restraint on what direction Lester took artistically with the film. There are no known accounts of what the producers thought of dailies or any footage available for viewing before the film premiered. Lester was simply left to get on with making a film that honored his and the Beatles’ wishes of how they were to be portrayed. Ultimately, A Hard Day’s Night became widely accepted as a commentary on the Beatles’ unprecedented celebrity. Recreating the phenomenon of Beatlemania is so central to the themes in the film that the original proposed title was Beatlemania. At one point, Lennon even suggested Authenticity because the authentic nature of the film “helped establish a kind of intimacy between the performer and the audience” (Stark 2005, 160). As McCartney recalls, “There was no question of doing a cheapo rip-​off like the typical pop musicals of the time. We were determined to hold out for something better” (ibid., 160). Upon its release in July 1964, A Hard Day’s Night became a commercially and critically acclaimed success authenticating the Beatles’ image. Fans exclaimed that the film was “fab” and “really gear” while others commented on how “all the songs were fab and fit in really well” (Willis 1965, 81). Even the more respected middle-​class publications such as Time magazine declared the film to be “one of the smoothest, freshest, and funniest films ever made” (ibid., 81). Film critic Andrew Sarris (1970, 162–​163) wrote, I like the Beatles in this moment in film history not merely because they mean something but rather because they express effectively a great many aspects of modernity that have converged inspiredly in the personalities . . . they may not be worth a paragraph in six months, but right now their entertaining message seems to be that everyone is “people.” Sarris notes not only the social contribution the film makes in raising the representation of the youth culture but he also acknowledges one of the key components to the film: the idea of community and the rich individuality within it. So successful was the film in fulfilling the objective of authenticating the Beatles’ image, which grossed a total of $14million in North America alone, that fans felt it necessary to attend multiple screenings in order to continually replicate the original connection created in being able to spend ninety minutes with the Beatles (Harry 1992, 290). One woman, for instance, reported her daughter missing to the authorities when the young girl failed to come home after saying she was going to the cinema. Eventually, the girl was found in the cinema watching A Hard Day’s Night for the fifth consecutive time that day (Willis 1965, 80). This analysis of A Hard Day’s Night has demonstrated the Beatles’ appeal and showmanship along with Richard Lester’s knowledge of selling a product

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and how those factors combined to create an experience that came across as a genuine opportunity for fans to connect with their idols as the band journeyed across the country, paralleling their journey to stardom. All along the way, the Beatles allowed fans to be part of that journey from behind the scenes on A Hard Day’s Night. The level of inclusion that the Beatles had given their fans since their rise to fame had grown out of control by the beginning of 1965. The Beatles seemed to be stuck in a cycle of live performances for both the concert stage and for television. Any Beatle biography can provide the mythical tales of how the Beatles couldn’t leave their hotel rooms, how wives and girlfriends had to be secretly smuggled in and out of performance venues, and how crowds of fans would faint, needing medical attention to be revived at gigs—​all for a brief glimpse of their idols or the chance to touch them. What worried the Beatles the most was the threat to their musical development. They could not hear each other on stage, often playing out of tune and out of sync with each other. Perhaps a result of their manic schedule, the follow up to A Hard Day’s Night was Beatles for Sale, an album that not only hinted at the band’s frustrations of selling out musically, but was also comprised of quickly recorded cover songs and written on the road, inferior originals. The album did not reflect the kind of music they felt they should be making, especially when they had come to discover the complex, thought-​provoking songs artists like Bob Dylan were releasing. For this reason, the Beatles’ follow-​up film with Richard Lester, titled Help! employs film codes rather than music and television codes as a way of distancing themselves from their fans. The film also highlights the process of music making as a craft by placing the Beatles more in the recording studio and other private spaces rather than appearing on stage. With Help!, as Chapter  2 will explore, the connection that the Beatles and Lester attempt to make with their fans is less inclusive, and is through the mutual interest in the music, rather than exploiting their image and the iconography that “The Beatles” of the past two years represented.

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2 Help! Beatlemania is out of control

I have argued that one of the unusual aspects of A Hard Day’s Night was the duality of the musical sequences in depicting the role of the audience. On one level, the use of the live performance mode encouraged the audience as an integral part of Beatlemania and in the communal spirit of live performance, and this was reflected in the viable performance spaces the Beatles played in. On another level, the symbolism in the music sequences and Lester’s choice of film style reinforced the themes of imprisonment and restriction of movement—​a result of the band feeling suffocated by the audience. By 1965, the fans’ continued high level of adoration and the band’s nonstop touring and promotional schedule began to weigh heavily on the Beatles. Following the lukewarm reception of the Beatles for Sale album in the winter of 1964, the band started to reevaluate their pop star aspirations. In the documentary The Touring Years, Lennon likens playing live to being in a “freak show” (1:30:48), despite the fact that live concerts was where the band were making the real money. By the time the Beatles began to film their second feature for United Artists with director Richard Lester again at the helm, the group had been influenced strongly by Bob Dylan and marijuana. Both influences went against the Beatles’ carefully constructed, “clean” pop star image and made an immediate impact on the band’s musical direction. In this way, Help! reflects these changes in the Beatles’ iconic image and I consider it to be an important transitional film. It retains the humor and group unity on display in A Hard Day’s Night, but also brings with it a different message about the band’s relationship with their fans. Crucially, the film introduces the idea of the Beatles’ music as an art form. Help! foreshadows the band’s retreat into the recording studio, a place where the Beatles will no longer just record the next album but where they begin to take more time to create, explore, and develop as individuals as well. McKinney (2003, 59)  notes that despite the “splash,

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deep color, and King’s Road corduroy,” Help! is a film that is “cynical with itself, weary, and mean.” While it should be considered a sequel to A Hard Day’s Night, McKinney (2003, 59) highlights the importance of the theme of the latter: “that of the Beatles’ evolving relationship with their audience.” One of the ways this transition is presented on screen is to place the band in locations not normally used for musical numbers. In this way, Lester starts to rely on the film codes associated with classical Hollywood and cinema in general rather than on television production codes and live music trappings (specifically the stage and audience). The styles that Lester experiments with are ones that come to influence the Beatles when they embark on their self-​ directed Magical Mystery Tour two years later. For instance, Neaverson (1997) notes Lester’s use of surrealist humor, intertextual references to spy films, as well as the use of cartoon and Pop Art, while Frontani (2007) picks up on the possible influences of the Independent Group, a 1950s Pop Art group. At the beginning of the film, a group of Eastern mystics led by the high priest Clang (Leo McKern) are about to sacrifice a young woman to their goddess, Kaili. Just before the sacrifice takes place, it is discovered that the young woman is not wearing the sacrificial ring. The large, red ruby ring is found on the finger of drummer Ringo. This sets in motion a pursuit by the cult, with a number of comical failed attempts to recover the ring, which soon attracts the attention of a power seeking scientist (Victor Spinetti) and his bumbling assistant (Roy Kinnear). When the Beatles realize that the ring cannot be removed, despite some extreme measures being taken, the mystics interpret it as a sign from Kaili that it is Ringo who must be sacrificed. As the Beatles attempt to record new songs for their album, they receive help from former cult member Ahme (Eleanor Bron). The mystics and scientists chase the Beatles across the globe until either thwarted or themselves chosen as the new sacrifice. The film ends with all parties chasing each other on the beach in a scene of comical mass hysteria. The parallels between the cultists as the Beatles’ fans (fanatics) and the scientists as middle-​class intellectuals/​ establishment types, makes sly comments about the Beatles being stuck in the middle of two groups vying for the band’s attentions. The fans wanted to claim ownership over them in some way, and the establishment took to courting the Beatles in the hopes of being more popular and hip in the eyes of young voters within the youth culture. Through the use of a fictionalized plot, with the Beatles playing fictionalized versions of “John,” “Paul,” “George,” and “Ringo” to a greater extent than they did in A Hard Day’s Night, “establishes a distance through the audience.” (Marshall 1997, 117)  This distancing is particularly made possible through the “aura” in which a film star’s image is constructed and controlled by the industry’s promotional mechanisms. Dyer (1991, 133) explains this as “star quality or charisma”—​the ability to “seemingly be what she/​he is supposed to be.” Marshall (1997, 81) draws upon Morin’s

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(1972) definition of a star’s aura as being akin to possessing godlike qualities. The vérité aesthetic and the emphasis on the Beatles’ working-​ class roots in A Hard Day’s Night hardly portrayed them as godlike. They were always working to the schedule and orders of their manager. So what happens to the authenticity so carefully set up in the first film? Authenticity and the representation of “the real” was a key marketing tool for the Beatles—​in Hamburg they were young and raw, rough around the edges. Back in Liverpool under manager Brian Epstein’s care they were young, but experienced and sharply presented. I  would argue that up to this point, the authenticity of the Beatles is constructed around their image, not their music. The simple love songs presented in direct address through the personal article helped to reinforce the image. Through this device fans might interpret the lyrics as sincere, but it is a fantasy. Help! on the other hand reflects the turning point where the music propels the authenticity and the image changes to reflect the music. Neaverson (1997, 41)  notes that Lennon’s introspective turn as a lyricist was “based on [his] personal feelings of insecurity and desperation as the onslaught of Beatlemania took its toll.” What is noticeably absent are the hordes of screaming fans and any reference to an on-​screen audience. Instead, the plot sets up a parallel between the band’s more obsessive fans and the obsessed, violent cultists that act as the film’s antagonists. So the emphasis is not on getting to know who the band are as “real” people, as with A Hard Day’s Night, but instead on the story being told in the fictional plot. The result diminishes any strong distinctions in individuality that the band so carefully created in the first film with the solo vignettes for each Beatle. In Help! the antagonists cannot tell them apart and the band move more as a group than feature in solo situations. The struggle between the Beatles negotiating their image as a collective and as individuals carries through in subsequent films and albums as the band begin to question their Beatlemania image and what it means to be a Beatle. It is still a risky strategy to hint at these themes in numbers that reflect the band’s need for privacy and creative development because they still need to maintain a strong relationship with their fan base. There are moments throughout Help! that play on the duality of the Beatles’ image—​ the ordinary “boys next door” and the Beatles as pop stars—​and people’s perception of their image. In this way, the film can be read as adhering to Marshall’s (1997, 90) dichotomy of the film star’s on-​ screen and offscreen image: “The relationship that the audience builds with the film celebrity is configured through a tension between the possibility and the impossibility of knowing the authentic individual.” The audience watches the Beatles engaging in “ordinary” activities such as eating out at a restaurant, going to the pub, and going on holiday, without being recognized as celebrities. The band are also depicted as living in the terraced, attached housing found most commonly in working-​class neighborhoods in the north of England. On the other hand, fanatics are pursuing the band.

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They have to dress incognito at an airport, they are shown hiding away recording in a studio, and they can also command the security of the British Army, the secret service, and Buckingham Palace. While commenting on the paradoxical nature of the Beatles’ image and stardom, these moments are also presented in comical ways. The most memorable is a scene where the Beatles are approaching separate doors to houses next to one another. Two middle-​aged women stand across the street and one observes, “Lovely lads and so natural. I  mean adoration hasn’t gone to their heads one jot, has it?” Her companion agrees saying, “So natural and still the same as they was before they was.” Inside the house, though, we see the four separate doors they walked through enter into one massive house, divided for each Beatle and full of extravagant material goods like a sandwich machine, a carpet made from real grass, and a Wurlitzer organ. Neaverson (1997, 22) cites Buskin (1994) to argue that the “ordinary boys next door” persona allowed the Beatles’ to convey a sense of “living out a fantasy on everyone else’s behalf.” Yet, Donnelly (2015, 28)  raises Sinyard’s (1985) point that the “exotic locations and unbelievable house interior [were . . .] potentially alienating,” to which I would argue that that was exactly the point. Linked with this duality of the star as at times ordinary and at times unordinary is Dyer’s (2004, 43) question regarding the extent to which stars are “just like you or me, or do consumption and success transform them into (or reflect) something different?” Help! makes the idea of the Beatles as ordinary problematic and the extended commentary on these tensions between pop star and musician, and the relationship between star and fan make this thematically a very different kind of pop musical. Similar to A Hard Day’s Night, the relationship between and the function of the narrative and musical numbers do not fit a straightforward, traditional purpose. The majority of the numbers do not allow for a utopian escape from the narrative whether the music features diegetically or non-​ diegetically. Also, many of the numbers continue to move the plot forward as the Beatles are chased by one pursuant or another, while there are also moments within the narrative that do nothing to advance the plot, so Dyer’s (2002, 28) suggestion that there is a “division between narrative as problems and numbers as escape” is subverted. Only the sequences for “Ticket to Ride” and “Another Girl” could be removed from the film to be stand-​alone promotional films as there is nothing within them that relates to the film and, as the analysis will show, it satirizes the artificiality of such numbers in traditional pop musicals. Much of this problematizing of form and function is again down to the duality of the film’s purpose and presentation. While the musical sequences do, on one level, provide a momentary distraction from the fact the band are being pursued in the narrative and the fan gets to enjoy the new music, on another level even the most remote and hard-​ to-​get-​to locations in the film act as a device of entrapment—​the Beatles are unable to get away from people chasing them. So rather than the narrative

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returning the characters back to the reality of the situation at the end of the number, as often happens in pop musicals, the antagonists continually interrupt the escapist moment during the number, thereby disrupting the division between narrative and number. Yet, Dyer’s other suggestion for one of three broad musical tendencies also becomes problematic when reading Help! as a pop musical. Dyer (2002, 28) proposes that one tendency for the musical is to “try to dissolve the distinction between narrative and numbers, thus implying that the world of the narrative is also (already) utopian.” But in Help! the reverse is actually true as the Beatles spend the film trying to escape and to keep Ringo safe from being sacrificed. The narrative is by no means utopian so the narrative’s interruption of the number implies that the number is not a utopian moment of escape either. Instead, the number is disrupted by the narrative, rather than being dissolved into the narrative.

“Help!” (opening credits) The film begins in a religious temple where an Eastern mysticism cult aborts a ritual sacrifice because the woman being offered to Kaili is not wearing the sacrificial ring. As the cult leader, Clang, discusses the importance of having the ring to complete the sacrifice and instructs his followers on their mission to find it, the title song starts as the camera cuts to an extreme close up of the ring on what is revealed to be Ringo’s hand (1:08). The entire performance is a complete contrast to the Beatles’ live performances in A Hard Day’s Night, for this sequence is steeped in awareness of the artifice of performance. What is first notable is that this performance of “Help!” is shot in black and white, giving the sequence a tired and dated look when juxtaposed with cuts to the vibrant Eastmancolor of the narrative. Large comic book–​style lettering for the titles and credits, along with the colorful darts thrown at the screen the performance is projected upon also date the monochrome effect that was so fashionable in the previous film only a year before. There are other details that accent the artificiality of the performance, such as the darts landing on the Beatles’ image and wide cuts that reveal that the cult members are watching the act not on television, but on the relatively primitive equipment of a film projector and screen. Also, the Beatles’ body language and performing style highlight a lack of enthusiasm and lack of energy in the up tempo number’s performance. This quickly establishes firmly the tone and direction for this film and for the subsequent numbers. This sequence (minus the darts and color titles) was used to promote the single on shows like Top of the Pops as if to spread a wider campaign for the Beatles’ shift from Beatlemania iconography and live performance. The portrayal of the band in this number seems all the more deliberate when compared with another, rarer performance of “Help!” on the variety show

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Blackpool Night Out (August 1, 1965; see: Pieper and Path 2005; Lewisohn 2004). The television footage from that performance clearly shows the Beatles on a stage in a similar formation to the one in the film sequence. However, the  band wear their trademark matching suits, engage with each other and the audience (which is also clearly present from the sound of the screams the microphones pick up), and there is an energy to the performance. At the Blackpool performance of “Help!” the song is not sung in harmony nor is it even in tune. One minute into the song, Lennon forgets the words of the verse and mumbles through, giving the rough performance a real sense of being live. In contrast, “Help!” from the film lacks the energy and engagement with the viewing audience and no on-​screen audience is part of the performance. When the camera does cut to the cult members watching the projection, they watch passively, gently swaying a foot in time with the beat. The scene lacks the tracking shots, set pieces, in-​shot crew members, and perhaps most importantly, the fans that all came together in the closing sequence of A Hard Day’s Night to give it a feeling of authenticity and liveness. In this example, most of the performance is expressionless; the Beatles look around the space casually, suggesting a lack of concentration. It lacks any sense of challenge but the lyrics are Lennon’s literal cry for help (MacDonald 2005, 153). What is also noticeable in the mise-​en-​scene is the lack of microphones, the lack of eye contact with the camera, and the way that the sequence is overlit—​an effect that lacks sharpness and results in a blurring around the edges of the Beatles’ features and casts them in shadow. The band wear black turtleneck sweaters rather than suits and their carefully groomed mop-​tops have now begun to grow out a bit shaggier. Of the suits, McCartney said they made them “one person—​a four headed monster” (The Touring Years, 23:30). So the absence of the matching suits in the whole of the film is especially significant. Despite close-​ups such as shot three (1:24), shot five (1:33), and shot seven (1:39), Ringo and John are obscured in ways that undermine the intimacy and direct address of the close-​ups. Arguably, Lester sets up shots in this sequence that have a more practical and artistic aesthetic than one set up for the sole purpose of objectifying each Beatle. In shot eleven (1:53), the foreground features an extreme close-​up of George’s guitar neck cutting across the frame from left to right and in the background is John framed left, out of focus, demonstrating a consideration for the lines and planes to create symmetrical shots. The song’s lyrics illustrate a move toward more introspective and complex songwriting that uses direct address and pleading in a different, more mature way than in “She Loves You” or “I Want to Hold Your Hand.” A final theme that comes across in this sequence is that of ownership and objectification. While Lester uses the film’s first glimpse of the Beatles to downplay fetishizing their faces, this fetishization is still present in that the performance is being watched by a private audience in a private space. The film the cult members are watching is likely to be a bootleg copy, if not the original, which makes it a rare collectable the most fanatical of Beatles’

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fans would have or could wish for. It can be watched on demand at any time. In one shot (2:09) the young woman meant for sacrifice stares longingly toward the projected performance. Her gaze can be read as fetishizing the band members in a way that represents sexual desire, which is accentuated by her red painted, nude body. This level of possession recalls stories in Beatles’ lore of men selling two-​inch squares of hotel bed sheets that the Beatles supposedly slept on. These instances of people trying to capitalize on the Beatles’ success with unconventional merchandise sounds extreme, but Beatle biographies also give accounts of fans trying to cut off locks of Ringo’s hair or trying to touch a Beatle even if it meant creating a dangerous crush in the crowd. Help! merchandise saturated the market, and with this amount of saturation one can argue that fans would be more encouraged to seek out items that were harder to acquire, creating a hierarchy of fandom in order to be the Beatles’ “true” or “number one fan” (see Bourdieu 1986). Frith (1988, 12) mentions the importance of the market place, noting how fans “can only reclaim [pop stars] through possession via a cash transaction.” Beatles fans tried to defy this notion to the point of putting the band and themselves in harm’s way. The plotline of the cultists’ pursuit of the sacrificial ring and its wearer reflect the fans’ attempts at obtaining the ultimate object: an actual Beatle. The Beatle then becomes a sought-​after commodity and the tension between an act as pop stars and as musicians further drives the narrative forward throughout the film. This sequence marks the pinnacle of consumerism—​there were more Beatles-​related products (authorized and unauthorized) at this time than at any other point in their career.

“You’re Going to Lose that Girl” In comparison to the “live” performance of “Help!” “You’re Going to Lose that Girl” takes place in the private and audience-​free setting of a recording studio—​the first time in both films that we see the Beatles in this space. This location provides the band with a more natural and more relaxed atmosphere not available to them on stage or in public. Recalling Marshall’s (1997, 159) comments on the function of live performance to prove a fan’s commitment and solidarity, this sequence instead signifies “an appreciation of the performer’s skill and technique.” The studio, as a setting, offers a different approach to the music’s function. In the studio, the Beatles were given control over the direction of a song’s structure and development, with guidance from producer George Martin. But on a stage, the musician has less control and, as Marshall (1997, 195) argues, the music plays a different role as a communal ritual. Chart success and anticipating what a fan wants to hear all take control away from the band in planning set lists and deciding what encores to do. By taking refuge in the studio, the band “denies

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the possibility of interaction between performer and audience” (Marshall 1997, 195). In fact, much of the sequence highlights the recording process, just as A Hard Day’s Night did with television production processes, as the engineers in the control room can be seen at the beginning and the end of the number. Microphones are placed in the center of the frame, often obscuring the Beatles’ faces to give attention to the music over image. There is also a focus on the recording process as Ringo is seen playing both a drum kit and later a set of bongos, and Paul is on both piano and bass at different times. This effect dispels the possibility of the performance being live. This also signals a shift in the complexity of the Beatles’ musical compositions, that multitracking made it possible to layer a song with a range of instruments and textures. These and future Beatles songs were becoming impossible to play live onstage without enlisting the help of extra musicians—​something the Beatles refused to do as it would completely defy their image. The experimentation and multitracking process opened up a new direction from the three-​chord pop song about innocent love between a boy and a girl. This sequence signals a budding maturity in the Beatles as songwriters and as performers, and Lester’s decision to place a greater visual focus on instruments and recording equipment reinforces this shift. From the beginning of the sequence, Lester uses framing, lighting, and editing techniques that, for the viewer, convey a sense of intrusion and claustrophobia for invading this private workspace. At the same time, Lester is able to establish a sense of intimacy between the band members. For the viewing audience, this is a false sense of intimacy that instead creates a sense almost of discomfort. The majority of the shots are in tight close-​ups, with the lighting varied between low lit, overhead lighting, and backlighting so each member’s face is obscured in shadow. In an approach deemed unconventional by traditional genre standards, Lester breaks from the convention of lighting his stars, to instead distort and hide their faces. In shot fourteen (14:22), Lennon is shot from his right profile, in an extreme close-​up. There is a bright blue streak from the overhead lighting going across the frame diagonally. In shot nineteen (14:34), the violet lighting gel is removed and the light source rotates toward the camera to nearly white out the shot. Ringo, who is seen as the main protagonist of the film, is included in ten shots throughout the sequence. Three of these are shots of Ringo in extreme close-​up. However, unlike a Hollywood star, Ringo’s face is nearly indistinguishable due to the oversaturation of light in the frame mixed with the smoky air (shot eleven, 14:12). In addition to using tight shots, Lester also uses soft focus to give the Beatles’ image a hazy, dreamlike quality. Lester’s use of soft focus does heighten the dreamlike quality of the Beatles’ image before a viewing audience of fantasizing, young females, yet he only provides brief and distorted snatches, controlling what the audience sees. There is a strong emphasis on instruments and microphones throughout, which often leaves faces out of focus. An example of this includes shot

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seven (13:46) with the camera focused on John’s microphone, in a medium close-​up with the microphone in the center of the frame. John is left out of focus and bathed in a bright, green light. Also, with John’s image hidden in shadow, his voice can be featured as an instrument too. Another example is shot twelve (14:15) in which the camera, in a medium close-​up of George and Paul’s hands, focuses on their instruments, using frontal lighting to spotlight the instruments rather than using backlight to focus on the Beatles’ faces in frame. Shot seventeen (14:28) cuts to an extreme close-​up of Ringo’s snare drum and hi-​hat, with Lester again opting for frontal lighting to place emphasis on the instrument and musicianship. Lester chooses to shoot the Beatles either to the left or right of the frame, rarely opting to place them directly in the center. Also, the Beatles are either framed in profile or with their backs toward the camera, denying any acknowledgement of the viewing audience. These techniques work to shift the audience’s attention away from the band’s image to instead place emphasis on the music. So while the viewing audience may be allowed into this private space, Lester remains in control of the viewers’ access. Unlike A Hard Day’s Night’s reliance on handheld cameras to convey unrestricted access and freedom of movement, particularly when the Beatles were playing on stage, the camera here remains stationary with Lester instead choosing to cut to each short shot. So gone are the tracking shots, tilts, pans, and crash zooms of the first film that mirrored body movement and point of view. There is a backstage musical element to this sequence not unlike that of the first film, as fans were never (or at least very rarely) allowed past the main gates of Abbey Road Studios. So in this way, the viewing audience is being treated to a dimension of the Beatles’ celebrity to which they would not otherwise be privy. But due to the way the sequence is shot and due to the lack of engagement with the camera by the band, the audience is clearly distanced from the Beatles.

“You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away” The end of the previous number results in Ringo’s drum kit crashing down to the floor below as the cultists try for the fifth time to get the sacrificial ring back from Ringo. This is the first attempt at trying to capture a whole Beatle as well as the ring. The implication of this shift is that the Beatle now must be sacrificed to the goddess Kaili and the subsequent pursuits turn from harmful to violent. It is also revealed that Ringo obtained the ring from a piece of fan mail, further suggesting an extreme case of female desire and possession, as such a piece of jewelry is reserved to mark serious commitment in a relationship or even marriage. Lester sets up a dichotomy between the young fans and the more mature females with different forms of attraction toward the Beatles. A key character in the film for this comparison

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is Ahme. Actress Eleanor Bron, who plays Ahme, was twenty-​seven at the time of filming and her maturity and composure play an important role in representing the more ideal qualities of a fan or potential partner. Ahme is also the only female character in the film to have a significant role. There are no young female fans and the other women in the film are middle-​aged, with a couple of lines. While A Hard Day’s Night featured many young school girls, elevating them to a role of importance within Beatlemania, Help! only focuses on this one female character and her role in the film is conveyed most clearly during this sequence. Ahme makes for a very uncharacteristic Beatles’ fan and the Beatles react differently to her presence than they did to the girls in the first film. While John for example harmlessly teases a carriage full of girls on the train in A Hard Day’s Night, the Beatles and Ahme flirt with each other in their initial encounters. At the beginning of “You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away,” Ahme sits on a couch with George (shot six, 28:14), but she sits as far away as possible from him on the left side of the frame while George is placed on the right side of the frame. While George slouches in the couch in a “play it cool,” relaxed manner, Ahme sits rigidly with a straight back and sits on the edge of the couch, handbag perched on top of her lap, creating a physical barrier between her and George. She looks uncomfortable and out of place, politely listening without making a hysterical fuss over the band. Instead, she avoids eye contact with the members of the band for as long as possible. George tries to catch Ahme’s gaze by turning toward her and accentuating his guitar playing, moving to the music as a way of trying to invite Ahme to do the same. She hesitantly looks over at George and finally gives a slight smile. In shot thirteen (28:53), Paul winks at Ahme and the camera cuts to a full close-​up of her as she concedes in giving a full grin as the camera cuts to a medium close-​up of George, who looks at Ahme out of the corner of his eye jealously before looking back at Paul with contempt. Well outside of the average age of the Beatles’ main fan base, Bron provided the film with a strong leading character possessing the qualities of “emotional strength, beauty, brains, and acid wit” (Robertson, 2004, 164). Lennon looking, as ever, for his intellectual equal became very entranced by Bron during filming. Ahme also seems to parallel a number of characteristics to Lennon’s second wife and artistic colleague, Yoko Ono: also seven years John’s senior, with strong feminine features, independent, forward thinking, artistic, and intellectual. Ahme was allowed to be so close to the Beatles in this setting primarily due to her characterization of being the polar opposite to the typical Beatles’ fan. The lighthearted portrayal of young fans in the first film suggested that the Beatles endorsed that kind of pursuit and behavior, but Help!’s portrayal suggests the opposite of that. This sequence employs a private performance from the Beatles’ sitting room of their terraced house, which the “fans” represented by the cultists are not allowed into, nor are they able to gain access despite appearing to

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emerge from a manhole in the street. The song is filmed in John’s section of the house and the design connotes maturity and sophistication symbolized by the large library of books (including his second self-​authored book, A Spaniard in the Works), as well as the natural earth tones and wooden floor. The ambience is more somber, subdued, and grown up, which is more appropriate for the song’s introspective lyrics when compared to the extreme materialism of the other sections of the house. The absence of fans allows for the absence of any distractions that may take away attention from the Beatles’ performance. The viewing audience is forced listen to the song being sung and to watch the performance rather than participating in it as they would at a concert. Similarly to “You’re Going to Lose that Girl,” Lester includes a number of shots that focus on the Beatles’ instrumentation rather than their image. Shot three (27:52) is a full close up of John with Paul standing in the background playing bass. John is placed on the left side of the frame, slightly out of focus. In the center of the frame is John’s twelve-​string acoustic guitar, which is elevated from the body, sitting high against his chest. In this way, greater attention is again paid to the chords John is playing and to the instrument itself. The choice of guitar is also interesting to note as it is more complicated to play than a normal six-​string guitar. In a style clearly inspired by Bob Dylan’s work, this is the Beatles’ “first all acoustic track” (MacDonald 2005, 148). Again in shot seven (28:23), which is a similar setup to shot three, Lester zooms in on John’s mouth as he enters the chorus, highlighting Lennon’s voice as an instrument in a similar fashion to the previous musical sequence. However, the difference is that Lester’s style in this sequence is more conventional. His editing style is more relaxed, discarding the jump cuts for more evenly paced cuts. He allows the camera to linger on one shot anywhere from one full second up to ten seconds, with the average shot lasting three seconds. By doing this, Lester is presenting a more natural pace in editing that fits with the tempo of the song.

“Ticket to Ride” As the film reaches its climactic set piece, Lester cuts away from the confrontation between the cultists and the scientists at the Beatles’ home to scenes of the Swiss Alps, reminiscent of The Sound of Music (dir. Robert Wise, 1965). There is no logical connection to the jump in location and a simple caption provides a tenuous link between scenes. Although reminiscent of “Can’t Buy Me Love,”“Ticket to Ride” does have some important differences. Sutton (1981, 192) notes how the numbers of classical musicals take place in wide, open spaces that encourage an element of play. Like “Can’t Buy Me Love,” the Beatles escape from the pressures of stardom to play around in an

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open space, but unlike that number, “Ticket to Ride” was “arguably the first time that the full potential of editing for pace and rhythm was prioritized above choreography in a pop film” (Neaverson 1997, 39). Once again music is prioritized and another difference to the previous film is how the music is used. “Ticket to Ride” functions both diegetically and non-​diegetically, but when it is featured diegetically the Beatles do not play real instruments in order to avoid the codes of live performance. Instead, they pound randomly on a piano and Ringo air drums. Again, Lester foregrounds the music by superimposing a large staff across the screen in which notes appear as they are sung. Perhaps the biggest difference between the two climactic sequences is the self-​referential depiction of performance. Up until this point, the Beatles had been in viable performance spaces. But being placed in the Swiss Alps and with the interchangeable use of the song in diegetic and non-​diegetic formats, the number becomes a satire of the traditional musical sequence and the notion of musical performance in film as a whole. It is not merely the absence of an audience, instruments, and all of the trappings associated with traditional performance that makes this a satire. It is also revealed in the Beatles’ lack of any attempt to fool the audience into believing that the music track they are hearing is diegetic. In one shot, the Beatles sit around a piano and deadpan the viewing audience—​Paul, for example, sits with his arms folded across his chest with only his eyes staring out between his hat and coat. The message is clear—​the Beatles perform on their own terms even if it means not performing at all. In this way, it is the refusal to perform music for the audience and instead indulge in playing on the ski slopes that becomes the escape route, rather than escaping through the music. Just as the Beatles’ original songwriting gave them greater autonomy and control over their musical direction, “Ticket to Ride” is a display of Lester’s freedom from the conventions of the genre. With the first shots of the Beatles, in this sequence it is a whole ten seconds before the band become clearly visible to the audience. For Lester, who is the master of jump cuts and fast paced editing, ten seconds is a significant length of time, especially when the Beatles’ image has been at the forefront of every number before this. With “Ticket to Ride,” Lester has immediately disassociated the Beatles’ music from any specific image of the Beatles. In fact, the Beatles do not break the fourth wall to acknowledge the audience until shot ten (38:17), nearly thirty seconds into the sequence. Instead, Lester captures the band skiing and enjoying themselves as if they were on holiday. When the Beatles do look directly at the camera in shot ten, the same shot is repeated later at shot fifty-​seven (40:37) toward the end of the sequence. At the center of the frame is a small piano and John and George sit on the piano while Paul sits on the ground leaned up against it and Ringo stands on the left side of the frame in right profile. In this instance, the piano is treated more like a surreal prop than an instrument. Again, John mockingly bangs on the piano keys backward, Ringo and George clap out beats with

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their gloved hands, and Paul, still with his arms folded, sits staring at the camera; none of them pretend to actually perform the song or to lip sync to the vocal track. One convention that is abandoned during this sequence is the close-​up. Lester lingers on shot ten for ten seconds before cutting to shot eleven and in that time the Beatles are kept at a distance by Lester’s choice of a long shot. When the Beatles are in close-​up and facing the camera in shots eleven (38:26) and twelve (38:2), the Beatles do not sing or play but rather stand there staring at the camera. MacDonald (2005, 188)  argues that directly confronting the camera is one way that allows the subject being objectified to “suggest they are not an erotic object.” Such a device is used throughout Help!’s numbers to further distance and confront their audience. In shot eleven as Paul stands center frame, he wears large sunglasses and the glare of the camera lens is placed right over his face. Throughout the sequence, Lester continually blurs and distorts the Beatles’ image as he had done in “You’re Going to Lose that Girl” and to a lesser extent on “Help!” In shots forty-​six (39:52), forty-​seven (39:54), and forty-​eight (39:56) Lester cuts to each Beatle (George and Ringo are paired up in shot forty-​seven) out of focus and then quickly pulls focus back and forth until making the next cut, putting each in an out-​of-​focus blur for the majority of the shot’s duration. In shot fifty (40:01), Lester cuts to Paul out of focus. As Lester starts to pull focus, he also whip pans to completely obscure Paul’s center framed image. During both of Lester’s two jump cut sequences (shots 20–​42, 38:57–​ 38:59, and shots 39–​45, 39:48–​39:50), it becomes very difficult to discern one Beatle from the next, with the shots changing so quickly. Therefore, it is clear that Lester’s primary objective is not to reinforce the Beatles’ image but to present a highly stylized piece of work that mirrors the surrealism and pop art elements of the narrative. “Ticket to Ride,” the song, also represents a maturity and growth in the Beatles’ persona. Lester represented the complexity and skillful craft technically while the Beatles displayed effectiveness in aesthetically rejecting and satirizing the traditional conventions of musical performance. In this way, using “Ticket to Ride” as the song for this number also signifies the changes in the Beatles’ musical direction. What is most distinctive about this song is its sound. Listening to “Ticket to Ride,” one gets a great sense for the feeling of rock ’n’ roll versus the simpler love-​orientated pop songs of the band’s earlier albums. Stanley (2004, 169) describes this experience as the point where “mop-​top Beatlemania ends and their weightless, ageless legend begins.” With a heavier rock ’n’ roll beat than previous Beatles’ songs, it is clear that the Beatles’ influences have changed. Early on, the band was influenced by Elvis Presley, Carl Perkins, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Little Richard. By 1965, while still respectful of their early influences, they continued their musical development by listening to contemporaries such as Bob Dylan, The Beach Boys (of which their Pet Sounds directly influenced Sgt. Pepper), The

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Rolling Stones, The Yardbirds, The Animals, and The Kinks. Not only is the sound more ambitious and aggressive, but the lyrics are also more adult in nature, with more political and sexually suggestive content. And while MacDonald (2005, 143) hadn’t uncovered evidence to prove that “Ticket to Ride” was a direct result of experimenting with LSD for the first time, he does note that in early 1965, just before filming began, both Lennon and Harrison had drinks spiked by the hallucinatory drug—​an end to the innocence of mop-​topped Beatlemania indeed.

“I Need You” Like “You’re Going to Lose that Girl,” “I Need You” and “The Night Before”/​“She’s a Woman” also symbolize the Beatles’ shift in focus from stage performances to working in the recording studio. As the Beatles continually find themselves confronted by the cult members at every turn despite going to remote places, the band enlist the help of an army unit, complete with tanks and automatic weapons. The band was not safe in their recording studio, so Scotland Yard arranged for the band to record on the very windy and strategically elevated Salisbury Plain. With the almost surreal photographs and newsreel footage of police officers struggling to hold back lines of pushing, hysterical fans being published and broadcast all over the world, it is perhaps in a similar humor that Lester uses surrealism to present an exaggeration of the need for protection to this extent for the Beatles in this scene. In fact, after seeing such photographs, the idea of the Beatles needing an army unit to hold fans at bay might seem slightly absurd, yet somehow not completely unrealistic. In this sequence, the Beatles are flanked by recording equipment and a makeshift control room that is essentially one soundproofed wall with a window; the absurdity of it contrasts with the intimacy of the actual recording studio from the “You’re Going to Lose that Girl” sequence. Only half the shots in this sequence actually feature the Beatles in some way, and when they are in shot there is an emphasis on the mechanisms of music production. Where the former sequence used lighting to mask the Beatles’ image, this sequence juxtaposes shots of the Beatles with shots of tanks and soldiers with guns. The first shot is a close-​up looking down the barrel of a tank’s cannon. Such hostile and unwelcoming imagery is used throughout. Lester does let his shots on the Beatles linger for relatively longer periods of time—​in shot eight John, Paul, and George are held in a medium shot for a whole eight seconds in contrast to earlier sequences where the editing was faster paced. After the eight seconds, instead of cutting to a close-​up of the Beatles, Lester cuts to a close-​up of two artillery soldiers in the tank. Where a close-​up might be used to signify an elevated status of the star, Lester does not utilize shots that objectify the band in this way, opting instead to fill the

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screen with the stern glares of military personnel. Such “threatening and aggressive” expressions again work to “divert erotic potential” (McDonald 1998, 188). We see this again in shots thirteen and fourteen (49:20–​49:27). Shot thirteen is a wide shot of the Beatles in the background and is out of focus, while in the foreground the soldiers are in focus, guarding the band. After four seconds, Lester cuts, not to the Beatles but to another shot of soldiers. One soldier is lying on the ground with an automatic weapon. The camera captures the soldier at his level, with soldiers in the background hovering over the camera, giving the audience a greater sense of intimidation and claustrophobia as the soldiers are at a higher elevation to the camera. These two shots together take away seven seconds that could have been used to focus on the Beatles’ image. But the soldiers aren’t the only ones looking aggressive—​shots of Harrison, especially, avoid the camera’s gaze and despite this being his second self-​penned song (the first to feature in these films), he looks very miserable.

“The Night Before”/​“She’s a Woman” Traditional musicals rely on the “tension between realistic plot and spectacle/​ fantasy number” (Sutton 1981, 191). And up to a point, Help! maintains that balance. However, “The Night Before” is the moment when the plot and the number merge into one sequence as the antagonists continue their pursuit of the Beatles during the number. Sutton (1981, 190)  proposes that the narrative/​number opposition is another example of the “polity/​ personality, society/​individual clash” but by combining the narrative and number, Lester exposes a problematic reading of the film’s narrative when the lines of division become blurred. The intrusion of the antagonists (symbolizing the fans) suggests that despite the Beatles’ efforts to separate themselves, inevitably they need their fans as much as their fans need them. This sequence of two songs is performed differently from a live performance and conveys a new performance style for the band’s newly emerging persona. “The Night Before” uses a number of visual devices that reinforce a rejection of the band’s old image. Salisbury Plain is once again the location for this performance. Taking the high ground is a defensive military strategy and here it is used to symbolize the Beatles’ similar defensive strategy that foreshadows their retreat into the studio. Not only is this the most unlikely place for the band to perform, but the wind and rain lashing down actually make it impossible for the band to mime convincingly to the song, let alone play it for real. Lester is also once again careful in how he presents the Beatles’ image. They avoid eye contact with the camera and are also either in profile or with their backs to the camera, while Ringo is almost always out of shot completely. Despite the close shot of Paul that Lester recycles at various moments throughout the sequence, Paul does not engage with the

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camera. What could have been a very intimate and seductive moment had Paul looked at the camera, instead can be read as being invasive. This evasiveness becomes a common theme throughout the sequence as the Beatles continue to not acknowledge the presence of the viewing audience over and over again. George in shot six (52:44) is framed in a close-​up in which he is slightly off-​center and does not make eye contact. Ringo, whom the film’s plot centers around, is continually placed in the background and/​ or shot from the side or back if at all, as Lester chooses close-​ups of Ringo’s sticks and drum kit over the star’s face. What is also interesting to note is John’s role in the sequence:  the Beatle who was often thought of as the unofficial leader of the group is very much downplayed throughout; his shots are always in profile or from the back. Five times (shot five 52:42, and shots thirteen, eighteen, twenty-​eight, and forty) are all John in a wide close-​ up, right profile. Yet in each of these shots John’s face is obscured either by being out of focus or by being covered by Ringo’s cymbal in the foreground. The first decent shot of John comes almost two minutes into the sequence in shot twenty-​five, where he is in focus in the right side of the frame. The unorthodox camerawork continually deemphasizes the star image. It goes against classical Hollywood conventions and it goes against the exploitation of the star image for the teen market, as well as defies viewer expectations of what a musical number is supposed to be. This sequence also features the song “She’s a Woman.” Ahme uses a reel-​to-​reel copy of the song to trick Clang and the cultists into thinking the Beatles are located elsewhere. The song is a rare B-​side to “I Feel Fine” and was left off of the 1964 Beatles for Sale album. So like the footage of the Beatles performing “Help!” at the beginning of the film, this physical recording reflects the materiality of fandom. To have had an actual reel-​ to-​reel recording like the one Ahme uses would have meant getting close to the Beatles or their recording personnel. The song itself is one of the first in the band’s songbook to express more explicit feelings for a woman rather than sing about innocent feelings between a boy and a girl. The “woman” referred to in the song doesn’t give her lover presents or little tokens of affection—​she gives her man love and can “turn [him] on when [he] gets lonely” through sexual desire. Although this could very well be a sly reference to the band’s newfound marijuana use. Either way, there is a more mature subject matter being explored lyrically and McCartney is pushing himself more as a musician vocally and through his bass playing. While “She’s a Woman” presents itself as what sounds like a typical up tempo, rock ’n’ roll number, MacDonald (2005, 133–​134) notes it is not only “the most extreme sound the Beatles had manufactured to date” but that it is also “in all respects an experimental recording.” “She’s a Woman” is the starting point for McCartney’s experimentation in sound and song structuring that would also result in both “The Night Before” and “Another Girl.”

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“Another Girl” This is the second musical number in the film, “Ticket to Ride” being the first, to have no link or anchorage to the film, its characters, or its plot in anyway. The cultists’ pursuit precipitates to full military battle and Ringo is dropped into an underground pit with an uncaged tiger. The band then adopts disguises and takes a flight to the Bahamas, a location chosen for the film solely because the band had never been there before and fancied the trip. When the band arrives and disembarks from the plane, the scene is reminiscent of countless other airport arrivals made by the band as seen on television news footage. But as they wave and walk down the steps, the camera pulls back to reveal that there are no crowds of fans waiting for them, no deafening sounds of screaming, or signs and banners proclaiming undying love. Jokingly, the band runs around in a circle frantically trying to take pictures of each other. We then see the comedic arrivals of the cultists, the scientists, and Scotland Yard police officers before the abrupt cut to the musical number, undermining the usual narrative/​number tension. Instead any tension comes from within the number as Lester combines “a realist and an anti-​realist approach” (Neaverson 1997, 40). McCartney is seen lip syncing to the lyrics, but “plays” a woman in a bikini standing in front of him as if she was a bass guitar. With this, the artifice of the performance becomes firmly established as the thematic approach for the whole sequence. Not only is the number’s function undermined, but so is the number’s form. While most of the film features pop art and comic book–​style art along with references to Americana and spy films (see Neaverson 1997; Frontani 2007 for analysis), “Another Girl” is a visually avant-​garde piece that is the culmination of stylistic and formal experimentation that parallels the Beatles’ new artistic musical direction. This is the moment where the ideas of authenticity and the rock auteur that Mäkelä (2004) outlines can be read as a key turning point as music, lyrics, and presentation are clearly influenced through experimentation and, in some cases, the art school approaches to creative synergy (see Frith and Horne, 1987). In the space of this ninety-​minute film, the audience has seen the Beatles go from a tired, monochrome reproduction of a performance to working in a recording studio to abandoning performance altogether and arriving at a number that unveils a new look, new visual performance styles, and a new sound. Like “You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away,” “Ticket to Ride,” and “I Need You,” this number begins without a shot of the Beatles. Instead, Lester uses a crane shot that pans across the palm trees. In the next three shots, Lester cuts to a full close-​up of a single Beatle. But like “You’re Going to Lose that Girl,” each Beatle is shot in right profile looking away from the camera. These shots are jump cuts placed between two relatively longer shots of the palm trees. The way in which Lester uses the Beatles in a number of these shots suggests that he is using them more like set pieces

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to dress his shots of the lush tropical landscape. In shot twenty (1:12:05) there is a close-​up of a portion of a white wooden fence, with the camera focusing on the narrow slit between two of the fence’s planks. The shot continues with each Beatle appearing between the narrow gap looking at the camera, starting with Paul far off in the distance and ending with a close-​up of Ringo. It is a technique that has been copied since in television programs and commercials. Shots twenty-​one (1:12:07) and twenty-​two (1:12:09) each have two Beatles paired up with one woman. They are in a garden with colorful orange flowers and green foliage. Paul is framed left in the foreground with a woman framed right positioned slightly behind him and George center framed in the background behind the woman. Within this deep focus arrangement, Lester racks focus from Paul to the woman to George. The use of this technique, along with the striking contrast in colors, looks like a piece of art rather than a conventional music sequence in a pop film. This deep focus shot is again recreated with Ringo and John. Again in shot twenty-​three (1:12:11) there is a series of jump cuts that places central focus on an open garden growing around two sets of old stone stairs in bold white. The steps lead to the remains of an old structure with Gothic style framework and marble columns. Sitting on the bottom of the steps, each jump cut advances the group further up the steps until they are barely visible. In shot twenty-​nine (1:12:30), Lester features these ruins in close-​ up and places the Beatles at the very top of the ledges, standing still like statues. The camera is positioned low, tilted to a high angle to include the top of the ruins where the Beatles are, but the eye remains focused on the architecture. The ways in which the Beatles are positioned and the stillness, almost “mannequining,” is a precursor to the way the Beatles are placed in the promotional films for the singles “Paperback Writer” and “Rain” (dir. Michael Lindsay-​Hogg, 1966). Lester also experiments with color filters. Where he used colored lighting gels in the film studio for “You’re Going to Lose that Girl” to create a dreamy ambience, here he uses color filters on location because of the bright natural light and the boldness in contrasting colors and shadows the landscape and clouds present him with. In shot seventeen (1:11:56) there is a high angle shot from jutting rocks as the Beatles mime playing baseball below. Using an orange lens filter, the shadows cast along the pocked surfaces contrast the orange with black accents. Shot eighteen (1:12:01) utilizes a violet lens filter and while the Beatles are almost in complete silhouette, the blue of the sky is very deep while the cloud shapes are distinct and purple. These are visual techniques that the Beatles were perhaps influenced by to try and replicate in Magical Mystery Tour when they took the helm at directing. Like the Beatles, women are also used to set dress the visuals. In this way both are clearly being used as objects in the sequence but, at the same time, the band are not fetishized as the scenes featuring the Beatles on the beach have them wearing jeans and long-​sleeved cotton shirts, and the scenes of

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them swimming in the water also have them wearing clothes rather than swimwear. The primary function of this sequence is arguably to highlight the aesthetic beauty of camera framing, symmetry, and color. It has all the hallmarks of what we would now associate as being very “mod,” very “Swinging Sixties.” So the “reality” of performance is deemphasized but the sequence also depicts the Beatles playing instruments different to what they were normally associated with. We see John play drums, Ringo strumming an acoustic guitar, and Paul and George also swapping instruments with each other. Gone are the uniform clothes and any traditional stage formation linked to Beatlemania. Like “Ticket to Ride,” the number is at times both diegetic and non-​diegetic and when the Beatles do lip sync, it is obvious that they are doing so. In shot sixteen (1:11:49) John is seen to be moving his lips too fast, mouthing a jumble of words. Ultimately, all this adds up to a send up of the Beach Party cycle of films as the band swim on shore in their clothing, romp along the beach in an exaggerated manner, and include sight gags such as running down a set of stairs only to leap into a pile of sand. As Frith and Horne (1987, 56) observe, Pop’s established sense of escapism seemed inadequate to the dominant cultural mood of optimism. Music still confirmed the desires of youth, but those desires were changing: music was needed, now, to symbolize and express the feeling of a new generation that it could embody real cultural and political change. Pop became rock and musicians redefined their practice. With this number, the Beatles show that the conventional pop musical had become irrelevant to the complexities and maturities of the kinds of themes and topics these musicians were beginning to express through their songwriting. And here, with this final number, the Beatles’ sound, presentation, and lyrics align their attitudes toward the artifice of pop music, and of the image they portrayed for nearly three long years.

Conclusion Due to the first film’s success, United Artists doubled Help!’s budget, giving returning producer Walter Shenson and director Richard Lester £400,000 to create another song-​driven, hit film for the studio (Walker 1986, 267). From the beginning of the production meetings to the end of filming on March 11, 1965, the Beatles were allowed a greater role in the film’s production than they were previously allowed in A Hard Day’s Night. By the time filming was underway, the band had already reduced their television and radio appearances and had even started to think seriously about not touring

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anymore, despite, as Starr comments, “You gotta [sic] remember, we made our money playing live” (The Touring Years, 1:03:00). Partly because of this and partly due to United Artists still speculating over the Beatles’ longevity, promoting Help! included a full scale marketing campaign to exploit the band’s commercial appeal. With the first film, United Artists were only concerned about soundtrack rights; the widespread appeal for the Beatles at that time was underestimated. The promotional merchandise for Help! however can be grouped into three distinctive categories: soundtrack albums (which differed between the US and UK), film posters, and toys/​collectables. The American market had always been regarded as a key measure of big success and merchandisers were eager to exploit the high demand for Beatles-​related products while such a demand lasted. The album released for the British market and the one released for the American market differed both in musical content and design. This is due partly because two different record companies released the album—​Capital Records in the United States, in which the Beatles had little say or influence and their parent company EMI in the United Kingdom. In America, there was a full tie-​in with the film and soundtrack album and after its release two days after the film’s US premiere in New York City, it was awarded gold status within a week. The album was also the first to ever have over one million advance orders in the United States (Carr 1996, 73). The US album’s design was not just another Beatles’ record for fans, but also doubled as a movie memorabilia keepsake. The cover is very vibrant and exciting, with an enticement to see the film on every fold and flap. While in the United Kingdom, Robert Freeman’s cover design was stripped down and minimalist to represent the Beatles’ mood and to place emphasis on the music. The album in the United States also coincided with the Beatles’ final tour of North America, including the legendary Shea Stadium show on August 15, 1965, and studying these run of album covers from Help! to Sgt. Pepper uncovers similar commentaries on the role of image and performance as those reflected in the band’s first two films. Unlike A Hard Day’s Night, critical reception of Help! was not as positive. Fans still flocked to the film’s UK premiere in London in droves and in the United States the film was estimated to gross over $13million in box office receipts (Bart 1965, X7). Though a popular success in the fans’ opinion, Time magazine wrote that Help! was “a Beatle product rather than a Beatle movie,” with the only motivation for making the film being to keep Beatles fans stimulated and interested in new Beatles merchandise (Harry 1992, 303). Similarly, Bosley Crowther (1965, 25) of the New York Times, who had once praised the first film for its innovation, found the second outing to be “a fiasco of farcical whimsies” and a “clutter of mechanical gimmicks” that had just been “thrown together.” Crowther’s final verdict was that the Beatles had “become awfully redundant and [. . .] dull.” The critic for the Daily Mail in England voiced similar sentiments saying that the plot

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“reduces them to robots” (Neaverson 1997, 44), while Sight and Sound’s critic Peter Harcourt (1965, 200) wrote that Lester’s technique had “become wearying by the end” of the film. The one-​line jokes come thick and fast, yet lack the natural ease of the Beatle’s repertoire of responses from the first film. The Beatles had been playing a version of themselves in A Hard Day’s Night, which allowed a sense of familiarity, close proximity between the band and the audience, and reinforced the “boys next door” quality. Help! on the other hand lacked the intimacy and the rapport with the audience that many had expected to carry over from the first film. As a result, the film lacked the character development, depth, and realism needed to prevent the fictional “John,” “Paul,” “George,” and “Ringo” from being merely stock characters. While this distancing was the point in the band’s approach, the meaning and intentions behind it were not, it seems, successfully interpreted in that way. I would argue that Help! comes to reflect the paradigm shift between stardom and celebrity that began in the 1950s. Magazines such as Confidential (1952–​1979) found an audience for the gossip and exposés that gave readings the real story on the lives and persona of their favorite Hollywood stars. As the façade of Hollywood crumbled away in the popular press, the cinema screen began to feature actors with ordinary, working-​class backgrounds and thick regional accents, while pop acts also enjoyed the wealth and status once reserved for Hollywood greats. Help! becomes a commentary on the tensions between star and celebrity, of artifice and authenticity, of pop idol and musician, not just for the Beatles but for the creative industries as a whole. Over the next two years since Help!’s release, the Beatles used these changing times and changing attitudes that come out of the emerging youth and countercultures to radically experiment with the function of image and push the boundaries between music and art ever closer. It was a real risk for the band and, while the money and fame earned from touring was never unwelcome, they quickly reevaluated its worth compared to the space and privacy it cost them. They had lost sight of their goal and of their original purpose—​to make music. Lennon commented, “As we were musicians, we felt if we’re going to be Beatles, the only reason to be in the Beatles is to make music, not be in a circus” (The Touring Years, 1:30:52). In 1966, the Beatles played their final tour to embark on a journey of musical experimentation. Their influences shifted from Dylan and pot to Brian Wilson, LSD, and Eastern philosophy within the space of a year. The Beatles would go on to release Rubber Soul (1965), Revolver (1966), and Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band before filming their next movie, the made-​for-​television Magical Mystery Tour. These three albums progressed in musical and lyrical complexity, often to the bewilderment of their biggest fans (Kirkup 2014, 70–​73). But these records illustrate the lengths to which the Beatles developed a sense of authorship (see Womack 2005, 2010) and how

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music could be released as a complete artistic package. Music became an experience without the clutter of traditional live performance. Rock music became the soundtrack to the counterculture because it invited the meritocratic values recognized by the youth culture. Frontani (2007, 193) argues that what was so unusual about the Beatles was not that they were seen as leaders of the youth culture, but that they wanted to be part of it in the first place. The youth culture found it easy to identify with them and, as a result, the band would spend the rest of their career navigating through an often contradictory relationship with their audience.

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The Beatles’ decision to quit touring in 1966 became an important turning point in the band’s direction and outlook. Performing live has always been a key marketing strategy and a direct way to connect with the fan base. Bands use touring to promote new material, to maintain a presence between projects, and to generate a large percentage of the band’s income. The Beatles’ initial recording strategy was agreed between manager Brian Epstein and producer George Martin to ensure that “a single was put out every three months, and an album was released every six months” (The Touring Years, 51:54). In between that time the band toured, appeared on television, made other publicity appearances, starred in feature films and promotional films, and wrote new material on the road. However, the Beatles broke the mold in stepping away from touring. Not only was it a risk in their successful career trajectory, but it had also become a crucial element of their Beatlemania image. In speaking about playing live and the endless touring between 1964 and 1966, Lennon commented, “The Beatles were the show and the music had nothing to do with it” (The Touring Years, 1:30:48). And after Harrison stepped off the stage for the last time at the Candlestick Park gig in San Francisco on August 29, 1966, he was heard saying, “Right—​that’s it. I’m not a Beatle anymore” (Spitz 2005, 640). By finding refuge in Abbey Road Studios, the band had the space and the time to focus on developing their songwriting as a craft. They were writing songs that meant something to them, that reflected their thoughts and interests in a way that they could be true to themselves as artists. Their work would find its audience and, as they were getting older and maturing, hopefully their fan base were moving in the same direction and would be able to relate to them. While the Beatles went through an intense period of collaboration during this time, they also began to emerge with their own individual styles, tending to write material separately from each other because they were living apart, outside of London (with the exception of McCartney), with their young families.

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The studio became the Beatles’ bohemian hangout and their success allowed the band unprecedented access to the studio after hours, giving them greater freedom to experiment and take control of the recording and mixing equipment. For McCartney, “the studio was our little haven. Once we got back there we knew we could experiment [. . .] and we could write songs that would be a progression” (The Touring Years, 51:30). As the Beatles began to work on songs for the Sgt. Pepper album, they were changing the well-​established music production process of the pop music industries. Most pop acts were still releasing output based on lyrics written by an external songwriting team chosen with input from a Svengali-​like manager. The act’s producer would have a large percentage of control over the sound and song structure, which often followed formulaic genre conventions. Arguably for the first time in Britain, a pop band had taken artistic control over the content, production, packaging, and promotion of an album. The Lennon–​ McCartney songwriting team was an important precursor leading up to total autonomy in the creative process and the Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds was a clear influence on the band’s next steps. Not only would Sgt. Pepper help to shift the music industries’ sales focus from singles to albums, but it also signaled a change in the way the Beatles as a collective created and recorded music. The emergence of each Beatle as a songwriter with a distinctive style was reflected in the band’s new image. Kirkup (2014, 74) writes on how the Beatles spent a period of six months almost completely out of the public eye, and when they were filmed as part of an ITN broadcast in December 1966, they “were filmed individually” entering the studios, and “all had moustaches.” Gone too were the mop-​tops and the matching clothing. Frontani (2007, 126)  notes that this shift was an attempt “to make their public image more authentic and consistent with their perceptions of themselves.” He argues this was the way in which they could assert themselves as “artists and committed counterculturalists” (ibid., 126). With this interest in the counterculture and psychedelia, the Beatles tried to position themselves as a link between mainstream audiences and the youth culture. These themes come through most strongly in not only the Beatles’ musical output, but also in the promotional films they recorded with directors Joe McGrath, Michael Lindsay-​Hogg, and Peter Goldmann. These proto-​music videos will also be analyzed alongside the Beatles’ third film and directorial debut, the free form, psychedelic road trip, Magical Mystery Tour (1967). While Magical Mystery Tour as an album (released as a double EP in the UK) undermines the ridged production process of the music industries, as a film it also challenges the ways in which mainstream cinema was produced, distributed, and exhibited. Uniquely at the time, the Beatles had completely funded the project as well as written the “script,” directed it, and starred in it. This approach bypassed the Hollywood studios as the band instead decided on releasing the film under Apple Films—​a division of their newly formed Apple Corps company. In addition, the Beatles also negotiated the sale and

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broadcasting rights with the BBC directly. With the fall of the Hollywood studio system and the emergence of smaller independent production companies in the early 1960s, along with new cinematic movements and genres, underground cinema and alternative, art house films were finding an audience within the youth culture and gaining mainstream attention. It became an alternative medium for artists and anyone else with an interest in film and filmmaking to independently create content or promote themselves in new ways. When the Beatles first visited America in 1964, they had been photographed with both still and movie cameras and MacDonald (2005, 256)  noted that McCartney was making his own private, avant-​ garde home movies in 1966, reportedly screening them to director Michelangelo Antonioni. It makes sense that the Beatles were encouraged to make their own film at some point, considering the interest and involvement they showed on previous film and promo shoots. Magical Mystery Tour stands out most for its total disregard of the generic conventions associated with classical and pop musicals and instead weaves a loose narrative around a series of almost separate musical sequences, using tropes that came to be most associated with the psychedelic “head” films of the late 1960s. Because of these unconventional influences and experimental nature of Magical Mystery Tour, Aldred’s (2005) thesis that psychedelic art represented a three-​tiered frame of mind (Perception, Performance, and Liberation) rather than a type of style is a useful lens from which to approach my analysis. While Aldred does not specifically discuss Magical Mystery Tour, I have found a fruitful link between her theory on image perception and performance of the self and the themes used in that film. The idea of reading the film as reflective of a frame of mind does help to gain a greater appreciation of what the Beatles were trying to achieve artistically as they straddled two different audience types (mainstream and counterculture), and two different cultural influences (pop and avant-​garde/​ experimental). Aldred’s work considers how Performance (dirs. Donald Cammell and Nicholas Roeg, 1970) and Sgt. Pepper are creations of inward thought and a reflection on the nature of image and performance. She posits that by questioning and discussing these issues, it was possible for one to achieve liberation from one’s inauthentic self in order to find one’s true self. Such a journey happened through one’s self-​reflexivity, through spirituality, and more often than not through the aid of psychedelic drugs. It is also worth noting that with this film the Beatles decided to return to the medium of television for its broadcast—​perhaps as a way of reconnecting in a more intimate way with their fan base, but also the choice of broadcasting on the BBC on Boxing Day would mark it out in the television schedules as a highlight of the festive viewing season. With only three television stations to choose from in Britain at the time, BBC, BBC2, and ITV, it was also where the Beatles would arguably be able to capture the largest audience and the widest demographic of tastes and interests.

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Unlike traditional musicals, Magical Mystery Tour breaks down the narrative/​number relationship, allowing the idea of the number as a utopian moment to blend into the very loose “narrative.” While it might seem that this relationship could be classified under Dyer’s (2002, 28) third category of musicals—​those that “try to dissolve the distinction between narrative and numbers, thus implying that the world of the narrative is also (already) utopian,” Magical Mystery Tour as a whole works at various levels of escape, but there are moments throughout that lend themselves to the boredom, the seedy, and the macabre of a bad trip. Nostalgia for the past is a key utopian theme that ties the otherwise structureless piece together, and is reflected in the film’s premise of a mystery coach trip to the seaside, the set pieces around prewar dance hall entertainment, and through the film’s visual effects to create a sense of escaping one’s self. There is also an undeniable influence on the Beatles’ work at this time from Timothy Leary’s coauthored book The Psychedelic Experience (1964; 1997), which provided a guide for navigating through an LSD trip and used the Tibetan Book of the Dead as a framework. Just as Leary et al. (1997, 104) wrote about using LSD to “turn off your mind, relax, and float downstream,” Magical Mystery Tour follows the same structure of the free form flowing of a hallucinatory drug trip. In this way the Beatles were liberating themselves from the restrictions of the establishment and the systems that they had worked with in order to develop their own new styles of artistry. Yet, the film is still problematic in its “liberated” depiction of the Beatles’ image. On one hand, the Beatles pander to pop music’s exploitative nature with the audience—​it is a brash, overproduced niche film screened during a prime-​ time slot. But on the other hand, the Beatles really seem to struggle with adapting to a new, counterculture influence image. They try to shed their Beatlemania iconography but instead end up questioning what “Beatle” is and what “Beatle” can (and perhaps cannot?) be. So by the end of Magical Mystery Tour, there really is no liberated resolution about the Beatles’ role as pop stars, musicians, or as leaders of the youth culture. True to the inward, reflective nature of psychedelia and enlightenment, the Beatles left viewers with more questions then they provided answers for.

Producing and promoting Magical Mystery Tour 1967 can best be described as a year of upheaval for the Beatles and between planning Magical Mystery Tour that April and the film’s broadcast on BBC1 that December, many critical events had taken place—​some positive, others tragic, but each a step closer to the band achieving total autonomy over their affairs. First, the Beatles built upon the complexities and introspection

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of 1966’s Revolver with the experimentally groundbreaking and highly conceptualized Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. Released on July 1, the album helped to signal the beginning of the “Summer of Love.” It marked the beginning of an experimental period whereby each element of the album formed to produce artistic synergy in a list of firsts: the lyrics were printed on the album sleeve, elevating the words to a status akin to poetry; the cover was a Pop Art collage opening up to reveal photographs of the band; there was a sheet of cutouts including uniform insignia and a moustache, which encouraged the idea of dressing up and playing with identity. And three of the four albums to follow on from Sgt. Pepper would take similar design considerations to present music and packaging as one piece of art. Within weeks of Sgt. Pepper’s release, the Beatles were chosen to represent the whole of Britain in the world’s first live satellite broadcast called Our World in which they performed “All You Need Is Love.” The track reached number one on the singles chart on July 1 and became not only the “soundtrack for that summer,” but was also the anthem of the counterculture (The Summer of . . . 2006). On August 14, pirate radio DJ Johnnie Walker chose “All You Need Is Love” for Radio Caroline’s first broadcasted record as it “summed up the times of 1967 and what Radio Caroline stood for” (The Summer of . . . 2006). The Beatles’ music held the nation’s attention captive throughout the year. Also during this time the Beatles had found out that manager Brian Epstein had died of a drug overdose on August 27 while the band had been away at a meditation retreat in Wales. Even though the Beatles were deeply saddened by the news, the band’s press officer Tony Barrow (1999, 7) had since revealed that when Epstein’s five-​year contract ran out at the end of 1967, “the group had already agreed amongst themselves that it would not be renewed.” Fearing that the band was getting even closer to disbanding, McCartney quickly proposed that the band pursue his idea for a television film. The project was designed to restore confidence in the band and to bring them artistically together on the collaboration. In April 1967, McCartney began to note down some rough ideas for the potential film; the ideas were very abstract. While on a trip in America, McCartney had heard about Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters—​a group of West Coast LSD advocates who drove around in a brightly painted bus. This triggered memories of the coach day trips with unspecified locations and the weekend coach trips from Liverpool to Blackpool McCartney enjoyed during his youth. Under the influence of LSD and with his budding interest in the avant-​garde, McCartney became obsessed with the idea of creating “magical” experiences. During the Revolver sessions, for example, McCartney focused on experimenting with sound because “it’s all [about] trying to create magic,” and even the people working with the band on those sessions were instructed to be spontaneous in order to “distort and create magic” (Irving 2004, 199). McCartney pitched his idea to the band with only a sheet of paper with a circle drawn on it. Divided into segments

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adding up to approximately sixty minutes, some sections of the circle had rough ideas or phrases written in while others were empty. Each member of the band was then encouraged to provide an idea for the segments and any leftover spaces would be improvised during filming. With Apple Corps investing £30,000 in the project, the Beatles were able to fund the crew to operate filming equipment, hire the coach, and pay for cast members and other expenses. Many of those involved with the project had been friends and employees of the band since their early Liverpool days, including Alistair Taylor, Mal Evans, Tony Barrow, Denis O’Dell, Derek Taylor, and Neil Aspinall. Location filming for the majority of Magical Mystery Tour began between September 11 and 15 in Devon and Cornwall, with location and studio work continuing in London between September 18 and 25, and McCartney’s “Fool on the Hill” sequence filmed in Nice, France between October 29 and 31. Having only a loose script and with most of the dialogue improvised, the film included local actors and actresses, fan club secretaries, friends of the Beatles, the humorist Ivor Cutler, Victor Spinetti, and variety performer Nat “Rubber Man” Jackley as passengers aboard the bus. With the camera operators instructed to record anything that seemed interesting, the Beatles ended up with ten hours of film that needed to be cut down to just under sixty minutes (Barrow 1999, 9). The daunting task of editing the footage went to associate producer Denis O’Dell’s friend, Roy Benson, who had also acted as second assistant editor to John Jympson on A Hard Day’s Night (no study has noted this connection before). The editing, which the Beatles thought could be done in a week, actually took three months to complete, just making its broadcast deadline (MacDonald 2005, 255). The title track was recorded in April 1967 and the other tracks were recorded between September and November. Benson’s only instructions were to edit with the idea of the mystery tour in mind and to edit footage suitable for the songs written. Released on December 8, 1967 the album Magical Mystery Tour proved to be another Beatles’ first. With only six songs, all featured in the film, there was not enough material for a full length LP and too many songs for an EP. The Beatles never released their UK singles on LPs so as to give the consumer a truly new product, so the band decided to release a double EP consisting of “Magical Mystery Tour,” “The Fool on the Hill,” “Flying,” “Blue Jay Way,” “Your Mother Should Know,” and “I am the Walrus.” The packaging came with a twenty-​eight-​page cartoon booklet with drawings by cartoonist Bob Gibson, and included photographic stills from the film by John Kelly. The booklet is a detailed summary of the sequences and mini episodes that take place throughout the film, with the Beatles drawn in as magicians. More adult themes such as drug taking and sex are depicted in lighthearted ways. LSD hallucinations are referred to as “a daydream”—​some of which are frightening (Aunt Jessie’s nightmare spaghetti dream) and some sexual (Happy Nat’s “happy” dream about young women in skimpy swimwear).

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The cartoon depicting the striptease only shows performer Jan Carson’s leg, as George’s hands cover John’s face. After leaving the show, everyone returns to the bus “very pleased,” without the more graphic suggestions made in the film. There are also satirical criticisms of establishment figures: parents (the drawings of Aunt Jessie take up most, if not all, of the frames in which she appears, and she is either nagging Ringo or complaining), clergy (the priests are referred to as “the five cheating vicars”), and the military (the sergeant barks out unintelligible orders and insults, an officer sits around lazily, and Jolly Jimmy tells his passengers, “and if they try to get you to join up DON’T TAKE ANY NOTICE”). The photographs include stills from the film and images that were later cutout of the film because the booklet was produced before there was a final film edit. The photographs seem random, hinting at the film being a series of sketches, with the Beatles playing different roles. In some of the group photographs with the cast, the Beatles almost seem to blend into the crowd; they aren’t standing next to each other. Even the cover masks the band’s identities as they wear animal costumes that cover the whole of their faces. In this way, the double EP was not only a preview of what viewers could expect from the film, preparing fans for the visual confirmation that Beatlemania was over and the four musicians had moved on to more artistic and adult pursuits, but it was also a new way to market their product. However, in America the album was released as a full LP and included five of the band’s singles, “Hello Goodbye,” “Strawberry Fields Forever,” “Penny Lane,” “Baby You’re a Rich Man,” and “All You Need Is Love.” The high demand for Beatles products in America meant that consumers had the tracks from the double EP and all the singles (which they probably had already bought) on one album, which was also packaged with the cartoon booklet in a larger format. Released on November 27 at the start of the Christmas shopping season, Magical Mystery Tour sold 1.75million copies in seven weeks, many of which were advance sales orders, to eventually sell a total of five million copies. This LP format was also available as an import in Britain and sold a respectable 50,000 copies (Everett 1999, 144). Despite the film not being on general release at cinemas in America, the LP did earn over $8 million in just ten days (Neaverson 1997, 71).

Perception, performance, liberation—​ psychedelia’s influence on the Beatles The Beatles began using LSD as early as 1966 and also began to explore both Eastern philosophy and Timothy Leary’s LSD-​ induced guide to enlightenment, The Psychedelic Experience. In understanding the Beatles’ desire to alter their image, Aldred (2005, 101)  argues that psychedelia is

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a particular mindset that influences consciousness to “question identity and representation.” It was the beliefs and look of the establishment that the counterculture questioned and distanced themselves from and many followers of the counterculture recalled their art school backgrounds as a gateway to unlimited possibilities of experimentation and synergy. The three closely linked levels that Aldred proposes are each an element of participating in the counterculture. Rather than just wearing the clothes or quoting tracts, it was believed that this mindset could completely free a person from their imprisonment—​mind, body, and soul. Perception involves questioning one’s identity and how others see that identity. Performance is taking the idea of perception to a more concrete experience where any revelations are transformed into art pieces, paintings, music, acting, and so on, and using costumes to physically question identity is a common association. Liberation from mainstream society and one’s former hegemonic self is reached only when one has found themselves and declared this whole heartedly to the community. Visually, the Beatles’ film work became an important manifestation of navigating through this mindset, particularly the promo films made between 1965 and 1967, leading up to Magical Mystery Tour, as the band were able to play with image and techniques in interpreting their music visually.

The Beatles’ psychedelic promotional films By giving specific focus to three key promotional films—​“Rain,” “Paperback Writer,” and “Strawberry Fields Forever,” it becomes clearer to understand the motivations behind Magical Mystery Tour (the film). It highlights how the Beatles’ introspective songwriting and projection of their new image on film completely undermines the function of the musical sequence—​there is no relationship between the story/​narrative in the lyrics and the visuals on screen. While the songs became more personalized, drawing upon past experiences, they were often written as abstract thought—​difficult to pin them down as purely autobiographical or to be read literally. The first series of promotional films were made with director Joe McGrath in late 1965, of which there are ten videos from five different Beatles’ songs: three versions of “We Can Work It Out,” three versions of “Day Tripper,” two versions of “I Feel Fine,” and one version each of “Ticket to Ride” and “Help!” (see Pieper and Path 2005 for full details). Costing the Beatles’ then management company NEMS (North End Musical Stores) only £750, the set of films were sold to television companies, including the BBC, for £1,750 and were aired numerous times on music programs such as Top of the Pops, Thank Your Lucky Stars, and Hullabaloo (Lewisohn 2004, 208). These films all lack the wit and surrealist humor found in A Hard Day’s Night and the Beatles’ performance is often mocking, half hearted, and clearly made

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as an obligation to sell a product. However, they do reveal the artifice of performance as the band make no attempts to convincingly mime to the track and, in some of the versions, they are not playing instruments at all, setting a precedent on their approach toward some of the musical sequences in A Hard Day’s Night and Help!

“Rain” and “Paperback Writer” With the Beatles’ next set of promotional films made in 1966 with director Michael Lindsay-​Hogg, the band fared better creatively; these films depict a similar image to the transitional image of the Beatles in the “Another Girl” sequence from Help! The Beatles are seen wearing clothes that are not exactly uniform and which do alter their Beatlemania image, yet still compromise to not entirely alienate or shock fans. But the juxtaposition of these elements reflects the transition of style and sound found on the two albums released directly after Help!:  Rubber Soul and Revolver. There are different versions of these two singles’ films—​filmed either in a studio or on location at Chiswick House in West London. The first sets of “Rain” and “Paperback Writer” were filmed in Abbey Road Studios. “Rain” has three different versions, the difference between versions one and two being slightly different takes on the performance while version three was a color version made specifically for The Ed Sullivan Show. There are four versions of the Abbey Road Studios films for “Paperback Writer”—​again one version was filmed in color for Ed Sullivan. There is little differentiation between the other three versions. Despite standing on a stage in their typical Lennon lead vocal formation and performing for an unseen audience who clap politely for “Rain,” the mop-​tops were unkempt and had grown past their collars, John hid behind dark sunglasses and both Lennon and McCartney wore flower patterned shirts under their jackets. For “Paperback Writer,” the stage is less ridged and less formal. Jackets and ties are removed to show the flower shirts off more. Each wears different colored sunglasses and the performance starts off with Ringo doing a piece to camera apologizing for not being able to appear live, explaining that they are too busy with other engagements. There is also a brief reference to the band’s controversial “butcher cover” for their forthcoming US release, Yesterday . . . and Today. The infamous “butcher cover,” as it became known, was an image from a conceptual art session with Robert Whitaker—​a photographer who became friends with the band during the latter half of their 1965 tour. The image featured the Beatles in lab coats covered in raw meat pieces and baby doll parts. A limited first run of the album with that cover was released in America, until Capitol Records ordered a different cover within days of the original’s release. With these elements, Lindsay-​Hogg delivers a more serious performance

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from the Beatles that the McGrath promos lacked. These promos do not patronize the band or put them in silly pantomime. Instead, the camera work has a more fluid style matching the complexity of the song; the colors are natural, autumnal hues, and the lighting is under lit. It creates an ambience similar to the cover artwork of Beatles for Sale and Rubber Soul, highlighting musicianship over a Fab Four image. A day after filming these in the studio, the Beatles and Whitaker joined Lindsay-​ Hogg at Chiswick House to film one color version of each single and these versions are the ones that will be most familiar to fans. The bright, natural light highlights the changes to the Beatles’ physical appearance—​long hair, thick sideburns, faces obscured by sunglasses. Each wears a turtleneck sweater and jacket. Lennon looks pensive and remote; McCartney’s trademark soft features are spoiled by a badly chipped front tooth and swollen, cut lip from a moped accident. Technically, the Chiswick House films are more Lester-​ esque in style, using jump cuts, tracking shots, and a variety of different spaces within the grounds. Both films mix performative and non-​performative styles. When the Beatles lip sync to “Rain,” the director favors closer and even tight shots to avoid full views of instruments; Ringo’s drums do not appear at all. Throughout “Rain” there are also moments when the crew are setting up and marking shots for the camera, and the film starts with a close-​up on the clapper board to dispel any illusion of live performance. What is most significant about “Rain” in particular is the underlying commentary on the Beatles’ fame. The film is shot in a walled and gated estate, free of any audience. There is a brief moment where a group of fans cling to the gate at the entrance as Ringo walks away with his back to them, a sign that reads “Way Out” placed next to the gate. It is a poignant statement on the price of stardom and what the band are willing to walk away from to focus on their music. At the end, a camera positioned at a low angle uses a reverse shot as the cameraman follows Paul and John around the conservatory, intercut with a similar set up with George and Ringo. Both pairs shut a wooden gate in front of the camera—​John walks away, not looking back, George and Ringo wave goodbye. The door has literally been closed and this physical barrier signals an end to Beatlemania for the band.

“Strawberry Fields Forever” Directed by Peter Goldmann in February 1967, “Strawberry Fields Forever” is the precursor to the visual experimentation and changing identities the Beatles would display on the cover of Sgt. Pepper. The promo begins with a shot of a bare field. In the middle ground, right frame, is a large bare tree. Tympanis are scattered around in the background, and in the foreground, framed left, is a mutilated upright piano with its top off, stripped down,

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its wires stretched vertically along with pieces of string. With the color desaturated, there is a muted and autumnal feel to the piece. Goldmann opens the film by focusing on the upper branches of the tree, slowly panning down to reveal this strange array of instruments. The Beatles walk from the background into the middle ground and disappear behind the tree’s trunk. In shot two (00:11), the group emerge from off camera, frame right, walking backward toward the piano where George (always the clumsy one on film) comically bumps into the instrument, and joins the other three in a line. Their facial hair and psychedelic clothing are a stark contrast to their previous boy-​like non-​masculinity (Marshall 1997, 170). The band wear military tunics, scarves, orange-​and-​red shirts, and pink-​and-​lavender striped jackets that aren’t coordinated with one another, nor are their outfits purchased from a tailor’s Savile Row shop. Instead, they were their own clothes bought from the shops in Soho and Camden where everyone else shopped. In shot seven (00:33), the director dissolves to a superimposed extreme close-​up of Paul’s left sideburn and pans around Paul to stop at an extreme close-​up of his eye looking directly into the camera. Shot ten (00:43) is shot similarly, but this time with John’s right sideburn and short fringe. As the camera pans around to an extreme close-​up of John’s face, we are confronted with John’s eye behind his “granny” glasses. Earlier, the severely shortsighted John was very careful not to be photographed or filmed wearing his black, thick-​ framed glasses. But their presence here reflects an important part of John’s new authentic image. They became a part of Lennon’s identity around the same time that he became more outspoken in political and intellectual ideas. As Mäkelä (2004, 117) argues, For Lennon, a reconstruction of his identity as a star and through his own past constituted a watershed in his career. The imaginative return to a time before the Beatles suggested a return to a state of innocence and provided an opportunity for Lennon to purify and authenticate his status as an artist, and thus refine his star image. The glasses became an outward sign of this transformation and a quest for enlightenment and rebirth. In this struggle, Lennon not only found it necessary to change his physical appearance but to also regularly use LSD and heroin to distance himself from his Beatles image in order to find his “true” self. When Goldmann has exhausted the motif of right profile sideburn shots and pans to glaring eyes, he begins to shoot each Beatle individually looking straight at the camera in a range of close shots to full close-​ups with a deadpan expression. It is an effective confrontation with the viewer. Rather than avoiding eye contact with the camera as they had done in Help!, each now stands at a comfortable distance from the camera giving a serious gaze, held long enough to begin to feel uncomfortable. In shot

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fourteen (1:08) there is a low angle full close-​up of Paul with his eyes looking down into the camera. The low angle shot gives Paul a sense of superiority. The imposing feeling is enhanced by the lack of lighting, both natural and artificial, as by this point in the film it has become dark. Shot seventeen (1:23) is a full close-​up of John with his handlebar moustache and glasses—​it is preceded by a quick zoom to an extreme close up. Half of his face is lit in dark, red lighting and between the camera and John is the fence-​like barrier of the piano wires. Where Paul was shot at a low angle to symbolize distance, Goldmann uses a more obvious physical barrier with John. But the most visually interesting of these shots is shot nineteen (1:28) of George in a wide close-​up behind the foreground of crisscrossed wires. He is in center frame but does not look directly at the camera. Instead, he is looking off camera to the left, quickly turning his head around as if something or someone is behind him. It is an instinctive turn as if to say Beatlemania still haunts him, fearful that he may never escape the association of his former mop-​topped self. A final theme to explore in this film is how the Beatles’ image is disassociated from the Beatles as musical performers. The band do not play instruments in the promo and the instruments that are in shot are used as props; the main motif of the film (that of the Beatles centered on the gutted piano in the dark) introduces the viewer to the band’s new preoccupation with surrealism as an avant-​garde art form rather than as a comedic device that Richard Lester was fond of using. Instead of juxtaposing conflicting or absurd images, “Strawberry Fields Forever” uses images and techniques that simulate an LSD trip. Lennon’s wordplay in the lyrics, the backward tape loops and distortion, and the film’s dreamlike state are all reflective of this. There are colored filters for the backlighting and running footage backward to match the music’s effects enhances the surrealism. Shots twelve and thirteen (00:50–​1:08) capture Paul at the piano and then running backward in a Monty Python-​esque “silly walk” toward the tree. After two jumps, the camera cuts almost seamlessly to a low angle shot of Paul on one of the highest branches where the “controls” connecting the piano wires are. With divinity-​like powers, Paul turns one of the bulbs and the daylight turns into darkness; a single red bulb shines eerily. As the Beatles sit and stand around the piano, George plucks at the wires, and in another shot (2:59) the Beatles are painting the piano with abstract strokes and various colors as the footage then switches to an overexposed negative effect. This sequence of shots reinforces that music is not merely a commercial product to be dictated by rules of the pop music structure but, rather, music can be experimental art. All the more poignant is that this shot is with the Beatles’ backs to the camera, symbolizing that exclusivity and privacy to their music-​making process is at the very heart of the idea of the band becoming musicians and rock auteurs.

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Magical Mystery Tour as a psychedelic trip While Neaverson’s (1997) analysis of Magical Mystery Tour focuses on narrative themes, I propose to examine how the film is an allegory for the LSD-​induced psychedelic trip. And like such a trip, its journey is a different experience for each individual—​ Harrison became devoted to Eastern thought and spirituality, Lennon sought rebirth through drugs, McCartney explored the underground scene, and Starr remained well-​rooted in family life outside of London. Their image and sound began to be influenced by these interests in a more authentic way than the first half of their career had been. As McCartney later argued, he was more complex than his “The Cute One” character label (Richards 1997, 38). Magical Mystery Tour is arguably the band’s first project to present a complete visual and aural package in which the band present themselves and their ideas in the way they wanted to be seen. The film also provides a number of paradoxes in its analysis that mirror the Beatles’ own complex and at times confused struggle to authenticate their image. Through experiment and the avant-​ garde, the Beatles challenge, head on, their fans’ perception of the band as celebrities, performers, and leaders of the youth culture. Magical Mystery Tour takes most of its formal and stylistic influence from a cycle of co-​ opted studio exploitation films known as LSD or “head” films, first produced by independent production company American International Pictures in 1967 and later adopted by Hollywood majors Warner Bros. and Columbia Pictures. While there are various sub and micro genres associated with the cycle, Gallagher (2004, 163)  identifies these films as having “fanciful imagery and visual effects, nonlinear or expanded time sequences, and other disruptions of narrative cohesion [that] function both as allure to countercultural and collegiate audiences as a connection to modernist and experimental cinema.” Gallagher also argues that the purpose of these films is often to provide “challenges to dominant world views and schema of perception and representation” (163). In presenting their audiences with something different from Beatlemania, the Beatles are able to mock uniformity and try to distance themselves from the hegemonic worldview, rejecting the “desire to be seen as the establishment’s role model for youth” (Neaverson 1997, 67). This was done to such an extent that McCartney even admitted to and advocated LSD use in a Life magazine interview in June 1967, and a number of musicians, artists, and liberal members of Parliament, along with the Beatles, had taken out a one-​page advertisement in the British newspaper The Times, petitioning for the legalization of marijuana. Benshoff (2001, 31)  defines the cycle of LSD films as being “either specifically produced to be experienced on drugs or that has subsequently become identified by drug users as a film that can be pleasurably enhanced via . . . hallucinogens.” In order to achieve or enhance the sensations associated with LSD use, these films use such visual

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effects as “superimpositions and dissolves, as well as saturated, polarized, and ‘solarized’ color effects, filters and gels, and enhanced sound design” (Benshoff 2001, 32). Gallagher (2004, 162) also adds to the list the use of “abstract color patterns, disjunctive editing, gratuitous excesses of camera placement and movement, [and] extreme lens effects such as the use of fish-​eye and prismatic lenses.” The analysis of Magical Mystery Tour will highlight nearly all of these elements but the key point to emphasize is that these films’ primary motivation was to provide “pleasurable visual moments rather than tight, linear cause-​effect narratives” (Benshoff 2001, 31; see also Mathijs and Sexton 2001). There were criticisms of these films in that they were merely built out of artificial and unnatural experiences and film critic Parker Tyler (1995, 121) argued, “In our psychedelic age it is possible that people (including filmmakers) depend too much upon the optical ‘explosions’ occasioned by drugs, too little upon the parallel explosions of the creative imagination.” Clearly, Tyler felt that these filmmakers, the Beatles included, were missing the point behind the avant-​garde and underground cinema’s messages and approach, focusing instead on just trying to replicate the aesthetics and openly celebrate drug use. Just like a hallucinogenic drug trip, the film is divided into very distinctive segments. The Beatles, Lennon especially, were devotees of Leary’s The Psychedelic Experience—​a manual for preparing first-​time users for a safe and enjoyable experience. While Leary acknowledged the possibilities for an acid trip to be a communal experience, the book does prefer to stress that the trip is an individual experience as the tripper brings their own experiences and emotions on the trip. The purpose of the trip is ultimately to surrender to the Void and reach rebirth through enlightenment. The Void lies “beyond the restless electricity of life” and is the “ultimate reality,” though most are said to have not reached this stage on their first trips, if ever (Leary et al. 1997, 116). Many trippers have commented that somehow while on LSD there is a great sense of understanding—​everything finally makes sense and connects to the bigger picture (Benshoff 2001, 36, 37). For a band like the Beatles trying to shed their old, manufactured image for something that more accurately represented their artistic direction, this concept of ultimate reality would be highly appealing. The different phases of the trip are what Leary calls “Bardos.” The first Bardo is “the Period of Ego-​loss or Non-​Game Ecstasy,” in which the tripper sheds their ego and all the unharmonious games people play with each other either consciously or unconsciously. In the second Bardo, the tripper enters “the Period of Hallucinations”—​visions that can be both peaceful and enlightening, or horrific nightmares depending on how the first Bardo goes. There is the potential of seeing at least one of seven different peaceful visions. The last Bardo is “the Period of Re-​ entry” where the tripper starts to come down from the trip; the success of this Bardo determines whether or not a person has been reborn through enlightenment. Those not

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reaching ultimate enlightenment will at least have the potential to come away as a better person, as long as they don’t revert back to their old ego-​ games. Magical Mystery Tour can be read as being structured against these Bardos: the title track is the invitation to the trip and the first Bardo; “The Fool on the Hill,” “Flying,” and “I Am the Walrus” are all variations of the second Bardo’s visions, with “Blue Jay Way” being an example of one of the nightmare visions; and the nostalgic 1930s pastiche “Your Mother Should Know” represents the third and final Bardo. The order of the music in the film also provides an appropriate soundtrack for the trip. The songs of the second Bardo all contain trancelike elements created by the droning orchestration and organs or by the vocalization. They are built upon simple, repetitive musical phrases layered with backward tracking, sound collage, and mixing musical styles. For those whose senses were heightened by drugs, the viewer’s experience would have varied from the numerous sounds and trigger responses, unlike the viewer not on drugs who may have required repeat viewings to grasp the nuances of the film’s purpose and meaning.

“Magical Mystery Tour” The psychedelic trip begins with a title song that calls out to fans to join the mystery tour, with footage that is of the colorfully painted coach winding down narrow country lanes, and a montage of curious footage hinting at what’s to come over the next fifty-​five minutes. Just as the band’s first two films make strong comments on the Beatles’ image, so too does this one. As the Beatles appear clearly in only one shot together (shot nine, 00:20), the band minimize the emphasis on the group as a whole, opting to be shot individually to perhaps represent the four different paths they are taking. Each wears a different outfit and even though all but Paul are in suits, they don’t match. The clothing also reflects something of their new personae—​ Starr, who preferred the quiet life of the family man, represents his stability with a traditional black, pinstriped suit, while McCartney’s interest in the counterculture is reflected in his brightly colored, rainbow knit sweater vest. The ever retreating Harrison hides behind large sunglasses, hat, and an oversized suit coat, while later in the film he dresses in orange—​the color embraced by devotees to Hinduism (note that even his Sgt. Pepper tunic was orange). However, the title song also projects a rather problematic view of image and persona. The audience will never really be able to know any of the Beatles’ true selves, not just because celebrities’ lives are not their private lives we will never gain access to, but because of the band’s own sense of confusion and lack of clarity that the film as a whole represents. While the title does evoke a kind of personal journey of self-​exploration, the Beatles

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interchange between four main performance types: (1) playing completely fictional characters, (2)  as fictional versions of “John,” “Paul,” “George,” and “Ringo” (sometimes as “Richard B.  Starkey”), (3)  as non-​ fictional versions of themselves, and (4) as musicians. Aldred (2005, 112) argues that part of psychedelia was to be able to dress up and try on new identities, and the opening sequence presents viewers with a number of examples of this. In shots five (00:14) and thirty-​two (1:34), George and Paul play magicians who control the coach trip from far. In shot thirty (1:12) John plays a shop owner and Ringo plays Richard B. Starkey (a slight alteration of his given name), who purchases the coach tickets for him and his fictional Aunt Jessie. There are also brief moments where we see the Beatles as their real selves, chatting to the other actors, unaware of the rolling cameras (shot nineteen, 00:45). The tropes associated with the psychedelic film cycle are in abundance just in the opening musical sequence, as the film begins with the colorful title card written in cartoon bubbled, rainbow lettering. The sequence utilizes a high number of shots—​forty-​seven in two and a half minutes—​ which are edited together with jump cuts. Many of the images are taken from scenes throughout the film in a kind of visual collage and depict the band in various guises. Some shots come across as being presented subliminally—​women being objectified or of the band performing. In this sequence, the band never performs the song and it is used non-​diegetically. Benshoff (2001, 33) points out that aesthetically this sequence very clearly replicates experiences some LSD users have had while on a drug-​induced trip, and one such effect is known as “flashing”—​the “quick imaging on the mind’s eye of another scene, a phenomenon LSD filmmakers have approximated through the use of jump cuts and subliminal inserts.” Lending authenticity to the band’s image and the film’s premise of a real mystery trip, the band employs an unscripted, handheld camera style reminiscent of Lester’s cinema vérité in A Hard Day’s Night. The aesthetic rejects the classical Hollywood style and gives the band an artificial sense of realism to authenticate the experience. The creation of the visual collage used here also became a common motif the Beatles explored in their album art work and the level of experimentation throughout the opening number functions as a way for the band to present their visual art as “self-​conscious and serious ‘art,’ which demanded an active, rather than passive audience” (Neaverson 1997, 61). The concept of active participation had already been successfully used on Sgt. Pepper with such devices as an opening number replicating a concert hall before a performance, lyrics addressing the audience, printed lyrics on the cover, and the Pop Art cutouts, inviting the fan to become a member of Sgt. Pepper’s band too. This sense of inclusion in the opening number through the use of handheld cameras was essential for replicating the start of a psychedelic trip.

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“The Fool on the Hill” and “Flying” After the opening musical sequence, the film progresses into what could be considered a distortion of a traditional narrative. While the film doesn’t have the cause-​effect relationship that defines narrative, it does use a few devices such as voice-​over to establish a basic premise for the film, and to introduce characters played by Ringo and Jesse Robins. Ringo, despite his full mustache and visible grey hair, plays Richard B. Starkey, an anxious and spoilt young man aggressively trying to coax his Aunt Jessie up the street where the coach is waiting. Richard pushes himself toward the window seat telling his aunt that that is where he’ll sit, before accusing his aunt of “eyeing up all the fellas.” The dialogue is clearly adlibbed, stilted, and is more sniping and biting than humorously playful. It can be read as the ego games that people harmfully play with each other or as a reflection of the type of being under the thumb of others. The theme of nostalgia also comes through strongly in the lead up to the next musical sequence, “The Fool on the Hill.” MacDonald (2005, 186) noted that the “true subject of English psychedelia [was] nostalgia for the innocent vision of the child.” Just as Lennon developed “Strawberry Fields Forever” out of his memories of the strawberry field near his childhood home in Liverpool, McCartney evokes similar references in “Fool on the Hill.” He runs and skips along carelessly in the French countryside, grinning childlike and wide eyed, more pretty and innocent than world-​ weary handsome (shot eight, 7:30). But the scenes are juxtaposed with scenes of McCartney looking out wistfully from the top of the bare, rocky hills. In shot four (6:38) McCartney is on the top of the cliff in left profile and shot from a high angle. He turns his head away from the camera, but the camera persistently zooms in—​McCartney arguably turns to confront the invasion of privacy from his nostalgic reminiscing. These scenes convey a “paradoxical air of childlike wisdom and unworldliness” (MacDonald 2005, 271). In this whole sequence, there is only Paul, and the lyrics and visuals match together to reflect individuality, isolation, and nonconformity. The isolation also represents the singularity of an LSD trip. As Aldous Huxley (1960, 27) noted from his own experiences, For persons are selves and, in one respect at least, I was now a Not-​self, simultaneously perceiving and being the Not-​self of the things around me . . . the very thought of the self—​it had momentarily ceased to be, and of the other selves . . . seemed . . . enormously irrelevant. I realized that I was deliberately avoiding the eyes of those who were with me in the room, deliberately refraining from being too much aware of them. Huxley wrote about how the trip’s purpose was to look inward and examine himself, his feelings, and his understanding of the world. The

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whole experiment involved a man asking Huxley for his opinion on how he perceived various works of art and philosophical thinking while under the influence of LSD. Recall the similarities as McCartney in this number sings, “His head in a cloud, the man of a thousand voices is talking perfectly loud, but nobody ever hears him or the sound he appears to make and he never seems to notice.” This “fool” is a man shunned and banished by mainstream society, looking outside of that society and seeing how things really are. But it is hard to leave the safety of the status quo. The film to this point has been juxtaposition between the real world (the very loose narrative) and this other world of hallucinations that is continually beckoning the audience to escape into it (the counterculture). In shot one (5:54–​6:21) of “The Fool on the Hill,” McCartney looks longingly out of the coach’s windows without acknowledging the camera. The music begins non-​diegetically and McCartney begins to nod in time with the nonexistent music. With one cut, McCartney and the audience are transported to this scene in France—​ the other world where the authoritative aunt does not exist. Back on the coach, Buster Bloodvessel (Ivor Cutler), a passenger on the trip, has been allowed to play courier, and with a sober voice addresses the passengers, “enjoy yourselves . . . within the limits of British decency.” But moments ago he and Aunt Jessie had escaped to a parallel, dreamlike world where they were able to express feelings for one another, embracing to a string arrangement of “All My Loving,” an early Beatles’ hit. On the bus, Jolly Jimmy the tour guide announces, “If you look to your left ladies and gentlemen, the view is not very inspiring. Ah, but if you look to your right . . .” The camera zooms out of the back of the coach windows to another escapist musical sequence, “Flying”—​the band’s only collaborative instrumental. Initially this piece looks to be an experiment, with tracking shots and oversaturated color lens filters. It is reminiscent of Lester’s approach to the “Another Girl” sequence from Help! The song was created as a distraction from the filming schedule. MacDonald (2005, 270)  describes the atmosphere as being “casual” and this is reflected in the song’s “gently doodled . . . sleepy C blues decorated with pseudo-​ Indian melismas and some beautiful varispeeded Mellotron by Lennon.” The latter’s effects inject a trance quality one-​and-​a-​half minutes into the song, which lasts until its conclusion at two minutes, seventeen seconds. The song is multilayered and the different layers build upon one another—​ in the left channel of the stereo recording is one basic rhythmic theme that is very rock ’n’ roll, with high treble as a duet between drums and guitar. An organ later joins in laying down smooth chord accents. In the right channel, a mellower and blues-​based rhythm plays around the rhythm in the left channel. Maracas accompany this theme to accentuate the beat. Over the top of both themes are the vocalizations from the group singing a chorus of “la, la, la’s” with an accompaniment from a synthesized horn.

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Not only does the sweeping sensation of the song’s melody marry up with the footage of colorized clouds that the sequence uses, but the song also reflects distinctive elements of each Beatle’s contribution to the piece: the horn references McCartney’s music hall influences, the distortion and Mellotron were tropes of Lennon’s work, Harrison’s Eastern melodies can be heard, and the strong and steady backbeat is undeniably Starr. It provides a very peaceful soundtrack to accompany what is essentially the film’s own LSD trip. Very few cuts are made in the sequence, to give the sense of floating through the sky; as each shot dissolves into another, the viewer flies high above the clouds, and sometimes above the rocky or watery landscape below. The flying is carefree, high above the unevenness and turmoil that runs rife beneath them. It is clear from one particular passage out of Leary et al.’s (1997, 1) book that this sequence creates a visual depiction of the visions both Leary and the Beatles would have experienced, A psychedelic experience is a journey to new realms of consciousness. The scope and content of the experience is limitless, but its characteristic features are the transcendence of verbal concepts, of space-​time dimensions, and of the ego or identity. Such experiences of enlarged consciousness occur in a variety of ways: sensory deprivation, yoga exercises, disciplined meditation, religious or aesthetic ecstasies, or spontaneously .  . . The nature of the experience depends almost entirely on set and setting . . . Setting is physical—​the weather, the room’s atmosphere; social—​feelings of persons present towards one another; cultural—​prevailing views as to what is real. “Flying” depicts that very sense of sensory deprivation using stereo to envelope each ear of the listener and color filters over the clouds to mask any sense of depth between the sky and the ground; there is an oversaturation of color, a sense of chanting and meditation, and the spontaneity that brought the viewer into this sequence from back on the coach. “Flying” ends by taking the viewer high into the clouds as the narrator informs that they are going to a secret place that no one had ever laid eyes upon before. This mysterious place is where “the magicians” live, magicians being played by the Beatles to visually create a literal interpretation of their main goal:  to be the ones orchestrating a very magical experience for their fans. Their role as magicians signifies two points:  using their celebrity status and popularity to persuade their fans to take an interest in their ideas and new direction, and the fact that they are in ultimate control with a godlike status, paralleling the band’s own desires to be entirely in control of all aspects of their empire. Unfortunately, the irony is that with all of this autonomy, it all too often results in being out of control as there are no systems of check, balance, or quality control in place.

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“I am the Walrus” Much has been written about “I am the Walrus” in terms of its possible lyrical meaning and its 1960s cultural context; MacDonald (2005) provides great insight into the song’s craft as both literature and a protest against the establishment. Though the song is so well-​known and perhaps now is considered overrated or over-​commercialized, the musical sequence that it features in is the first in the film to actually have all four Beatles performing as a group. This climactic moment is also the film’s most complex, with over 103 shots and a number of experimental effects. Despite Lennon’s claim that the lyrics are completely meaningless, the sequence does reinforce any antiestablishment sentiment a listener might interpret. The sequence also uses surrealism to comment on the Beatles’ image to the point of rejecting it altogether. And arguably, the stylistic approaches in visually appealing, well-​framed shots meshing together sound and image seem to have stemmed somewhat from Richard Lester’s techniques. First and foremost, “I am the Walrus” succeeds in delivering the pleasurable visual moments Benshoff (2001, 31) referred to earlier on, as it opens with a shot of the Beatles through a large concrete cylinder at a disused air base, creating the effect of a stationary iris often used in the days of early cinema. So we don’t see the Beatles in a clear, wide shot facing the camera as we might have expected for a mimed “live” performance. The shot lasts for a relatively long fourteen seconds. The Beatles continue to apply lessons learned from Lester as they use standard medium close-​ ups with combinations of tilts and pans between the band and instruments, extreme close-​ups and, most Lester-​esque, countless examples of the jump cut that often synchronize to the beat of the music. Most of the effects in the sequence are either basic photography derivatives that Lennon might have picked up from his art school days or standard options available on a vision mixer. It wouldn’t be unreasonable to think that the Beatles experimented with the functionality of the filming and editing equipment in a similar fashion to the recording equipment at Abbey Road Studios. One such effect taken from photography is solarization, which is used for three key shots—​twenty-​four (26:44), twenty-​six (26:48), and forty-​one (27:20). This is a process where portions of the visible light spectrum are absorbed in order to create a temporary change in color, the result looking as if the live action shot has been outlined with colored pencils. In shot twenty-​one (26:23) the Beatles use a dissolve effect and then insert a split screen effect. In the top two-​thirds of the screen is the band in animal costumes while in the lower one-​third of the screen is a long shot of police officers on a blast wall, holding hands and swaying to the music—​perhaps a reference to the police holding back hordes of screaming fans, or a darker comment on the controlling power of a patriarchal establishment. The split screen itself had been around since the 1920s, but the effect did see a revival in

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popularity in the 1960s being used most memorably in Grand Prix (dir. John Frankenheimer, 1966) and The Thomas Crown Affair (dir. Norman Jewison, 1968). The last technique of note is the band’s use of superimposition. In shot thirty-​seven (27:07) there is a cut to the sequence’s opening shot and a number of old black-​and-​white images of people superimposed. The effect is known as a multiscreen, soft edged superimposition and because of the images used, there is a real sense of nostalgia for the past being evoked. A variation of this is used during the final shot of the sequence (shot 103, 28:23)—​a soft edged superimposition appears at the top left—​a mushroom cloud from a nuclear explosion that turns into a series of images of the cast members gorging on food—​a comment on the destructive nature of gluttony and consumerism. With the emerging tensions between the youth culture and the establishment, Lennon’s meaningless song meant to poke fun at all the academics analyzing Beatles lyrics, ironically ended up being both banned by the BBC and an anthem for the antiestablishment. In completely shedding all the old Beatlemania iconography, “I am the Walrus” introduces fans to a new set of iconic signifiers—​the new uniform of the band is matching kaftans, having shed their clothing of the establishment (smart suits and ties). We also see for the first time Lennon’s large white piano similar to (if not the same as) the one that would become iconic in the “Imagine” video (1972) and McCartney’s Rickenbacker bass, considered to be his studio bass and used on albums as early as 1965. Harrison plays a Fender guitar in this sequence rather than the Gibson of his Beatlemania days, and though Starr is still using his Ludwig black-​and-​pearl four-​piece kit, it is now decorated with a psychedelic bass drum head rather than the one with the iconic “The Beatles” logo. There is also reluctance in addressing the camera while playing instruments. In shots two (25:22) and four (25:28) both Harrison and McCartney look down in concentration at their instruments as they play, and McCartney can be seen nodding his head in time and mouthing his bass line. Even though Lennon does look at the camera, the majority of his body is hidden behind the piano, which is privileged in the center of the frame. As in Help! highlighting instrumentation was a key device in its importance to the Beatles’ new phase of authenticity. When the band do address the camera (shot ten, 25:52), they are without instrumentation and stand in a row, arm in arm with their artificial image satirically on display. At over twenty-​five minutes into the film, this is the Beatles’ first group “photograph.” This is the last perfect moment of the band together before they start to go their individual ways, which eventually fractures and splits the group. For any of those 20  million viewers who tuned in thinking they were going to get a traditional Beatles’ performance from what they had seen in previous films, there is actually an undercurrent of satirical and harsh commentary on the as yet unresolved memories of their hysterical fans and

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the pressures of fan expectations. This is perhaps most clearly reflected in the depiction of the “egg men” (shot twenty-​one, 26:23)—​people dressed in identical white caps, black trousers, and a large white tarp that binds this group of people into a single entity marching in sync to the music and following the Beatle pied pipers. The egg men consume and conform to whatever their capitalistic society prescribes for them. They unquestioningly follow a pop band around, buying whatever products are put on the market. The final shot (28:23–​29:40) features the Beatles in their animal costumes, followed blindly by the chanting egg men in a trancelike state, who are in turn followed by a photographer, completed by the superimposed mushroom cloud and frenzied eating.

“Blue Jay Way” and “Death Cab for Cutie” Both songs display themes popular with the counterculture—​in the case of the former, openness toward religion and spirituality, and in the latter, sex and sexuality. Both mock the establishment in some way and both feature a number of tropes common in LSD films. Much like the beginning of Help! “Blue Jay Way” starts with the coach party sitting in a makeshift auditorium to watch Harrison’s performance on a projection screen. The references to the Beatles’ past career in the movie business are depicted by Jolly Jimmy’s corny acting in an attempt to provide a comic routine before the main feature. Also, there is Wurlitzer organ music playing and Jimmy’s female companion acts as usherette, offering drinks and flirting with the men. The performance begins with Harrison sitting cross-​legged in a mediation position, wearing an orange suit and “playing” a chalk-​drawn keyboard on the sidewalk, with a busker’s paper cup next to him. It would be easy to read this as a reference to Harrison’s visit to Haight-​Ashbury in San Francisco where he thought that he would meet all the beautiful, LSD dropping hippies. Instead, he was shocked and disillusioned to find a street full of “panhandling drug casualties” (Spencer 2004, 235). Harrison also chose this scene to be filled with dry ice fog and for the cameraman to use a multi-​prism lens attachment to match the unsettled and eerie tone of the music and distorted vocal track. The dissolves bring Harrison closer to the screen and it is clear to see that the Beatle has very tired, dark circles under his eyes as he hazily sings, “There’s a fog upon LA, and my friends have lost their way, they’ll be over soon they say, now they’ve lost themselves instead.” In this context of Harrison playing the strung-​out panhandler looking for money to buy another fix, this is a detour on the psychedelic trip in which he speaks out against LSD use and offers another solution: reach rebirth naturally, through spirituality, not through artificial means. This message is reinforced by juxtaposing the shots of Harrison’s drug addict with shots of Indian art, Hindu symbolism, and surreal shots of nature.

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The shift comes in shot eight (38:02) when the screen is completely washed with an orange liquid and when the fog clears there is an extreme close up of Harrison’s face with a cat superimposed over it. In shot twenty (38:33), the low angle shot of George sitting on the sidewalk has a Hindu god statue superimposed over it, which is proceeded by a wide close-​up of George with bold colored flower patters superimposed over his face and hands like an elaborate henna tattoo. As a way for Harrison to authenticate his image, he began studying the sitar and Eastern philosophy as early as 1966. While the other Beatles tried to be enlightened by the Maharishi’s teachings, none of them fully embraced the practices, with all but Harrison moving onto other things. One reason why Harrison was so taken by the Hindu faith was because it offered him quiet and escape from Beatlemania. When Harrison met with Ravi Shankar in India in 1966, the musician told him to “disguise yourself, grow a moustache and cut your hair” (Spencer 2004, 230). And when the press flocked to see Harrison on his arrival to Bombay, Shankar told them to give them privacy because Harrison had come “not as a Beatle, but as a disciple” (ibid., 230). Among the true practitioners of the faith, Harrison could finally be accepted for who he truly felt he was, and not for the Beatle that had come to define him, saying, “It was the first feeling I’d ever had of being liberated from a Beatle or a number” (ibid., 233). “Blue Jay Way” is also telling in that Harrison performs this solo; his talents as a songwriter were starting to develop more with the space away from the others and from touring. It also appears as if Harrison’s involvement in this project was done reluctantly, because he rarely speaks throughout the entire film. “Death Cab for Cutie” is an Elvis Presley pastiche and, performed in Raymond’s Revue Bar in Soho, London during a striptease act, it drips with the theme of sexual permissiveness. The song is performed by the band’s contemporaries, the Bonzo Dog Doo-​Dah Band—​a group of art school friends whose music drew upon old genres such as dance hall and trad jazz presented with surrealist visuals and satirical, wordplay lyrics. As the film’s only number set in a traditional, live performance space, it becomes a satire and an artifice of live performance, with the band wearing 1950s Teddy Boy suits and featuring a horn section. “Death Cab for Cutie” was written as a satire of the Presley-​esque, late 1950s/​early 1960s tragic love songs such as Wayne Cochran’s “Last Kiss,” the Shangri-​Las’ “Leader of the Pack,” and Mark Dinning’s “Teen Angel” in which the singer tells the tale of the rebellious young love interest killed in a senseless motorbike accident or wishes it had been them if only to save their dead loved one. “Death Cab” describes the tale of a lover pleading with them not to go, but she does and is killed as her taxi runs a red light. With his lip curled, lead singer Vivian Stanshall bellows out the darkly humorous line, “Someone’s going to make you pay your fare.” The movements of the performers are exaggerated and the song is sung with thick melodrama. Stanshall swaggers around the stage

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led by his hips and pelvis, tossing his microphone cable around, and badly lip syncing to the vocal track. At one point he turns to face the camera wearing false novelty teeth that prevent any moment from his lips at all. The horn section raise their instruments high above their heads as they play and swing them down in large circular motions. It is a highly satirical and at times a very camp performance. The Bonzos took the title for the song from a chapter of Richard Hoggart’s influential book, The Uses of Literacy (1957), which includes a chapter called “The Newer Mass Art:  Sex in Shiny Packets,” in which he examines the novels filled with scenes of sex and violence, offering his own satirical list of the types of titles these books are published under, one of which is “Death Cab for Cutie.” To add to the theme of sex from the song, the Bonzo’s performance is accompanied by a striptease act from artist Jan Carson. While Carson strips to her underwear, the camera cuts to shots of the audience, namely, George and John sitting together in the front, and Buster Bloodvessel behind them. George sits stiffly upright and John is wide eyed and slouched far in his chair; both have hands covering their midsections (shot ten, 46:27). Even more blatantly obvious to the sexualized nature of the sequence is Buster who frantically wipes his glasses with a white handkerchief (shot twenty-​six, 47:28), simulating an act of masturbation, hunched forward sucking the straw of his drink, face awash in seedy blue lighting. When Carson removes her bra and faces the camera, a large “censored” bar appears across her bare chest as a dig toward the BBC and moral crusaders like Mary Whitehouse to create “a running battle between the advocates of permissiveness and tolerance and those of purity and censorship” (Neaverson 1997, 65). Unlike the Rolling Stones, the Beatles had been fortunate enough to be seen as the establishment’s darlings and, despite their honesty in promoting free love and drug use, they had up to this point remained as such. Yet even though the Summer of Love had seen a revolution in sexuality across mainstream society, with abortion and homosexuality legalized and the regulation of the birth control pill, this moment in the film was most likely still a very shocking and awkward moment in lounges across Britain as a mixed generation of viewers watched on Boxing Day. As one young viewer commented to the Daily Mirror (Jenour 1967, 1), “I was amazed that the Beatles would stoop to striptease,” it is clear to see that the messages and ideas of the new counterculture Beatles was lost on most of their audience.

“Your Mother Should Know” Ending the film is the most blatantly satirical send-​up of mainstream entertainment done in a style that parodies the traditional viewing fare that

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the film set out to reject. “Your Mother Should Know” is a clear pastiche of the Busby Berkley musicals of the 1930s that includes a lavish, glittery staircase. The Beatles descend the staircase in matching white tuxedos, and the formal outfits look awkward on young men with long hair and moustaches. As the band reach the bottom of the staircase, the camera pulls back to reveal a large ballroom full of couples in evening wear. This highlight choreographed piece also utilizes camera and editing techniques more closely linked to classical Hollywood musicals than to psychedelic head films. Rather than fast paced editing, shot one (48:20) features a camera tilting and panning to follow the band down the stairs, and then zooms out. This process takes a full minute to complete before cutting to an aerial shot of a line of Second World War–​era women volunteers in air force dress uniforms walking past a parted crowd of dancers. While previous musical sequences were comprised of a large number of complex shots, this number only has ten, making the pacing more leisurely and whimsical, in line with the song’s musical hall influences. It is McCartney’s nostalgic homage “to the old fashioned values of his father Jim’s musical era” (MacDonald 2005, 264). To bring the film full circle, as the number ends the band freezes for an instant until a reprise of the title track’s chorus begins and the Beatles now appear in the front of the crowd of ballroom dancers in their magicians’ costumes, leading their faithful flock toward another mystery trip. The tropes of the LSD film are ever-​present as the final sequence can be read as the third Bardo in which the tripper begins reentry into the conscious world. The set is brightly lit, the Beatles wear white as if to symbolize the innocence and purity of birth, and everyone is happily dancing together as if the band’s utopia has been realized. In rejecting the confines of Beatlemania, each was free to explore their own interests and develop individual styles of performance. By combining the influences of performance, drug use, and spirituality, the Beatles, like many members of the counterculture, were able to liberate themselves “from the shackles of a system that involved exploitative social relations” (Aldred 2005, 116). This was achieved by confronting the very origins of their relationship with their fans that had held them back from musical development. While members of the counterculture wanted to be personally liberated because of the “promise of a better life . . . that could be achieved through altering one’s perception of the world,” the Beatles became a celebrity representation of this lifestyle in an attempt to persuade mainstream society to challenge the world’s perception of itself (Aldred 2005, 115). Magical Mystery Tour was the visual manifestation of that challenge. And it was also the climax of the Beatles’ collective musicianship. Aldred (2005, 110)  argues that this period in the band’s career is “the moment where they are moving in different artistic and personal directions—​no longer the Beatles, the jolly ‘mop tops’ of their earlier selves, they turn to

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a new performance”—​one of individual rock auteurs. The diverse nature of their individual interests and artistic development could no longer be contained within one collective unit.

Conclusion Screened at 8:35pm on December 26, 1967, the Beatles’ intention to use Magical Mystery Tour as a new and challenging spectacle for their viewers failed to replicate the band’s previous record breaking viewing figures or even gain much positive critical response. It may be easy to blame the film’s transmission in black and white when it was intended to be screened in color, but when the film was repeated in color in January 1968, it still received low viewing figures. Arguably its time slot could have been blamed as traditionally the Christmastime programming for the BBC was conservative throughout the decade. BBC1 was dependable for airing family friendly variety entertainment, classical music and light ballet and opera, as well as classic film favorites. Each year the programming for Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and Boxing Day was nearly an exact repeat of the previous year’s schedule and there was very little scheduled during that time period that would have appealed exclusively to a teenage audience in terms of popular music. The tame Tommy Steele Show could be seen on ITA (later ATV and then ITV) on Christmas evening in 1960, but nothing similar appeared until Christmas 1964 when ITA screened the more fashionable Ready, Steady Go! On Christmas night 1965, Top of the Pops broadcast a Christmas special on BBC1 at a time when parents and grandparents would have been retiring to bed—​10:35  p.m. Family friendly Cliff Richard and the Shadows appeared on Christmas day on ATV at 2 p.m. in 1966, well after Richard’s career had peaked in 1962 with the film Summer Holiday. The Queen’s message, a Bogart and Hepburn film, St. Alban’s choir, and a Doris Day/​ Frank Sinatra film followed. When looking through the television listings from The Times between 1960 and 1970, it is easy to see how misplaced Magical Mystery Tour was within a lineup of traditional programming. The BBC had not previewed the film before purchasing the broadcasting rights, confident in the band’s commercial power, and since much of the world still held onto the image of the “loveable mop-​tops,” the film was scheduled between conservative shows such as Frost Over Christmas, This is Petula Clark, Norman Wisdom’s Square Peg, and Peter Ustinov’s Christmas Conversation. The Beatles’ LSD film probably would have been even more out of place on BBC2 had it followed variety shows hosted by Andy Williams and Danny Kaye. With all of the criticism that followed, the BBC reverted back to traditional family programming in 1968 and 1969, placing a Norman Wisdom film and music hall performances into the time slot that the Beatles held the previous year.

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Despite critics such as Peter Black (1968, 7) acknowledging the difficulties of presenting something radically new during the holiday schedule, most papers were quick to label Magical Mystery Tour as the Beatles’ first failure and began speculating their downfall as soon as the next morning’s papers. The Daily Mirror (1967, 1)  quoted viewers’ responses to the film as “rubbish,” “nonsense,” and “they needn’t have bothered.” Critic Mary Malone (1967, 12)  dismissed the film as having “no aim” and “being chaotic.” Even though many critics and viewers stressed negative responses, The Times (1967, 2) reported that an estimated 20 million viewers did watch it, which the paper claimed was “the highest total for any programme in the holiday period on any channel.” Yet, according to the New York Times (1967, 46), “previous Beatles programs have attracted [average] audiences of 26.5 million . . . on lesser occasions.” Despite this, the film proved popular at midnight screenings and on college campuses in the United States, earning cult status, and with high sales of the album suggest that the Beatles’ core fan base reacted positively to the Magical Mystery Tour experience. As McCartney told the press, “I think it’s better that we try to do something ourselves, and that we try to present viewers with something different from all the phony tinsel of Christmas shows.” (“Beatles’ Reply . . .”1967, 2) His statement underlines the band’s belief in taking control over their image and their output, and it also tries to further authenticate the band’s new direction. But it is easy to understand where things might have gone wrong on this project and that the intended meanings of the film hadn’t been interpreted according to plan. Though made for a medium that encourages personal connection and direct address, it is shot like a film with fictionalized characters, an abstract plot, and with little or no acknowledgment of the camera during the performance sequences. By way of comparison, when rock group Led Zeppelin’s film The Song Remains the Same (dirs. Peter Clifton and Joe Massot, 1976) utilized similar disruptions to the traditional performance mode by using godlike low angle shots from the crowd looking up to the band during the concert footage sequences that also kept the arena audience underlit and in shadow, the band were already mythologized as Rock Gods as part of their constructed image. And the fictionalized fantasy vignettes reinforced the mythology of paganism, Tolkien, and the occult that often featured as themes in their work. It wasn’t removed from the persona they created and, if anything, it further reinforced the authenticity of Zeppelin’s rock god status because they were acknowledging it and using film codes in a way that reinforced that meaning to the viewing audience. Running parallel to Magical Mystery Tour’s broadcast was the planning and production stages of the feature-​length animation Yellow Submarine (dir. George Dunning, 1968). By contrast the cartoon had minimal involvement and minimal input from the Beatles. It is arguably the lack of involvement from the Beatles in the preproduction and production stages that helped to make the film the commercial success that it was,

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and its legacy as a fan favorite and a children’s film today makes its longevity as enduring as A Hard Day’s Night. Yellow Submarine is just as radical and experimental as Magical Mystery Tour and was made by artists who were very antiestablishment/​anti-​Disney in their craft. But the film does retain a basic narrative/​number relationship favored by classical and pop musicals. And rather than questioning or challenging the band’s Beatlemania iconography, the artists inspired by the band’s music chose to portray them as mythological, other worldly characters—​allowing fans to project their own preferred vision and memories of what the Beatles meant/​mean to them. To have been perhaps a bit more involved with the project might have renewed the bond with their audience that the Beatles had tried to achieve with Magical Mystery Tour. But all the while, the Beatles seemed to have remained skeptical about working with an industry that had created films to exploit their success while it lasted, and instead the band continued to be involved with albums, films, art projects, and collaborative work that still tried to distance their mainstream audience and question the original Beatles myth/​Beatles iconography. While the Beatles worked together to defeat the establishment villains in Yellow Submarine by spreading a message of love and peace through music and community, in real life the band had begun to fracture into such opposite directions that working toward goals redefining “Beatles” would become impossible.

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4 From seaside mystery trips to Pepperland: Aboard the Yellow Submarine

Yellow Submarine comes the closest of the Beatles’ films to fit the examples of Dyer’s (2002) work on the musical in that it most closely represents entertainment as pure entertainment and, at first glance, its narrative form and presentation of musical sequences isn’t out of step with its generic precursors. When compared with Magical Mystery Tour, Yellow Submarine provides an important function in that it “presented the public with the cozy, safe and affable Beatles they knew and loved [. . .] providing a tonic for the group’s increasingly bewildering and erratic output and behavior” (Neaverson 1997, 95–​ 96). While Neaverson’s comments perhaps reflect the mood of the mainstream and the cross-​generational appeal they once enjoyed, it does unfairly overlook the innovations the band had made in recorded popular music and the dialogue they were trying to engage with on the nature of stardom and celebrity culture. Like their previous films, Yellow Submarine’s themes and aims can be read on multiple registers—​ it is experimental animation that does reflect countercultural motivations and influences, but while the band are continually trying to “debunk themselves,” the universal message of “peace and love will conquer evil” and the value of teamwork helped to reconnect the Beatles with their audience (MacDonald 2005, 256). In this way the film’s continuation of a narrative situated around the journey motif helps to navigate the band as well as their on-​screen cartoon counterparts through their bumpy journey of self-​ discovery. Within this motif, the Beatles are drawn plainly but with enough detail to distinguish each from the other, helping the animators to make the band’s characters mythical and abstract, achieved by the band being that one necessary step removed from the project. These are not the Beatles playing versions of themselves as they see themselves. This is a depiction of

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how others see the Beatles, an interpretation of how fans have read the band and what they symbolize. This depiction of the Beatles and their aims as musicians comes most strongly through the musical sequences, primarily concerning three specific numbers:  “Eleanor Rigby,” “Only a Northern Song,” and “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.” In these sequences, the animators arguably achieved something that the Beatles weren’t able to accomplish in their films—​taking away focus from the Beatles’ problematic questioning of their pop star image and instead creating visual manifestations of the band’s music. This was animating the songs in such a way that it reflects the imagery most closely associated with the Beatles’ “musicians as artists” persona. Animation also created a visual language that helped to express the Beatles’ songwriting thought processes and capture the more abstract concepts behind their more challenging output. Linked to this approach is the film’s form and style. I would argue that despite the Beatles’ amateur interests in filmmaking processes and techniques, they were not students of the art. Magical Mystery Tour demonstrates that while they had some film language, it is more likely that they were copying certain styles and techniques that they had picked up from their own experiences on film sets and promo shoots, and from the films and directors that they admired. Conversely, the Yellow Submarine animators understood the conventions of traditional animation and the formal production processes used at Walt Disney Studios. They had studied different alternative art forms and style, and the meanings behind their origins. Though the good versus evil message is genuine, there is a gentle parody to the saccharine sweet “It’s a Small World,” “chim-​chiminey” sentiments of the Disney musical. The Beatles embark on a journey from Liverpool to Pepperland on a quest to free the once-​utopian community from the oppressive, dictatorial Blue Meanies. The narrative’s conflict is that Sgt. Pepper’s band is being imprisoned by the Blue Meanies who have taken over and have turned the town into an emotionless and colorless wasteland. Old Fred is made an admiral by the exiled Mayor and sets off to find help in his yellow submarine. Fred ends up in the port town of Liverpool where he enlists the help of the Beatles because of their canny similarity to Sgt. Pepper’s band members. As the group make their way through various seas and landscapes on the way, they encounter strange creatures and situations. Moments of minor mishaps and delays, as well as the conflict between antagonists and protagonists, are all interrupted by musical numbers that provide a temporary respite. “Eleanor Rigby” depicts moments of color and hope in a land of conformity and loneliness, while “Only a Northern Song” and “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” provide moments that create visually and aurally entertaining spectacles reflecting the alternative ideals of community, peace, and love. The numbers function to “offer the image of ‘something better’ to escape into, or something that we want deeply that our

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day-​to-​day lives don’t provide” (Dyer 2002, 20). But this isn’t just escapist fiction—​Yellow Submarine makes the case to viewers that these ideals of togetherness and harmony can be actually achieved. This possibility of utopia is represented most strongly in the film’s live action sing-​along, which is introduced by the actual Beatles in a cameo that lasts forty seconds in a 1:45 long segment. In the cutaway from the animation to the live action, the Beatles’ dialogue spoken at camera to the audience acts as an epilogue to their adventure, making reference to the submarine’s motor and the sea of holes. Though the moment is brief, it does act as a bridge between the fantastical, fictional plot and the ideas about love and community endorsed by the band. It is also worth pointing out the strong emphasis on nonrepresentational signs such as “color, texture, movement, rhythm, melody, and camerawork” that are unconsciously recognized but are rarely discussed (Dyer 2002, 20). These signs help to highlight the contrasts in themes and characters, and also mark out a distinct contrast between Liverpool and Pepperland. Liverpool is recreated in the film using photographs that have been rotoscoped in thick lines and dark colors to reflect a sense of the real, but one that underlines the bleak grimness. The sequence relies on cutting from shot to shot in a very orderly way, dictated by the beat in “Eleanor Rigby.” The stifling cityscape is juxtaposed with the yellow submarine and the bright, psychedelic colors of Ringo’s outfit. However, Pepperland is full of vibrant colors, diversity, and full of sweeping pans and wide shots. These themes are woven together in narrative, soundtrack, and artistic style.

King Features and the Beatles cartoon series With the rise in popularity of television in the late 1950s and early 1960s, there was also a growing popularity in America of cartoons and animated shorts, which found its audience first on prime-​time networks and then during the specially created Saturday morning slot. At the forefront of the television cartoons was Hanna-​ Barbera Productions followed by Warner Bros. Merrie Melodies and Looney Tunes. The increase in demand for cartoons meant that small production companies took advantage of programmers’ need to fill scheduling slots. Many of these small companies contracted animators based outside of the United States in order to keep production costs down and to avoid the restrictions enacted by the Cartoonist Union in California (Axelrod 1999, 20). One such company was New York-​based King Features Syndicate headed by producer Al Brodax. His division had just produced a large number of new Popeye cartoons in color, as well as a cartoon trilogy that included the “Beetle Bailey” character. With the ABC deal in place to produce the Beatles’ cartoons, Brodax enlisted the small London-​based TV Cartoons

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to animate the storyboards. The studios were run by Canadian George Dunning and Britisher John Coates who would later direct and supervise production, respectively, for Yellow Submarine. Dunning favored the experimental aspect in animation, having “pursued major animation research throughout the 1960s” (Frontani 2007, 175). While the Beatles were planning Magical Mystery Tour in early 1967, Brodax had arranged a deal with Brian Epstein and United Artists to create an animated, full-​length feature film starring the Beatles. The basis for the project was the commercial success of the Beatles’ cartoon series. A number of the staff pool working on the cartoon series also worked on Yellow Submarine. The cartoon series aired on ABC television in America from September 25, 1965 until April 20, 1969 consisted of thirty-​nine episodes over four seasons. Each half-​hour episode was centered on two Beatles songs, each song having its own fifteen-​minute segment. Unlike Yellow Submarine, the animation was more traditionally and crudely drawn, clearly capitalizing on the Beatlemania image, even after that image was no longer an authentic representation. Similar to the film, the cartoon fully exploited the Beatles’ current hit songs, included no involvement from the Beatles themselves, and used voice actors for the Beatles. Carr (1996, 88)  reveals the four bullet-​ pointed briefs given to animators of the series for how each should be drawn and what is written is exactly how the band were portrayed in A Hard Day’s Night: “John, especially when delivering important lines, really looks the leader”; “Paul is the most poised and stylish Beatle . . . he always looks straight at whoever he is talking to.” McCartney’s brief was written with his “Cute One” label in mind and it continues—​“A mock innocent look, eyes wide and head tilted to one side.” As the “Quiet One,” George should look “awkward and angular” even when seated and that he “never looks at who he is talking to,” while Ringo’s brief is reminiscent of his wistful walking sequence in A Hard Day’s Night—​“Ringo is the nice gentle Beatle, although he always looks rather sad” (Carr 1996, 89). With such stereotypical and outdated characterizations, it is no wonder that the Beatles were not bothered about participating with Yellow Submarine, especially when this was the type of characterization they had tried to distance themselves from. The Beatles also raised this concern in the early planning discussions. The production team had to prove that the animation wouldn’t resemble the crudeness of the TV series, and they remained disapproving of the series’ cringe-​worthy Americanized Liverpudlian accents. They also needed to be convinced that the film would not just be a feature length version of the cartoon show (Hieronimus 2002, 32). Beatles’ press officer Tony Barrow also noted how the cartoon could continue to help record and single sales for the Beatles between tours, keeping them in the public eye, and the image also kept the band rooted to their mop-​top persona when the actual Beatles had begun to write about more adult themes and had started experimenting with drugs (Axelrod 1999, 45).

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In order to appease the Beatles, ABC retained control over every aspect of the show’s content. Storyboards had to be seen and approved via memo to Brodax confirming what was okay and what needed amending. In one example, Theresa Villani of ABC’s Department of Broadcasting Standards and Practices sent a memo to Brodax (June 22, 1965) instructing that in the “Thank You Girl” episode (aired January 22, 1966), John was not to jab Ringo with a fork in frame thirty-​four (this is the second time Brodax has been told this), and that the character of Margarite should not be “too sexy” (Axelrod 1999, 46). The rejection of an electric chair is also made clear and Villani heavily chastised Brodax for its inclusion. Each episode featured a sing-​along segment with an introduction leading to the number but, to save time and money, only eighteen introductions were made, and a number of those were variations rather than being completely different from each other. Even if a song featured in both the main episode and the sing-​along, the action was different. The show continued but a number of factors were leading to its cancellation: the programming schedule was becoming oversaturated with too many reruns between seasons; there was a rise in popularity of superheroes with successful shows such as Batman (1966–​1968, ABC) and the Beatles’ main competitor, Space Ghost (1966–​1968, CBS). One of the main differences between the cartoon series and the film was the way in which the Beatles’ music was used; to illustrate this point, I will analyze one episode and sing-​along segment from before and after Yellow Submarine’s release and show the influence that the film had on visually representing the band’s music. “I Should Have Known Better” aired on December 11, 1965, and the episode begins with a wide shot of the Vatican’s St. Peter’s Square before cutting to the Beatles talking to an Italian concert promoter. The dilemma in this episode is focused on the band trying to find a suitable rehearsal space. At the first theatre, there is an opera rehearsal, in the second a ballet, and the third one is in ruins. Eventually, the band ends up at the Coliseum. Once the music begins, the performance is drawn as a typical televised live action set up. There is a wide shot of the Beatles in stage positions for a Lennon lead vocal. The camera alternates between zooming in on each Beatle and cutting to another Beatle or group shot. Like A Hard Day’s Night and Help!, the shots also include close-​ups on instruments. The music is always diegetic, with the band singing and playing their instruments throughout the sequence, and the performance does take place within the narrative of the episode. By contrast, the “Penny Lane”/​ “Strawberry Fields Forever” episode (original air date unknown, circa 1969) develops on from the film’s musical visualizations in the “Rain” sing-​along segment. In this episode the Beatles are upstaged by new detective sensation James Blonde. In an attempt to win their fans’ attention back, the Beatles go to Penny Lane to stop a robbery. At Penny Lane the band passes the barbershop that cues in the musical number. The band has donned their instruments and the music is

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primarily diegetic. But rather than create something similar to a Beatles’ live performance of the song, the sequence literally depicts the lyrics from the bus shelter in the middle of the roundabout and the nurse selling poppies from the tray to the fireman washing his fire engine. When the flugelhorn comes in, there is a busker playing the part diegtically. Yellow Submarine animator Tony Cuthbert and his team were often given “some of the weirder songs to animate,” and in the sing-​along of “Rain” we can see the influence of the film as the sequence uses still photographs of objects and fully silhouetted people similar to the “Eleanor Rigby” number (Axelrod 1999, 126). In one shot a man holds an umbrella, his face completely obscured in darkness; the background is purple. Using a mix of techniques much like Yellow Submarine, a cutout of a boat pans across the still photograph. At the beginning of the song, jump cuts flash between images in the form of still photography, rotoscoped surreal landscapes, and cutouts to the bed of the drum fill. Jump cuts feature throughout as do dissolves and, unlike the majority of the earlier episodes, this number does not feature the band at all nor does it animate literal representations of the lyrics—​there is a theme of rain depicted, but the images are far more abstract and surreal, presenting a number that is focused on the music rather than the band’s image.

Yellow Submarine—​film form and style Working to a fixed, eleven-​month deadline, Yellow Submarine was directed by George Dunning of TV Cartoons, the same company who were contracted to animate the Beatles’ cartoon series. The film’s animation process involved between forty and two hundred animators at various stages to bring Heinz Edelmann’s drawings to life. The unique visual style was because of the animators’ different cultural influences and artistic backgrounds. Prior to Yellow Submarine, the most successful studio to produce full-​length feature animations was Walt Disney Studios. And while Hollywood studios such as Warner Bros. and MGM had in-​house animation divisions to produce animated shorts, Disney released no less than forty-​nine films, a new animated feature being released every two to five years between 1960 and 1969 (Brode 2004, 2). These included 101 Dalmatians (1961), The Sword and the Stone (1963), and The Jungle Book (1967). Since Disney’s Fantasia (1941), where imaginative visuals were merged with a high culture, orchestral soundtrack, the studio was dedicated to placing a focus on creating stunning visuals that underlined the importance of music in film. Brode (2004, 2) notes that Disney’s early work shows how he “understood youth’s need for its own identity” and that music “would be the central element of youth culture.” Brode (2004, 17) even makes a specific link between Fantasia and Yellow Submarine, writing of the former, “The more perceptive critics noted the film’s desire to bypass any normal viewing experience, striking directly at

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the audience’s ‘psychic stream,’ thus allowing moviegoers to ‘glide through the space of consciousness.’ ” It reads as though it could be referring to Yellow Submarine. Despite these forays into the surreal and abstract, Alice in Wonderland (1951) being another example of this, Disney established a reputation for formulaic, production line films whose motifs, themes, and drawing styles came to define the “Disney style” and became associated not with the counterculture, but with mainstream commercial fare. Disney studios also required a consistency from their animation team in the drawing style and in the standard number of frames per drawing it always used, which gave the characters’ movements a particular look. Where Disney used a single frame or two frames per drawing, The Flintstones, for example, used four or six frames, making movement “jump around very crudely” (Hieronimus 2002, 315). Those who did not want to conform to the Disney style in order to retain “their own aesthetic distinctiveness” led to the distinction we identify as the Disney style versus experimental animation (Wells 2002, 34). The film Yellow Submarine can be classed as experimental despite its use of common techniques because the animators had to adapt the standard frame size in order to fit in Edelmann’s drawings completely, rather than changing his drawings to fit the frame’s size (Hieronimus 2002, 315). Though the techniques were commonly used, the animators swapped styles and combined techniques at the same time—​an approach that was unprecedented in commercial animation at the time. TV Cartoons was adamant about avoiding the crude animation styles of the cartoon series and McCartney wanted something that still maintained the “warmth and overall magic you associate with Disney” (Hieronimus 2002, 48). In examining Yellow Submarine’s form and style, it is worth considering the mass exodus of nontraditional animators and abstract artists from Germany and Nazi-​controlled areas of Europe in the 1930s. Hitler feared that this style of art would carry secret messages or anti-​war ideas. As a result, many of these artists moved to North America and Britain, where experimental animation flourished as new techniques and styles were being introduced. Animators Len Lye and Norman McLaren, then based in Britain, are credited with introducing new approaches to sound and color in their work (Russett and Starr 1976, 34). McLaren had worked with and mentored Dunning, the film’s director. Similarly, Alexandre Alexeieff was a Russian artist living in Paris but made films in Canada with the National Film Board around the same time. Dunning worked there in the early 1940s. Alexeieff was well-​known because of his pinscreen technique, which created textural effects that cel animation was incapable of. Another key influence in the style of the film was the drawings of the Beatles and other characters by Czechoslovakian-​born designer Heinz Edelmann—​an artist at the cutting edge of avant-​garde art who had worked in Germany in the 1960s for a progressive arts magazine, Tween. This was how Charlie Jenkins, who directed the special effects on the “Eleanor Rigby” sequence, discovered

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Edelmann. One problem for animators was how to convert Edelmann’s flat 2D drawings into the 3D style they were used to. And unlike other artists, Edelmann drew in a continuous line with no sketching or scrubbing, which is often taught in art classes or associated with Disney-​style drawings (Hieronimus 2002, 78). In order to maintain the drawings’ distinctive look, animators had to experiment with ways to create 3D motion on 2D planes. The standard field of twelve inches wide and nine inches high in which footage was shot had to be changed to fifteen inches wide and nine inches high to fit the characters comfortably into the frame. To achieve this, parts of the rostrum camera used to shoot animation had to be modified (Hieronimus 2002, 77).

The narrative/​number relationship While Neaverson (1997) acknowledges the journey narrative of Yellow Submarine, his primary focus is on the artistic and countercultural influences of the plot. He also notes how the film’s aesthetics are reminiscent of psychedelic imagery and “head” film tropes. Yet, neither he nor Frontani (2007) comment on the contradiction in the film’s experimental style and traditional narrative structure. Throughout Hieronimus’s (2002) book of interviews and recollections, a surprising few pages mention the narrative structure. Dyer (2002) argues for musicals as entertainment and even though they can present complex themes and situations, he continually highlights that these ideas are presented in a way that captivates the viewer’s emotions. By using a traditional narrative structure, the film is able to convey its primary themes without the distraction of convoluted narrative devices, and while there is experimentation and creativity in the numbers, they highlight the musical artistry of the song and lyrics. Hieronimus (2002, 184) reveals that the narrative was created around the musical sequences because the artists had access to the songs before a final script was completed. This allowed the artists more time to focus on creating visual spectacles to accompany the Beatles’ new sounds. When the script was complete, the artists were running out of time and Dunning felt a traditional narrative was more suitable on a practical level: “A lot of the narrative and a lot of the general sequences ended up with this good old standard background on the bottom, a level perhaps there for two characters, another level for another head,” and so on (ibid., 161). This also made it easier for the animators to change pieces of the characters’ bodies in order to create movement. The use of styles and techniques vary throughout the film and help to give some insight into the counterculture at this time, in terms of both themes and execution of style. The musical numbers vary in degrees of complexity and involvement within the narrative as well. The film’s most grand sequence is saved for the climactic middle. Other sequences use certain experimental

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techniques to emphasize contrast, such as “Eleanor Rigby” and “All You Need Is Love,” while “Hey Bulldog” and “Sgt. Pepper” move the narrative along very quickly and use more traditional 2D animation styles. “Nowhere Man” provides a brief musical interlude from the narrative and also serves to introduce the character of Jeremy Hillary Boob, PhD—​a key companion on the band’s quest to save Pepperland. Some sequences such as “Only a Northern Song” and “All Together Now” rely on a combination of techniques that had not been explored in mainstream cinema in these ways before. For instance, “Only a Northern Song” uses a mix of 2D animation, photographic cutouts, and both Op Art and Pop Art. “All Together Now,” though a very short sequence, is composed of graphic art, cutouts, abstract drawing, and live action. In regard to the presentation of the number, they each match the tempo and subject matter of the lyrics whether literally (“When I’m Sixty-​ Four,” “All You Need Is Love”) or in a more conceptualized way (“Only a Northern Song”). During the title song, the narrative is moved along by a little Letraset yellow submarine containing Admiral Fred playfully along the screen gliding past various seas and underwater landscapes on his way to Liverpool. Though the backgrounds are crude paintings, it does give the sequence a childlike quality.

“Eleanor Rigby” As the Beatles had little involvement with the film’s vision, the animators relied on the spirit of the Beatles and their music to dictate the tone of the film. Music was very much at the core of the producer’s objective to create an experience that represented the energy and diversity of the Beatles’ performances and musical styles. In order to get the animators into the right frame of mind, they were treated to advance playbacks of the Sgt. Pepper album in the spring of 1967. When the team heard the music, the consensus was that the Beatles had taken pop music into a new territory that fit perfectly with the animators’ styles of experimentation. The production team were “determined to combine this music with images” that would make the film “a genuine celebration of the ’60s youth rebellion” (Hieronimus 2002, 94–​95). One example of this is the “Eleanor Rigby” number that is cued when Fred arrives in Liverpool. Originally released on 1966’s Revolver, “Eleanor Rigby” is not only a haunting elegy to the title character, but also an elegy to a cross section of society lost among the façade of English middle-​class prosperity. McCartney’s lyrics, written at a time when “nostalgia perform[ed] a central function” in the Beatles’ songs, addresses all the “lonely people” that society has passed by (Womack 2005, 42). It presents an alternative, more authentic depiction of everyday life for those whom the promise of 1960s, postwar class mobility and prosperity hasn’t materialized. But Liverpool has always been a strong, proud city

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with strong women, the unsung heroines, behind it as the men were either away at sea, working on the docks, or otherwise absent. They still keep up appearances of managing, but inside her house Eleanor daydreams at the window, perhaps optimistic after picking up the rice from the wedding. The chorus asks, “Where do these forgotten people belong?” Womack (2005, 42) argues that McCartney exposes the problems of the establishment and how mainstream society “has ignored—​even deplored [Rigby’s] inability to conform,” whereas MacDonald (2005, 204) describes the song as having a “monochrome pessimism” that is reflected in the musical sequence through the use of a photographic technique called Kodalith. The sequence begins with an establishing shot that McCartney’s lyrics only hint at: a montage of industrial, working-​class buildings and houses representing typical northern towns like Liverpool. Charlie Jenkins, who was responsible for special effects on this number, took still photographs around Liverpool and converted the images to Kodaliths—​high contrast negative black-​ and-​ white film transparencies. Images that have been transferred to Kodalith will either become pure white or jet black and rotoscoping can be used to add detail. The effect creates a very grim view of Liverpool when compared to Pepperland. The image of terraced houses and the iconic Liver Building is at first lit with a green filter, making the detail in the houses dark and anonymous. As the sun starts to rise, the filters change to dark blue, with the red sunlight burning in the background. Once the sun is up, multiplaning is used as the background sinks away and the foreground rises up, framing rows of chimneys in close shot. The chimneys simultaneously belch smoke—​a sign of the reliance on coal and uniformity/​ conformity in the streets below. Imprisonment is one of the main themes of this number, reflected in the tight shots and full frames, making the rows of houses seem endless. In shot seven (11:31), high contrast photography is used to depict a man trying to escape from a public phone box. In shot nine (11:46), the camera cuts to a brick house with ten windows, each with an identical woman stroking a cat. Shot eleven (12:08) has two women sitting at a table eating chocolates together; they stare longingly out the window but do not talk to each other. And a young man in a motorcycle helmet cries behind his goggles (12:22), appearing in a close-​up that forces the viewer to take notice of him. Even Eleanor Rigby is confined to a grave beneath the ground, buried with only her name. There are bankers in bowler hats with umbrellas (photographic cutouts of Dunning and Edelmann) perched high atop the city on the roofs (shot sixteen, 12:39), and it seems that for some, the only way out is to jump from the top factory window (shot eight, 11:38). Conformity is everywhere:  from the desperate housewives and their cats, to the bankers on the roof, to the two football teams (shot ten, 11:54–​12:03) that each has cutout faces of the same two men—​Geoff Hughes (the voice of Paul in the film) as the blue team and Tony Cuthbert (principal animator) as the red team. There are even references to the Old

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Empire to reflect McCartney’s fondness for nostalgia: the bulldog draped in the Union Jack (shot three, 10:54), live action footage of soldiers on parade (shot three, 10:54) projected onto a cinema screen, and a lion statue (shot seven, 11:31). However, there are moments of hope as we see glimpses of the bright yellow submarine floating through random frames. The crying motorcyclist wears a psychedelic, rainbow scarf and painted helmet, and an intellectual sits in contemplation on the rooftop wearing colorfully painted butterfly wings (shot seventeen, 12:44). These moments of hope are reflected in the promise the youth culture, the young creatives and thinkers, can bring to the drudgery of conformity and traditional values. After the city’s distinctive character is established, the viewer is introduced to a depressed Ringo walking around the rubble of the city’s back streets. His colorful clothes look out of place among the coal-​ tarnished, and war-​ torn landscape. Even the mixture of styles—​ dark rotoscoped cityscape and painted animation, gives Ringo a kind of surreal 3D look. The appearance of the yellow submarine that follows Ringo around offers the promise of hope and unity after a little help from his friends—​it provides a lift out of the city to new and different places. The journey from Liverpool to the sea is made in a series of jump cuts through color photographs of the English countryside and famous monuments. Once the Beatles and Fred reach the sea, they travel through a number of different seas. While on the submarine, passing through different seas, it cues up different Beatles’ songs that move the narrative forward. Using Op Art and Pop Art, 2D animation, and photographs “All Together Now” shows everyone on board working together to control the sub through the waters. In shot five (22:55), the music becomes diegetic as part of a sing-​ along emphasizing music’s role in bringing people together harmoniously. The colorful Op Art fish, octopi, and other sea creatures also adhere to utopian values of community. As the sub passes through the Sea of Time, a similar function and design is used for “When I’m Sixty-​Four” where the Beatles and Fred get very old and very young. The song begins with an aged Paul with a big white goatee and sideburns singing along to the opening lines as the other Beatles dance around the submarine. Shot four (27:42) cuts to the sea where pillars of clocks and sea creatures keep time to the music, reinforcing the motif of music creating harmony. Subsequent shots feature timepieces and boots keeping time with the music, bringing the visual and the aural together. Shot thirteen (28:49) cuts to a mini sequence of numbers starting with zero and carrying through to sixty. Each numeral has a different drawing or pattern contained inside of it and the mini sequence uses a number of animation techniques all in the space of one minute: drawings, sketches, paintings, 2D animation, Op Art, and comic book–​style lettering. The sequence ends with a silhouetted couple kissing as love and peace are conveyed once again.

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“Only a Northern Song” Like the Sea of Time using a song that underlines time as a theme, “Only a Northern Song’s” use of instruments that undermine the rules of key and time signatures, and its lyrics about a song that doesn’t sound quite right, are used as the soundtrack for the Sea of Science. There is a cacophony of percussive instruments playing off and around Ringo’s timekeeping and there is opposition between the organ and the piano, while the brass section mix sharp and natural notes that play in high and low registers between minor and major chords (see Everett 1999, 127 for more technical details). Considered to be one of the Beatles’ second-​rate, throwaway songs, it was written by Harrison and recorded between February and April 1967 (Everett 1999, 111). The cynical song’s lyrics read, “It doesn’t really matter what chords I play, what words I say, or what time of day it is” and “it doesn’t really matter what clothes I wear, or how I fare, or if my hair is brown.” For Harrison, this can easily be read as a comment on the distraction of his pop star image and that as a Beatle he could probably release anything and it would still sell. He also makes a comment about the nature of pop music and the almost arrogance of being a musician—​for if it sounds all wrong, it is okay because that’s the way George wrote it. However, in the context of the film, “Only a Northern Song” lends itself to a different interpretation and, in its animated visualization, the song is used to reflect the countercultural mantra of “it’s all in the mind.” The lyrics are no longer framed around the trials of celebrity, but are rather a celebration of diversity and community. It doesn’t matter what the song sounds like because it is a community of voices coming together. The sounds transcend language barriers to bring a universal message of harmony. For all of its musical discord technically, the song does come together as a fun, sing-​along, clap-​along tune. Throughout the number, an animated oscillator is used to focus on the tones of the song rather than on the Beatles’ image. It is always center framed or featured in the foreground. In shot two (30:18) the oscillator is center framed, with four boxes surrounding each side of the object. At first each box has a lifelike drawing of a Beatle painted in multicolor. However, the boxes unfold and refold to feature an ear on each box. Before the shot cuts, the boxes change once more to feature fingers pointing at the oscillator in the center. Artist Mary Ellen Bute, whose 1954 film Abstronic focuses on the shapes and designs made by an oscilloscope set to Aaron Copeland’s “How Down,” believed that the device could create endless aesthetic possibilities. She also noted how the device could be used to create “the illusion of three dimensional space” as the “figures and forms[. . .] can be made to move on the horizontal and vertical planes, towards or away from the spectator . . . the tempo of their movements can be changed at will” (Russett and Starr 1976, 105). This would have been an appealing feature for the animators, not just in using the oscillator to visually focus

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on the music, but to also help them achieve the 3D effects from Edelmann’s 2D drawings. Throughout the number, the style utilizes a strong use of straight and uniform lines, boxes animated in 3D, the live action oscillator, and a heavy use of 2D and 3D spheres. Graphic design art is appropriate for this sequence because of the precision and sharpness of the lines and shapes represented in the mathematical and scientific calculations that one would expect to find in the Sea of Science. Also, music itself is mathematical in regard to time signatures and the value given to each note. Foregrounding Harrison’s composition against a more concrete form of art underlines the complexities of the song’s makeup, timbre, and time signatures, especially during the seemingly random orchestral improvisations. The level of experimentation on precise notes parallels the artistic experimentation of the sequence. To further make the point of how this song lends itself to being visually depicted through graphic design techniques, Dunning’s mentor Norman McLaren had written in 1950 about animated sound on film, noting how animated sound pioneer A.  M. Auzaamov relied on “geometrical figures such as rectangles, triangles, trapezes, ovals, parabolas, ellipses, etc.” to form the basis of his sound waves (Russett and Starr 1976, 167). At the end of the sequence in shot fifteen (32:06) is a relatively new process for the time called Letraset, which was used to produce hundreds of little Beatles emerging from a box. This technique allowed the animators to easily replicate the numerous cartoon figures without having to draw and paint each separately by hand. Letraset was used throughout the film to animate the yellow submarine in long shots as it traveled across each frame. What distinguishes the Letraset pieces from the hand drawings is the glossier cutout look similar to the texture of stickers. Animators used a process not unlike photocopying and were able to stick the pieces down on each cel in order to conserve time but to also create a three dimensional effect. A similar technique, which Wells (2002, 125) refers to as Xeroxing, was first used by Disney Studios on 1960’s Goliath II (dir. Wolfgang Rietherman) and more famously in 101 Dalmatians. Critics were quick to note that its use was a rather “un-​Disney style.” “Nowhere Man” is situated between “Only a Northern Song” and the Sea of Holes sequence. What is worth noting about this number is that the four Beatles are cut out as one block, with flowers and rainbows trailing them as they move across the screen. At 43:50, the sequence starts to run backward, with the Beatles taking the rainbow (the only bits of color) with them, leaving Jeremy to cry on his own. It reinforces how the presence of music provides pleasure and escape and the color and happiness that music can bring represented by the rainbow and flowers. This motif of highlighting musical iconography is present in the form of record grooves in shot fifteen (42:51) as the Beatles and Jeremy ride around on the grooves as they dance and sing to the song, also giving the frame a 3D effect.

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“Sea of Holes” George Martin’s orchestral piece, “Sea of Holes” is used to soundtrack the sequence of the same name. Martin scored seven tracks for Yellow Submarine, all of which feature on side two of the album. Martin develops some of his ideas around the types of sounds that the Beatles were experimenting with on Sgt. Pepper and features some of the backward effects and distortion heard on Revolver. The Sea of Holes is the last sea before the Sea of Green takes the Beatles to Pepperland. The sequence consists of nothing more than a white frame of infinite number of perfectly round and uniformly spaced black circles. Each black hole appears to be 2D but as the camera pans over the holes, the illusion of depth is created. This illusion creates a “very clever manipulation of perspective,” with a similar look to Bridget Riley’s Op Art (Hieronimus 2002, 269). The skills of the camera’s movements is what makes each frame appear vast and never-​ending, making the challenge with this sequence not so much the animation but the filming. Camera operator Bev Roberts took an entire night to shoot the sequence due to the high number of camera movements involved (Hieronimus 2002, 126). When the Beatles and Jeremy first appear in the Sea of Holes, they slip around on the surface, fall through a hole, and reappear from a different hole. Because the animators bend the characters, the hole-​filled background seems to have walls and a ceiling. Crash zooms and quick pans add a feeling of disorientation as if the viewer is being flung upside down too, but all the while the frame is of course a flat cel with 2D animations. The sensations the characters feel on screen are also mirrored by Martin’s score, which features plucked strings and backmasking effects to add to the surreal atmosphere. The role of Op Art underlines the themes of the counterculture and was an art form that many experimental artists were inspired by. It reflects an open rejection of traditional styles and became an art form associated with the youth culture. Without being on LSD, Op Art has the ability to stimulate the eye–​brain stem. With LSD, the mind is opened in such a way as to “enhance or even transcend” the personal experiences each individual brings to their interpretation of an Op Art piece (Follin 2004, 64). Follin notes two primary components to Op Art. The first is that it is a technical dream where the creation symbolizes “power, freedom, silent efficiency, and scientific mastery” over the accepted norms. The second component is that it is a representation of a libertarian dream in which art is freed from “conventions, inhibitions, and repressions” both with the arts and within society (Follin 2004, 65). So the former is concerned with how art style and form is derived while the latter transcends the medium to have great sociological implications. Like Riley’s art work, the key word is “perception” and the Beatles’ music, along with Yellow Submarine, is constructed in a way that allows for different levels of interpretation by a wide demographic with a variety of experiences.

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In addition to the influence of Op Art, the film also features a number of references to the Andy Warhol-​esque Pop Art scene. The most obvious example is in the Liverpool sequence when Admiral Fred enters the Beatles’ house. A bit of a play on Help!, there are hundreds of doors lined down a never-​ending corridor. Ringo and Fred enter one door and walk through what looks like a museum. On display are large hotdogs, a hamburger, a pear, a piece of cake, and a sausage. Also in the foreground, center framed is a bottle of “Fizz” cola—​a reference to Pop Art’s claim on such commercial products as Coca-​Cola and Campbell’s Soup. Ringo and Fred pass through a room with cutouts of iconic figures and celebrities: superheroes, General Custer, Marilyn Monroe, Fred Astaire, and John Steed from The Avengers. Other Pop Art influences can be found in Edlemann’s “When I’m Sixty-​Four” mini sequence of numerals to illustrate how long sixty-​four seconds actually is. The patterns of the numerals are based on comic book–​style lettering, among other forms. There is also the illustration of the word “LOVE” and one could argue that turning the Beatles into animation could also be a form of Pop Art. Film critic David Wilson wrote in 1968 for Film Bulletin that both the film and the Beatles’ myth are ephemeral (Hieronimus 2002, 308). But due to the lasting nature of film and art, the Beatles, like Warhol’s soup cans, are forever preserved as iconic images. Illustrating the lyrics for “All You Need Is Love,” “When I’m Sixty-​Four,” and the reprise of “All Together Now,” and featuring Pop Art–​style words like “YES” and “OK” during the “It’s All Too Much” number again highlight the attention brought to the song lyrics as if they too should be considered art.

“Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” The most complex of the musical numbers in the film is “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds,” which utilizes a number of different styles and influences within the space of three minutes. Originally the first sequence to be used for test footage, the “Lucy” sequence was what eventually won over the Beatles on the idea of an animated feature film. It captured the innovation and level of experimentation that paralleled the band’s own creative activities and visually depicted the song in a way that placed emphasis on music as art. “Lucy” begins with a wide pan across a colorful patched field full of busts in profile. The heads are cross-​sectioned to reveal words in a Pop Art style, along with other more abstract images. In one cross section (shot seven, 46:52), there is a flashing rainbow and the image wipes to reveal colorful Pop Art style Ginger Rogers rotoscoped in a variety of pastel colors. This effect is very reminiscent of Warhol’s paintings of Marilyn Monroe and Elizabeth Taylor. Against a black background, one of the images is of a yellow Rogers with blue hair, green lips, and a blue swimsuit with red detailing. Another is of Rogers with a pink body, green hair and lips,

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and a red swimsuit with green detailing. Like a zoetrope effect, another series of multicolored Gingers, this time against a white background, wipe over the Gingers with the black background. Shot nine (46:57) then cuts to a wide shot of many identical women dancing on yellow stars on a blue background. The only detail is in the clearly traced outlines of the stars and the women, but there is no variation in color. Shot ten (47:05) gets closer to the style that dominates the chorus of the song—​it features a ballroom scene where the color variation differentiates between clothing and dancers rather than outline detail, of which there is very little. The whole of this sequence is centered on footage of old Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire musicals by RKO in the 1930s and stars such as Ruby Keeler and Eddie Cantor were also rotoscoped for the sequence. Much like the choreographed precision and spectacle of a Busby Berkeley number, Dunning wanted to capture the “internal flow” of those old dance sequences (Hieronimus 2002, 167). In order to replicate that feeling, a “ ‘painted’ image, which is made with direct free brush strokes” was chosen to contrast from the other 2D animation styles (ibid., 166). Disney Studios had rotoscoped photographs to create the characters of Snow White and Prince Charming to give those characters a more realistic look, but “Lucy” rotoscoped Fred and Ginger in a more abstract and surreal way. The direct, free brush strokes give a more liberal application of bright, contrasting colors and the effect is similar to the dreamlike quality associated with the use of soft focus. The effect becomes all the stronger when juxtaposed with the nostalgic imagery of the musical footage. It is interesting to consider the role of nostalgia in both Yellow Submarine and Magical Mystery Tour. There is no evidence to suggest that McCartney might have been influenced by the “Lucy” test footage, but it certainly does seem to be more than a coincidence that “Your Mother Should Know” was used as the big set piece finale of the latter. “Lucy” stands out from the animated styles of the other numbers with its elaborate use of rotoscoping and its obvious use of homage to classical Hollywood musicals while “Your Mother” emulates the sweeping, lush style of a Busby Berkeley number; both are an homage reinterpreted in their own style. Neither sequence rejects the traditional style. Rather both embrace it, but with a distinctive mark of the counterculture stamping it as their own. We also see nostalgic elements in the Edwardian style of dress worn by Fred, Sgt. Pepper’s band, the villainous Apple Bonkers, and the Lord Mayor of Pepperland. Many of the men of Pepperland and the busts of the Headlands in the “Lucy” sequence have the short haircuts, long sideburns, and the well-​trimmed but full moustaches with the long, almost curling ends associated with that time period. The Victorian period is also represented in the evil flying glove that Edelmann used “as a symbol of its obvious Victorian predecessor, the pointing figure of authority” (Hieronimous 2002, 237). A similar pointing finger was a common staple

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of Terry Gilliam’s animation in Monty Python’s Flying Circus, but used with the surreal twist of countercultural satire. The film ends with the Blue Meanies being defeated peacefully through the happiness and sense of community brought to Pepperland by the Beatles’ music. Even though live performance codes are not used, the sing-​ along nature of the sequences and the visual representation of the lyrics help to achieve a similar effect of community and audience participation—​a balance the Beatles failed to achieve in Help!, Magical Mystery Tour, and many of their promo films. There are a number of little flourishes throughout the film that help to achieve this sense of community and togetherness—​ from the printed words, the audience being directly addressed by captions, and the few moments when a character breaks the fourth wall and speaks to the camera. The Beatles’ live action cameo at the end asks the audience for help in spotting any Blue Meanies in the cinema and to help defeat them by singing “All Together Now” together. While the Beatles were able to spend only one day in the film studio to shoot their cameo and to be included in the film’s three-​minute trailer, the trailer gives the impression that the Beatles actually feature in it more than they do, and almost seems to suggest that the band might have also provided the voices for their animated counterparts. The footage of scenes from the film is edited with footage of the band on set behind cameras, using light meters and tape measures. The opinions on the live action appearance were mixed—​screenplay writer Erich Segal (1997) felt the sequence overshadowed the hard work of the animators while Lewisohn (2004) argues that the Beatles look at ease with a classic, timeless look. Despite the Beatles’ initial understanding, their brief appearance was not enough to make Yellow Submarine count as the third film in their three-​picture deal with United Artist. But it did provide an important and authentic connection between the imagined and the real of the two worlds depicted on screen.

Conclusion Upon its theatrical release in July 1968, Yellow Submarine proved to be popular with audiences and critics but suffered due to the Rank Organization’s limited distribution of the film in its British cinemas. The reasons for this are unclear, but it makes sense to think that the poor reception of Magical Mystery Tour and the band’s period of lukewarm popularity might have made the distributor’s officials conservative in their ordering of prints. Official MGM figures show that the film earned $8  million worldwide and critic Alexander Walker (1968, 10)  felt that it was “The key film of The Beatles era [. . .] Its inventiveness never flags. It’s a trip throughout the contemporary mythology that the quartet from Merseyside has helped to create.” Similarly in the United States, Judith Crist writing for New  York

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Magazine commented, “It is sheer delight in its concept and in its execution. The animation is superb . . . op, pop, and psychedelic!” (Hieronimus 2002, 305). While reviewers praised the film’s overall visual experience, one art critic noted that Edelmann’s drawings avoided recreating lifelike representations of the Beatles and instead reflected the band’s attitudes. Care is not given to replicating the well-​worn Beatles iconography or the experience of a live performance, but to instead focus on what the Beatles as a group and as a concept represent. I would argue that the real success of the Beatles was their ability to create projects that lent themselves to various levels of interpretation, and because they did not openly overanalyze their song lyrics or their motivations, it leaves room for their fans to project their own meaning into the work. And Yellow Submarine’s visual style and universal theme certainly lend itself to interpretation on at least two registers—​the more carefree innocence of peace and love and the psychedelic trip through abstract places, time, and space for the drug influenced counterculture. At its heart is a message that good and kindness are effective nonviolent ways to confront evil and hate, while for the counterculture it becomes a “parable of how the psychedelic Beatles [. . .]overcome the forces of state power to establish a new regime of karmic awareness and universal good” (Neaverson 1997, 88). Thematically, Edelmann could not help but see a parallel between Yellow Submarine’s message and the fact that the 1960s they were all part of was “changing with new values and a new vision of the world in which the Beatles played an important part” (Hieronimus 2002, 121). This layering of meaning and the combination of artistic styles and idealistic theme is Yellow Submarine’s success, especially when compared to a project like Magical Mystery Tour that was too representative of one particular subculture. Though there are those who might enjoy the film under the influence of drugs, they were not the influence for the animators working on the film, as much of the work was too detailed and complex to undertake while on drugs. The true influence for Yellow Submarine came from the Beatles’ music and the spirit evoked from their myth, and the band’s absence from the project helped to further strengthen a mythology that became the blueprint for their characterization in the film. John Clive, the voice of John in the film, stated, “[The Beatles’ legend] was the prime motive for all of us who worked on the whole project” and Antal Kovacs, the Czech-​ born assistant dubbing editor adds that the Sgt. Pepper album cover was a direct influence on the look of the film (Hieronimus 2002, 45). All involved in the project recognized the new direction the Beatles were heading toward, with the Pop Art/​turn of the century pastiche of that landmark record. Unlike the cartoon series, the established reputation of the animators who did not need to work to a restrictive network broadcaster’s standards or brief were able to approach the film with unorthodox ideas. The cartoons were simply a cheaply made, quickly

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produced product that earned the Beatles extra money from merchandise and promotion. There may have been a concern that Yellow Submarine would have undone the hard work the Beatles had engaged in to progress their image away from the Beatlemania persona. However, one interesting thing of note that previous studies of the film have missed is that in the Liverpool of the film, the Beatles are individuals with their own, very different spaces. Fred comes across each member on his own, engaged in a solitary activity. However, the band go on the journey together and work together to defeat the Blue Meanies. While the film is able to capture the essence of the Beatles as a group, they are also observant of the importance of each of the Beatles’ emerging individuality—​that these are four separate people bringing a different range of interests and talents to the music. The film also develops the idea of the band’s Sgt. Pepper alter egos and how image is part of the playing with and performance of identity. And as the band disguises their image from the Blue Meanies in order to defeat them, they are even concealing their own mythology from the audience. But the Beatles in an animated form might actually be a key element to preserving their legendary status in a more timeless way than live action film and television representations could. And the film’s remastered rerelease in 1993 helped to introduce the Beatles to a new generation of fans. Six months on from Yellow Submarine, in January 1969, the Beatles were made aware that the film would not complete their contract with United Artists and, as a result, decided to invite Michael Lindsay-​Hogg to once again film them—​this time rehearsing for a potential live concert or televised performance. It would document the band playing together as a collective of four in the studio for the first time since early 1968 as much of The Beatles (“The White Album”) was recorded with different members present at different times. Rather than filming the rebirth of the Beatles, Lindsay-​Hogg’s film, Let It Be, was a fly-​on-​the-​wall look of a band that had become so separated and distanced from their original image that they were no longer distinguishable as “The Beatles.” By the time the film was released in cinemas in 1970, the band had already broken up and had started court proceedings that would take nearly a decade, and cost not only a small fortune but also their friendship, to formally end The Beatles.

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5 The end of an era, the end of the Beatles—​Let It Be

The Beatles spent the majority of the summer and early autumn of 1968 working in the studio on what they insisted should be a double album, The Beatles, despite George Martin’s advice that it would make a stronger record if it was cut down to just two sides. Reading through MacDonald (2005) and cross-​referenced with Lewisohn (2004), a picture emerges of “the White Album” being recorded more as a solo effort compared to the collaboration of other studio-​based albums like Revolver or Sgt. Pepper. While the full lineup do perform together on classic tracks like “Revolution 1” and “Helter Skelter,” there are a number of tracks that could be considered solo McCartney songs (“Black Bird,” “Mother Nature’s Son,” and “Martha My Dear”) because the other Beatles do not play on them, while other tracks feature two or three Beatles (like McCartney playing drums on “Back in the USSR” because Ringo had temporarily left the band), or feature other personnel on them like Eric Clapton’s lead guitar solo on Harrison’s “While My Guitar Gently Weeps.” Musically, this was an image of the Beatles beginning to develop their musicianship into diverse styles from each other and the album reflects that individuality as its central theme. They would be in separate studios recording different parts of their songs at different times and collaborating with other people—​Harrison with Clapton, Lennon with avant-​garde artist and partner Yoko Ono, and Starr even writing his own songs. Now, “the White Album” is well-​loved by Beatles fans and has a number of hits on it, but then it symbolized a clear rejection of Beatlemania iconography, and the individual A4 sized photographs of each member that came with the album looked almost like the Beatles as anti–​pin ups. Gone were the soft features of their boyish faces. Instead, they looked like world-​ weary men, expressionless, the photos taken in muted colors. The process became an important step toward freeing themselves from Beatlemania. Aldred (2005, 116)  argues, “Personal liberation would include freeing

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oneself from the shackles of a system that involved exploitative social relations.” Those relations were between them and their fans, them and the music industries, and them between each other. As a result, the blank white cover of The Beatles is a gesture toward establishing their liberation and their rebirth as musicians. But perhaps it was only the Beatles themselves who remained shackled to the Beatles’ myth. They were still crediting songs as Lennon–​ McCartney despite many of these later songs being written as solo efforts, and though Clapton was collaborating with Harrison, he remained uncredited because the Beatles could only be John, Paul, George, and Ringo. Michael Lindsay-​ Hogg’s 1970 documentary Let It Be filmed during January 1969, shortly after “the White Album’s” November 1968 release, captures that sense of musicianship, the new process in collaboration, and ultimately the end of the Beatles. What is most interesting about the film, though, is once again the Beatles’ awareness of being filmed despite the efforts of the crew to be flies-​on-​the-​wall observers. And rather than capture the band working more naturally as individuals or pairs in the studio, the artificial nature of the space (Twickenham film studios in London) and the façade of the band all rehearsing and collaborating together at the same time, in the same room, like they used to do, starts to force the cracks in the group’s already fragile unity. Rolling Stone journalist Michael Goodwin had commented on Lindsay-​Hogg’s shooting style, arguing that the viewer gets “pushed farther and farther away from the simple reality of the music going down,” noting his use of medium and extreme close ups, “a technique which painfully misses the point that music is a collective activity in which musicians work together” (Harry 1984, 49; original emphasis). Arguably, it was Goodwin who misses the point—​the Beatles were no longer a collective unit of musicians, and their recording practices had not reflected that in some time. As the film gives insight to, Lennon and Harrison especially had felt that the Beatles’ myth was too restrictive to their creative development (and Lennon’s sound collage “Revolution 9” from “the White Album” is an example of this). Unlike McCartney, they did not want to return to touring or performing live because that would too closely tie them back into the association of their mop-​top, Beatlemania days. The film tries to be an authentic, truly behind-​the-​scenes look at capturing the magic of a prolific band’s creative processes, but instead captures a band that has strained relationships, creative differences, and is at a tug-​of-​war between reclaiming the Beatles’ image and defining themselves as something completely different. Let It Be is also a problematic insight into the band’s relationship with their audience. This is most poignantly reflected in not only Lindsay-​Hogg’s shooting style but also in the film’s “grand” finale of the Beatles’ last ever live performance on the rooftop of the Apple Corps building. Much of the camera work captures the band either at a distance, with backs turned toward the camera, or at such close-​ups as to segment the band so they

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are not always in the frame together. The beginning quarter of the film at Twickenham is bare, underlit, and cold. There is no set dressing—​just chairs, microphone stands, and instruments. The audio is also very difficult to hear at times and the band actually rarely conduct conversations with each other—​McCartney does a lot of the talking in a desperate attempt to keep the band on track and together, Lennon remains largely silent and when he does speak it is in riddles or in a very sarcastic way. There is no direct address to the audience and very little addressing the camera until the “music video” segments of “Let It Be” and “The Long and Winding Road,” when McCartney does address the camera throughout the performance. And while we the viewers get to see and hear the rooftop performance, the public audience below cannot see the band, and at times the camera even cuts us off from seeing and hearing the performance in a disjointed way. That ruins the illusion of the now legendary gig to show that actually people were more curious about the noise than about it being the Beatles. The lack of a physical connection severs the normal bonding rituals that make live performance an emotional and reaffirming event. Throughout filming, the sessions were known as the “Get Back” sessions because it was an opportunity for the Beatles to return to a working arrangement that required them to create new music collectively. The music would reflect a new, back-​to-​basics approach reminiscent of the band’s early career before Beatlemania, and the band would revisit some of the very early songs that Lennon and McCartney had penned in the late 1950s to contrast with the high level of complexity and elaborate studio technology on “the White Album.” To highlight this theme, Lindsay-​Hogg utilized a similar minimalist observational approach. The impetus for filming the group was to watch them rehearse for a one-​time, live concert performance. The exact details were sketchy and changed from simple performances in small halls and university student unions to more extravagant ideas of performing on a large barge in the Thames River or at a large, empty amphitheater in Tunisia. This footage would have been used as part of a televised special. Just as the Beatles were divided on where to play, or if they would even play live at all, they barely overcame the creative differences and opinions to even complete an album’s worth of new songs. Adding to the confusion was their new manager Allen Klein, who advised them that releasing Let It Be as a feature film would make them more money than as a televised special and it would fulfill their contract with United Artists (Everett 1999, 236). That advice would have been appealing since the band’s new company Apple Corps was hemorrhaging money and each would have realized, if heavily in denial, that they weren’t making comparative amounts of money as their heyday. While Lindsay-​ Hogg’s film took newspaper critics by surprise, documentaries focused on musicians and musical events had become a popular trend between 1967 and 1970. In addition to Let It Be, the musical

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documentary came to the forefront with Bob Dylan’s performance at the Royal Albert Hall in D.  A. Pennebaker’s Don’t Look Back (1967), the Rolling Stones in the studio for Jean-​Luc Godard’s One Plus One (aka Sympathy for the Devil, 1969), and in 1968 Elvis Presley’s aforementioned comeback special for CBS television network in America. The genre was also used to document the rise in the nostalgia-​driven communal experiences that captured the innocent and free-​spirited nature of the counterculture in festival documentaries such as the Monterey Pop Festival (dir. D.  A. Pennebaker, 1968), Festival (dir. Murray Lerner, 1967), Woodstock (dir. Michael Wadleigh, 1970), Listening to You: The Who at the Isle of Wight Festival (dir. Murray Lerner, 1970), and Gimme Shelter (dirs. David and Albert Maysles, 1970). Just as musicians had experimented with the boundaries and influences of their craft by the mid-​1960s, there was also a rise in filmmakers experimenting with and testing the limits of film form. Barsam (2001, 198)  points to a number of technological and industrial advances that made this possible, such as lightweight mobile equipment, the emerging independence of documentary film production and distribution as a movement, and the role of television in becoming a medium for broadcasting documentary projects. Musicians and large scale music events were perfect subjects because there was no shortage of subjects or “happenings” to film, no scripts or rehearsals were required, and direct cinema was very cost effective in that actors and sets did not have to be paid for.

Observational documentary, form, and function in Let It Be Lindsay-​Hogg certainly had captivating subjects in the Beatles and it was easy for him to aim the cameras at the band to let them just do what they did best, letting the performances speak for themselves. The observational approach enabled the band a greater feeling that they might invite cameras into their private sanctuary with minimal interference, and the rejection of traditional conventions favored by the subgenre suited the Beatles’ antiestablishment sensibilities. Going into the project, you can get a sense of just how far Lennon and McCartney had drifted. McCartney had seen the project as a way to rejuvenate the band, to prevent them from breaking up. But arguably, the objective of capturing the Beatles as realistically as possible met Lennon’s agenda of breaking the Beatles’ myth, allowing each the opportunity to finally leave “The Beatles” behind to focus on solo pursuits. At the time, Lennon felt that it would portray the band with “no glossy paint over the cover and no sort of hope.” He continued by saying, “This is what we are like with our trousers off, so would you please let us end the game now” (Neaverson 1997, 112).

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True to the minimalist form of direct cinema, Lindsay-​Hogg refrains from traditional documentary devices such as voice-​ over narration or title captions in order to place full attention on the Beatles and this unprecedented access to the creative process, from sketchy ideas to polished live performance. Rather than use a superimposed caption, Lindsay-​Hogg takes advantage of the mise-​en-​scene and focuses on the bass drumhead with the Beatles’ logo printed on it. This icon of the Beatles’ myth is then carried away off to the side of the studio. When the Beatles move from the vast and unnatural working space at the film studios to the more natural and familiar environment of Apple Studios, Lindsay-​ Hogg opens the sequence with a close-​up of the Apple Headquarters’ sign on the building’s exterior. This sets up a noticeable shift in the film to establish a sense of chronology, progression, and a change in the Beatles’ relationship with each other. Lindsay-​Hogg’s only superimposed caption, “The End,” signals not just the end of the performance and the film, but also foreshadows the end of the Beatles. Lindsay-​Hogg also relies on a motif of unusual or “strange” juxtapositions. Nichols (1991, 41) explores this concept in his work on documentary form, defining the device as a kind of “hybrid style in which the filmmaker chooses to turn to techniques associated with one of the other modes” of nonfiction film. This technique is used in two distinctive ways in Let It Be. Lindsay-​ Hogg’s crew interviews a mixed demographic of people watching the Beatles’ rooftop performance—​a device most associated with expositional documentary. However, the crew’s questions are absent so the audience only hear the varied replies. In this way, the strange juxtaposition serves “as epiphanies and seem ‘real’ ” as if having “originated in the historical world rather than in the defamiliarizing strategies of an argument” (Nichols 1991, 41). Most of the responses are favorable toward the performance but the overall reaction is muted rather than frenzied excitement. While McCartney wanted to prove that the band could still play live without the aid of studio gimmicks, the band are still physically removed from the audience and these responses from the people below try to stand in for a traditional audience with reaffirming, positive comments. Lindsay-​Hogg also uses this approach in order to “jar and unsettle” the viewer by creating “twists and turns” in the narrative, helping to replicate a traditional linear narrative in a fictional film (Nichols 1991, 41). The most overt examples involve Yoko Ono and how she is juxtaposed with McCartney. Keeping in mind that the objective is to return the band to their rock ’n’ roll roots, McCartney and Lennon are shot sharing a microphone during the rehearsals for “Two of Us.” The song is an Everly Brothers pastiche with lyrics reminiscing about a close, inseparable relationship that many interpreted to be about Lennon and McCartney. The shot Lindsay-​Hogg presents (7:01) perfectly accommodates that sense of interconnectedness—​the two brothers communicating freely through song and music, and both pick up easily on the other’s improvisations. However,

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Lindsay-​Hogg jars the viewer back to reality by cutting to a shot of Ono standing away from the action on her own for the first time in the film (7:05), with a look of contempt. Another example is captured during the “Let It Be” music sequence where camera placement and editing is used in a way to create the illusion that each Beatle has a large amount of physical space between them, conveying a sense of distance within the collective unit. Lennon and McCartney do not share a microphone nor do they share any shots together in this sequence or in most of the film. Instead, Lennon and Ono are framed together (51:55) to confirm their creative and personal partnership and oneness. Let It Be’s portrayal of Lennon and Ono’s relationship should not be undermined because it goes against one of the most crucial elements of the Beatles’ myth—​a band built upon and developed by Lennon and McCartney’s relationship, which in this film is portrayed as distant and disconnected.

The Beatles as social actors Lindsay-​Hogg’s use of the observational mode might not allow for him to make explicit comments on the state of the Beatles’ fractured group dynamics, but his camera placement and editing style does allow him to tell a very particular story nonetheless. While there are no formal chronological structures in place such as clocks, calendars, captions, or voice-​overs to separate the days and weeks of filming, the editing does show a progression in the Beatles’ musicianship as well as the band’s ever-​ growing insular attitudes and a heightened sense of individuality. Rather than open the film with a group shot of the Beatles as Richard Lester had done in A Hard Day’s Night, Lindsay-​Hogg instead employs the use of individual close-​ups—​a motif he relies on throughout the film. While part of this is practical as the Beatles rarely showed up to the filming sessions at the same time—​Paul arriving very early being keen, John and Yoko arriving late in the afternoon some days—​Lindsay-​Hogg’s choice of framing in this way does allow for a study of each member’s role within the band. When the director does deviate from this motif, it has a poignant effect much like his use of strange juxtapositions. The viewer does not see a shot of the band until three minutes and fifteen seconds into the film and the shot has minimal lighting—​with Harrison and Starr in darkness, parts of their faces are barely visible while Lennon and McCartney have their backs to the camera. Also, this motif is rarely used during the live performance on the rooftop to highlight the individual elements that come together at the end to make up the whole. They may make performing live look easy and fun, but Lindsay-​Hogg shows that it was a complex process to arrive at that stage. Despite the voyeuristic nature of the handheld cameras and low volume on the microphones, a theme that is fully explored in the next section, there

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is certainly an awareness of the cameras by the band. Nichols has argued that the subjects in documentary films cannot truly be objective because of their awareness of being filmed. In this way, there is a tendency to act up for the camera in ways that would be different if the subject was unaware of being filmed. Nichols (1991, 42) refers to these knowing subjects as “social actors,” which he defines as “the degree to which individuals represent themselves to others” (see also, Goffman 1990). In Let It Be, each Beatle reveals different facets of their personality. Sometimes there is deliberate performance for the cameras when members address the cameras directly (though in the first half this is very brief). In the film’s second scene, McCartney and Starr look somber as they wait at the piano for others to arrive. When Harrison walks in and greets Starr, the camera zooms in and the viewer is unable to hear their exchange, but both face the camera with large, contrived grins. It is important to stress that the band believed “The Beatles” was a specific entity that had limitations. Evidence of this can be found in the transcripts of dialogue between the Beatles, and that included conversations with the director and Ono. In reading these transcripts, it becomes clear that much of the “Get Back” sessions were concerned about presentation and what image the Beatles would be projecting during the live performance. Lennon and McCartney propose wild ideas such as performing naked, performing for animals rather than people, or more plausibly, inviting musical luminaries to join them onstage. However, as Harrison points out, “Any of us can do separate things as well and that way it preserves the Beatles a bit” (“Liner notes” 2003, 29). George acknowledges the limitations of being in the Beatles and concludes by saying he has written many songs, but knows that his compositions will never come to fruition the way he envisions within the confines of the Beatles—​a band where each’s role is clearly defined. Lennon confirms, saying, Say it’s his number, well it’s compromised because it’s turned into our number more than his number. It’s alright but that’s what is bugging you because it’s turned into a rock number as opposed to a quiet number or whatever. (“Fly on the wall” 2003, 21:05) This shows how important a song’s primary musician’s artistic vision had become to the band and how aware they were of each other’s diverse styles. On the other hand, there are many moments when it seems as though the Beatles are holding back from the more intense disagreements. Lindsay-​Hogg juxtaposes footage from Twickenham Studios with that from Apple Studios not just to show progression, but also as a study in the complexities in music making and in the band’s relationship with each other. The Twickenham footage is sparsely lit with colored lighting gels to add atmosphere to the minimalist setup. Many of the director’s shots are close-​ ups and this helps to create a disjointed, separating feeling of the band. The

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first song the viewer sees the band rehearse is “Don’t Let Me Down” (1:55) and, in this brief segment, Lindsay-​Hogg confirms the characteristics of the band’s working habits to add a sense of authenticity to the scene. But we do not know how long they have been rehearsing the song and the recording comes in at the chorus—​the genesis of countless Beatles’ songs. From the chorus, the band could establish the song’s chords and basic structure and, as this segment shows, McCartney is trying out different ways to harmonize with Lennon. This moment actually feels like a real treat for the viewer, to be able to witness a song being developed from its earliest stages and to see the magic of the Lennon and McCartney duo harmonizing in such an intimate space. But using a strange juxtaposition, there are close-​ups of Ono looking on in adoration of Lennon, who is out of focus in the foreground (2:07). Next, the band rehearses “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer” (3:16), a track that would end up on the band’s final studio album Abbey Road (1969), and McCartney tells the band that more progress would be made if they got the basics down first and moved on rather than trying to perfect the song in one sitting. What is interesting about the “Maxwell” rehearsal is that McCartney is introducing a new song idea to the whole group, whereas Harrison later premieres his new songs only to Starr (and vice versa), tellingly conveying a sense that neither felt comfortable as songwriters yet to take their material to the other two and perhaps feared it would turn into more of a Lennon–​McCartney number than a Harrison or Starr number. With “Maxwell,” McCartney has a clear idea of how the song should sound and tries to direct the band to play the way he hears it in his head. The song’s chorus is first established and then they learn the verses as McCartney plays and sings the chords to the others in the tune of the song. Here the audience can see how independent a musician McCartney has become. Lindsay-​Hogg makes a seamless edit into the footage of the chorus (3:49). The good deal of progress made on the song is symbolized by the lighter blue background and the brighter lighting, as well as McCartney playing piano (meaning Harrison had learnt the bass chords by that point). From “I’ve Got a Feeling” (8:06) onward, tensions mount and while voices are kept low due to the awareness of being filmed, this is the point where the band fractures. During the segment, McCartney becomes frustrated with Lennon’s lack of communication and the former tries to suggest the tempo of the descending guitar chords at the bridge of the song (9:01). As McCartney explains, Lennon continues to play over his voice without attempting to properly listen to his suggestions. The camera stays on McCartney as he uses hand gestures to represent the pace of the decrease, tries to get Lennon to stop playing, and finally closes his eyes, pausing briefly to regain his composure. However, it is the exchange between McCartney and Harrison that is probably the best-​known example of the tension during the “Get Back” sessions and most likely a strong reason as to why the film has never been officially released on DVD. McCartney stops the band during

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“Two of Us” (15:08) to express his dissatisfaction with how rehearsals are going. He notes how the band are neglecting to polish the basics such as song structure and playing together at the same tempo. Harrison finally speaks out to McCartney, and a heated exchange ensues. Even Lennon breaks his silence, also frustrated with McCartney, telling him that he doesn’t “need to get bitchy about it.” This is the first time anyone had challenged McCartney in the film and, shortly after, Harrison walked out on the sessions, footage that Lindsay-​Hogg withheld from the final cut. The film then moves into its second quarter when the band reunites some days later at Apple Studios. The studio is white with bright lighting and no one hidden in shadow. Lennon and Ono now wear white rather than black and everyone is physically closer to each other in this space as the sessions begin, trying out a new Harrison song. What is notable about “For You Blue” is that it is a love song that starts the Apple sessions on an upbeat note versus the scathing “I Me Mine” that the Twickenham sessions ended on; events seem to have taken an optimistic turn. In this segment, the Beatles are talking to each other and rehearsals are not so tightly structured. There is footage of the Beatles playing old rock ’n’ roll standards that they would have played in their early Hamburg and Cavern Club days but surprisingly the medley of these is terrible—​the vocals are off-​key and only George seems to have remembered the correct words to “You Really Got a Hold on Me,” a track recorded by the band in 1964 for The Beatles’ Second Album in the United States. So to include the performance on one hand does indulge in nostalgia for the band’s heyday, but on the other presents the reality that the Beatles’ performance skills were lacking any kind of “greatness” associated with their myth. The candid discussions about the trip to India (26:03) and McCartney’s views on live performance (45:20), along with footage of the Beatles arriving to the studios separately and playing with McCartney’s step-​daughter Heather, and even the lackluster performances, all end up humanizing the Beatles from their iconic image. A Hard Day’s Night was built on the Beatles’ myth and, along with their public image, had perpetuated the myth even at a time when they could no longer live up to it. So if Twickenham portrays the breakdown of the Beatles as a collective unit, Apple portrays a breakdown in the myth.

A fifth Beatle? One point of contention for the band was keyboardist Billy Preston’s role within the band’s myth. Preston became involved primarily for practical reasons as it was hoped that the band would be on better behavior if someone else was there in the band to diffuse the tension. Also, he could be there to perform the keyboard parts of the new songs when the band eventually performed live as they wouldn’t be able to use overdubs. This way, McCartney could play piano for “Let It Be” and “The Long and

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Winding Road” in the music video segments and play bass on the rooftop. Coincidentally, Preston met the band during their long residency in Hamburg in 1962. He had played in Little Richard’s backing band, and in a nice bit of symbolism, Preston’s involvement further brings the Beatles’ music full circle within the “Get Back” theme of the project. Preston first appears playing a soulful keyboard part for Smokey Robinson’s “You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me” (33:34), and during the jam session Preston is on-​screen for a total of one minute and forty-​one seconds. It isn’t until 42:34 that he is featured in a close-​up. Previous shots place Preston center frame, but behind McCartney on piano. For the music video segment, Preston is seen for three seconds (52:37) during “Let It Be” and for thirteen seconds (56:59) during the keyboard solo in “The Long and Winding Road.” In these two shots, Preston’s face is barely visible; the camera is instead centered on his hands. While it could be read as the focus being more on the music than the musician, it also signals a problematic discussion about how much screen time an outside member of the band should have. Preston’s keyboard parts were eventually eliminated on the original Let It Be album but later restored for 2003’s Let It Be . . . Naked. Throughout the live performance on the roof, Preston’s playing can be heard but he is seen only twice:  for three seconds during “I’ve got a Feeling” (1:07:06) and for eight seconds during the second version of “Get Back” (1:17:55), a song in which his keyboard part and solo play a key part in the composition. While Lennon was adamant about Preston joining the band on a permanent basis, McCartney strongly disagreed, saying, “One doesn’t have to be a member of the Beatles to play with them” (Sulphy and Schweighardt 1998, 178). A  discussion about Preston’s ethnicity began and Harrison wondered if Preston’s skin color would cause “undue attention” but that it would not “be fair on Billy to disqualify him because his presence would take focus off The Beatles” (ibid., 180). In the end, Preston was paid his dues and offered a recording contract with Apple Records, as well as given full credit for his role on the Let It Be album, but never officially acknowledged as a member of the band. Lindsay-​Hogg stresses this point visually by not including Preston in any group shots during the live performance.

George Harrison: The “quiet one” speaks Throughout the film, the audience is presented with a bolder and more authentic portrayal of Harrison when compared with previous Beatles’ films and in some ways he emerges as a strong musician in his own right. In A Hard Day’s Night, Harrison plays his character as someone “who is always ‘cool’ . . . unruffled by an occurrence” (Glynn 2005, 55), while in Help! he is reduced to a handful of one-​liners for comic relief. The George Harrison of Let It Be is reserved but straight talking and holds fast to his opinions, especially

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when it comes to the subject of his music and of the live performance. Unlike A Hard Day’s Night, we do see him lose his cool in the first act of Let It Be. Also, Harrison is very aware of Lindsay-​Hogg’s agenda with the film, exploiting the band’s appeal by offering the viewer a “real, back-​stage” view of the band at work and interacting with each other. Harrison is conscious of the function of the band’s image, how it is being exploited, and how images and personae brought tensions to the band. The Harrison we see on the screen is definitely a man who would much rather be a solo musician than be trapped within the confines of the Beatles’ myth anymore. Extra footage and tape transcripts show that Harrison was adamant about not returning to touring under any circumstances as The Beatles because of the band’s self-​destructive nature. In the film, the only opinion the viewer gets from Harrison in regard to touring and playing live comes from McCartney who relays his frustrations to Lennon about Harrison’s steadfast resolve toward live performance. Harrison would rather enter a new phase and just focus on musical development much like Stravinsky (45:20), where the true performance is in the musical craft. Putting that on stage with the Beatles’ image ran the risk of the image, and the spectacle of the band playing live again would detract focus from that. In the transcripts, the conversation continues and the real issue comes to light—​it isn’t so much being nervous about performing again, but that one performance won’t be the end of it—​ the Beatles will keep getting requests for playing live. Evidence for this comes in the conversation with Lennon revealing that Harrison would consent to a large event performance with people like Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton, and Elvis Presley, to which McCartney replies, “but do that one after we do one.” He later adds, “Then we could do another couple of smaller shows until we hit it and get over our nervousness with the audience” (“Liner notes” 2003, 26–​27). Sulphy and Schweighardt’s (1998, 42) transcripts reveal that on the third day of rehearsals, Harrison arrived at the studio and declared that they “should drop the idea of doing a live show.” Not only is the live show a point of contention between McCartney and Harrison, but so also are their differences in working methods. The argument during the rehearsal for “Two of Us” finally led Harrison into confronting McCartney about the lack of progress being made. While McCartney chooses to speak in a lower voice, slightly off-​mike, Harrison’s frustrations at being hindered as a musicians and constantly being dictated to are captured clearly on the microphone. As with the sequence for “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer,” this sequence demonstrates the creative control a song’s principal musician had in this phase of the Beatles’ musicianship, and the song’s author often held onto their artistic integrity rather than consider feedback from the others in the band, whereas previously this would have been a more collective effort. This becomes the basis for the argument that unfolds and it results in Harrison distancing himself further from the group, to present his new material only to Starr. Sulphy and Schweighardt (1998)

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note how initially Harrison brought a surfeit of new material to the “Get Back” sessions, but because the rehearsals on his work were not taken seriously, only two of his songs appear in the film. Harrison premiered “I Me Mine” to Starr and Lindsay-​Hogg and the footage used came from a camera zoomed out in a wide shot, placed on an overhead track. Harrison’s back is turned toward the camera as he plays what he has written (20:10). It is clear to see what kind of songwriter he has developed into from this brief scene. His nearly complete lyrics are handwritten on a piece of paper, and he has most of the chords and rhythm pattern worked out. In fact, the version Harrison plays through here doesn’t sound much different from the final album track. He knows that he is being filmed and knows that Lindsay-​Hogg wants typical Beatles songs. Tellingly, Harrison says, “I don’t care if you don’t want it in your show” (20:27), aware that “I Me Mine” is a scathing attack on the egos of the other band members and that ultimately as director with influence over the editing, it is Lindsay-​Hogg’s show. After this moment, Harrison’s performance is a deliberate nonperformance for the cameras as he does not address the cameras during the rehearsals or in the music video segments, instead keeping his head down, hidden in shadow, and he does not sing his new songs during the live performance. In this way, Harrison denies the audience of the Beatlemania image many may have been expecting to see. Throughout the film he confronts the idea of image and persona, commenting that, like solo music, each Beatle should just be themselves rather than continually try to contrive images to adhere to. Unfortunately, Lindsay-​Hogg doesn’t include Harrison’s opinions on image into the film but other resources (Sulphy and Schweighardt 1998) have documented his feelings on the subject. After the performance of “For You Blue,” Lindsay-​Hogg cuts to a scene where McCartney talks about having watched the India film from their tip in 1968 (25:52). Where this conversations leaves off in the film, the excerpts from the Let It Be . . . Naked liner notes pick up. McCartney states, “We totally put our own personalities under. We weren’t very truthful there . . . we should have . . .” and Lennon offers, “Been ourselves.” Harrison interjects with, “That’s the biggest joke, to be yourselves. That was the purpose . . . and if you were really yourself, you wouldn’t be any of who we are now” (“Liner notes” 2003, 22–​23). From these brief but crucial moments taken from these sessions, you get a sense of how stifled Harrison’s musical development within the Beatles really was, especially when five months after the film premiered he released a highly successful triple solo album, All Things Must Pass.

Ringo Starr: The lovable drummer writes a song For reasons unknown, Ringo Starr does not feature prominently in Let It Be. Not only does Starr lack the screen time compared to the other three

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Beatles but he also has very few lines of dialogue. The Starr portrayed in Let It Be is a very different characterization from previous Beatles films, one of which included him in the leading role. Starr relished acting and was even scheduled to start filming his part in the feature film The Magic Christian (1969), directed by the same Joseph McGrath who had directed the band’s first promotional films in 1965. However, the Beatle who came to the group with a persona and stage name already established in 1962 seems the most uncomfortable with being under the scrutiny of the cameras in a role as himself. Lindsay-​Hogg primarily captures brief snapshots of Starr looking on as the rest of the band rehearses. These shots show a withdrawn, tired figure different from the broad grins and mop-​top shaking mannerisms that had been Starr’s trademark during the Beatlemania days. But the scenes he does feature in show an unexpectedly talented musician who was beginning to develop his musical craft, if somewhat apprehensively. There is no insight into Ringo Starr, drummer, and very little insight into how Starr composed, or the extent of his musical knowledge. During the rehearsals, the main focus is on perfecting the guitar and bass parts. As a result, Starr either watches the sessions silently from behind the drum kit, sometimes keeping in time with the hi-​hat, or playing along with no instruction from the other members. Allowing Ringo to play what he wanted would have been an anomaly, considering the care and scrutiny the other parts of compositions were given. McCartney demonstrates the rhythm and feel that he wants to achieve with his songs to Harrison and Lennon, yet there is no visual evidence of any of the other three developing precise drum parts. One can only speculate that Starr is given more space and musical freedom due to the strained relations with the other members from when he had earlier “quit” the band for two weeks during “the White Album” sessions. Any Beatles biography will recall how Starr had felt unappreciated. At any rate, the film depicts a very detached Ringo who undoubtedly felt the pressure of having to write songs—​it was the main focus within the group at the time, and the band’s days were numbered. What would he do when the band broke up if he couldn’t write his own songs? In the film, Starr first premieres “Octopus’s Garden” to Harrison during the Apple Studio segment just as Harrison had played “I Me Mine” to Starr at Twickenham. Prior to this moment, transcripts of the unused footage show that McCartney tried to encourage Starr to bring his original material to the sessions (Sulphy and Schweighardt 1998, 26). The transcripts continue, with Starr expressing frustration over the difficulties of songwriting when he only knows a couple of chords. Even though Starr would present three of his songs during the “Get Back” sessions, only one was eventually recorded (“Octopus’s Garden” for Abbey Road, 1969) and that song’s development had substantial contributions from the others (Sulphy and Schweighardt 1998, 205). While Harrison felt restricted creatively by McCartney, and transcripts give evidence that Lennon and McCartney quickly became bored

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of Starr’s first two, undeveloped songs, “Picasso” and “Taking a Trip to Carolina,” Harrison is more nurturing toward Starr’s musical development (29:15). He has a basic story for his song as well as a snatch of melody and a couple of lines. After listening to Starr play, Harrison suggests some different chords. Unlike McCartney, Harrison plays his ideas out on the piano while teaching Starr why those chords fit together and how they end up neatly back to the chord they started out on. The song is then played again by Starr with Harrison on guitar, George Martin harmonizing the melody, and Lennon on drums. Earlier in the film, Starr plays an improvised piano duet with McCartney, unofficially titled “Jazz Piano Song” by the Apple record label for copyright purposes (13:23). McCartney is at the piano and greets Starr with a “Hello Richie!” as the latter arrives for the day’s rehearsals. The duet lasts just over one minute and features Starr playing the lead part. It is the first time viewers would have seen Ringo play an instrument other than drums and percussion, and it is a really nice authentic moment between him and McCartney. It also shows Starr’s interests in 1950s “boogie woogie” rock ’n’ roll with country and Western influences. These styles come through in “Octopus’s Garden” as well as Starr’s first solo album, Beaucoups of Blues (1970). Despite contributions from the others, Starr’s songs still come through as sounding distinctively “Ringo.”

Paul McCartney: (Reluctant?) leader For all the ambivalence of the other members toward the “Get Back” sessions and the future of the Beatles, McCartney seems to be most eager to proceed with rehearsals and a live performance. Lindsay-​Hogg captures a number of moments where McCartney tries to keep rehearsals as productive as possible, displaying at times total frustration and at other times a hopeful optimism. McCartney’s agenda becomes more pronounced as the film progresses, as he had stated from the beginning that these sessions needed to be a project in which the band could have the opportunity to truly develop into musicians. While all believed the proposed concert would be the Beatles’ final live show, McCartney slowly reveals that his intentions are to bring the band closer together and to reconnect with the fans by performing live as a group again. McCartney’s eagerness can be seen in the first minute of Let It Be as he sits at the piano waiting for the others to arrive. Sulphy and Schweighardt (1998) document throughout their book how McCartney was the only Beatle to be consistently on time for rehearsals each day. When Lindsay-​Hogg resumes filming in the middle of McCartney’s piano improvisation, he and Starr had been waiting for over two hours before Harrison arrived and it was even longer before Lennon showed up, and this was only the second day of rehearsals.

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“Don’t Let Me Down” is the first song the band rehearses as a group and after it breaks down, McCartney is immediately established as the one leading the rehearsals and the one to keep the band on track (2:54). He suggests they all move onto his song, “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer” in order to get the basics down, and then move onto another song to keep the momentum going. In each song during the Twickenham segment, McCartney is seen instructing the band at some point. Arguably, McCartney is aware of the camera and how his image is being portrayed, as he speaks off-​mike and quietly to Harrison, who remains defiant during the argument in “Two of Us.” Though McCartney tries to convince Harrison that this and past (unseen) disagreements are for the concern of the band, not out of personal reasons, Harrison’s retort is that he will play whatever McCartney wants him to play or even not play at all—​whatever pleases McCartney. But Lindsay-​Hogg also shows McCartney holding his head in his hands with his eyes closed in frustration (14:36), shouting out “Good Morning!” during “Two of Us” when Lennon gets the chord pattern wrong again (10:00), and he clearly lacks the energy to play through Lennon’s underdeveloped “Dig a Pony” (18:37). The session transcripts document “the problems he had been facing as de facto leader” and McCartney “challenges” the others to come up with better ideas. Yet McCartney’s suggestions are only met with silence (Sulphy and Schweighardt 1998, 74). By the time the filming had resumed at Apple, McCartney backs down from being an overt leader and this, along with Billy Preston’s presence, seems to lighten the mood and alleviate the tensions. On his own, McCartney seems far more confident as the camera captures him almost showing off for the director and a handful of crew members. He plays a very short snatch of “Oh! Darling” (11:12) in a very rough form, almost pounding sloppily on the piano, to the excitement of the crew who take turns saying “lovely.” With his audience captivated, McCartney begins to tell them the story of “One After 909”—​one of the earliest and unused Lennon and McCartney songs, which leads Lindsay-​ Hogg to exclaim, “That is fantastic!” It is obvious from McCartney’s posture that he enjoys the adoration and attention from that very brief performance. As the crew stands around and praises him, with one man even showing off his Beatles’ trivia for McCartney to confirm, the Beatle reminisces about the days when he and John would play truant in order to write songs. He makes it clear that he knows how simple and naïve the rhymes are. But he is also quick to brag about how he and Lennon had a notebook of over a hundred original compositions before they hit it big. This moment also demonstrates how important having a relationship with the fans is. After spending the latter part of their career in the studio, isolated from their fans, McCartney believed that strengthening their connection with the fans might in turn strengthen the band’s confidence and camaraderie to bring them all together again. He also acknowledges to

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Lennon (45:20) the need to keep “contact on [the concert] scene” because fan satisfaction would provide financial security and guarantee the band’s longevity. Between McCartney and the others is a struggle to find the balance to maintain the band’s commercial success but to be able to do it on their own terms, for which Harrison and Lennon would have to place heavy focus on artistic integrity.

John Lennon: The enigma Where McCartney had practical reasons for wanting to “Get Back” to the Beatles’ roots, Lennon was heavily influenced by artistic and personal reasons. Everett (1999, 213) suggests that psychedelia had been just a passing phase for McCartney, while for Lennon it became an inspiration that allowed for the breaking of the established rules in art. Psychedelia provided Lennon with “another perspective on the puzzle of himself” (Neaverson 1997, 112). Rather than argue with McCartney on screen, the Lennon that Lindsay-​ Hogg captures is an uncommunicative character with an agenda to “break the Beatles . . . break the myth” so that he could move on to freely pursue his artistic ideas with Yoko Ono (Everett 1999, 213). By the time of the “Get Back” sessions, McCartney and Lennon had become divided. Before filming began, Lennon had performed musically with two other acts. Dirty Mac was a “super group” consisting of Jimi Hendrix’s drummer Mitch Mitchell, Keith Richards, Eric Clapton, and Yoko Ono, who gave a one-​off performance for Lindsay-​Hogg’s The Rolling Stones’ Rock ’n’ Roll Circus. The other performance is less well-​known—​Lennon assembled a group to perform with him at the Rock ’n’ Roll Festival in Toronto, Canada. By performing with other musicians, Lennon realized how limited his abilities had become just playing with the Beatles. He was reaching a point where he could feel creatively and intellectually challenged by collaborating with other artists and musicians. Harrison had also experienced this when he performed with Bob Dylan and other musicians during a trip to California. Lennon’s focus had also shifted to create a synergy between music and art that had overt political and social statements. He was also out to prove that art did not have to be overly complicated (Everett 1999, 213). In the same way, Let It Be marked a period when Lennon was inspired to simplify his musical output in the hopes of making a record that expressed his early rock ’n’ roll influences. However, McCartney deemed this work inappropriate for the Beatles. Everett (1999, 213)  describes how Lennon’s composition “Cold Turkey,” a song with minimal vocalizations and about his heroin addiction was turned down as a possible single for the Beatles. Lennon had been addicted to heroin at this time and Sulphy and Schweighardt (1998) do note throughout their work that the unused footage from these sessions suggest as much. Not only was Lennon’s songwriting and playing greatly

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affected by his drug use, which is painfully obviously throughout Let It Be, but he was also only communicating (via “heightened awareness”) with Ono, causing even more tension and frustration with McCartney. Lindsay-​Hogg often juxtaposes shots of Lennon and Ono with shots of Lennon and McCartney as a motif to show the shift between partnerships. When Lennon and McCartney share a frame together, Ono is either sitting between the two or Lindsay-​Hogg cuts to a shot of Ono. Ono’s role within the Beatles had been hinted at during the recording sessions for “the White Album,” as she can be heard singing on Lennon’s “The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill” and she had also helped to make the sound collage “Revolution 9.” Another part of the Beatles’ myth that is challenged is Lennon’s role within the band—​that of Lennon as the leader. Here Lennon portrays himself as a complex character presenting different personae to the camera. The audience sees a practical and humane John who does speak as himself within the group when necessary. During the “Two of Us” rehearsals, Lennon interjects when McCartney’s control over the song’s structure becomes too intense, and in one instance he can be heard agreeing with Harrison as a way of getting McCartney to back down a bit. Before rehearsals start on Lennon’s “Across the Universe” he again reiterates Harrison’s idea that listening back to tape recordings of what the band had achieved so far would be helpful so everyone could actually hear what mistakes were being made. Whenever the issue of listening to the playbacks comes up, McCartney ignores the suggestion and instead tries to convince them that they just need to get the basics down first. However Sulphy and Schweighardt’s (1998) transcripts show that the Twickenham sessions were marred by out-​of-​tune instruments, off-​key vocals, and out-​of-​sync tempos. One can only speculate that if McCartney realized this, he might have thought listening to playbacks would only lower the already low morale. At the Apple sessions, McCartney’s stepdaughter Heather is present and Lennon is heard greeting her enthusiastically. It is a touching moment to see John acting as a dad and being playful with her. He lets Heather sit beside him and as he sings “Dig It,” he sings to her in comical voices (44:45). But Lennon is also largely uncommunicative—​when McCartney expresses his frustration over Harrison’s decision not to return to any aspect of Beatlemania (no films, no concerts), Lennon looks on, acting disinterested by shuffling about and moving his arms around. He also looks at McCartney with mock seriousness as he makes faces and shakes his head in exaggerated ways (45:23). Lennon cannot hide his boredom for the issue of live performance. Again, when McCartney is trying to suggest ways to play the bridge in “I’ve got a Feeling,” Lennon ignores the advice and instead keeps playing. And there are moments when McCartney has to ask Lennon to sing into the microphone so it can be heard on the tape. The transcripts for the sessions document how, on January 7, the band come “perilously close to falling to pieces” and their “decade-​old relationship

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[was] on the verge of disintegration,” yet Lennon still said nothing (Sulphy and Schweighardt 1998, 74). Perhaps Lennon’s silence was part of the tactic to break the Beatles’ myth and it would explain his reluctance to talk problems out with the other members. When McCartney sought out Lennon’s opinion, Lennon remained silent. But there are two other moments in the film that emphasize Lennon’s relationship with Ono, and his deteriorating friendship with McCartney. During Harrison’s performance of “I Me Mine,” the camera pulls away from him to instead focus on Ono and Lennon embracing before they begin dancing a waltz around the studio (21:15). There is a closeness and a tenderness in the dance, but, whether intentional or not, it also creates a moment that distracts the camera from Harrison’s moment to shine. Again, at Apple studios when McCartney is talking about their India trip as an attempt to reconnect, Lennon all the while only makes patronizing remarks in an exaggerated manner, delivering them with childlike expressions and gasps. And when the discussion turns to the issue of live performance, McCartney mentions “bagism”—​an art form Lennon created with Ono that involved appearing or performing in a black bag in order to make a statement about images and prejudice. Though McCartney can see that Lennon is disinterested in the conversation, his reference to bagism seems to be a last-​ ditch effort to connect, but unfortunately for McCartney, Lennon does not respond. Arguably, he knows that McCartney is not really interested in Lennon’s avant-​garde art because if he was, he would have realized that there is no relationship between the concept of bagism and the Beatles as live performers—​they are actually polar opposites. Bagism spoke out against image and celebrification, while the Beatles’ live appearances promoted very specific iconography.

The viewer as voyeur These insights into the Beatles’ character are presented in such a way that the viewing audience’s role in the film is more that of voyeur than as acknowledged participants in the rehearsal process. The film’s tagline promises “an intimate experience,” but this intimacy is gained more through the peephole than directly from being invited by the Beatles into their inner world. This makes the role of the viewer problematic, especially as the Beatles acknowledge in the transcripts that they always tended to keep people out of their inner circle (Sulphy and Schweighardt 1998, 140). How to reconnect with the audience but still maintain some distance is presented as the ultimate dilemma for each of the band members and an issue that they discuss throughout the “Get Back” sessions. While it is not spoken, the Beatles do visually put up barriers to distance themselves from the viewer and from their fans during the live performance. When the Beatles

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are playing “The Beatles,” there is a safety from fans in hiding behind their myth during live performances. This is shown in the music video segment when McCartney directly addresses the camera. However, when the Beatles are playing themselves, there are visual barriers such as back to the camera, the camera placed outside of a physical circle in which they are sitting, or camera placed high above and away from the action. Although observational documentary is meant to be an unobtrusive way of filmmaking that allows the viewer to “imagine the screen pulled away and direct encounter possible,” when the Beatles do acknowledge the camera it is in a sarcastic and exaggerated way and is in itself a performance (Nichols 1991, 43). Similarly, Lindsay-​ Hogg’s approach—​ the moments when he and the crew engage with the band directly, making comments to Harrison or McCartney—​too becomes part of the performance, creating artifice rather than authenticity. Lindsay-​ Hogg believed that “one can’t view a film as one views a live event because the relationship between the audience and the performer is different,” which results in an aesthetic that controls what the viewer sees and therefore controls that relationship with the performer (Sulphy and Schweighardt 1998, 114). Just as the director adheres to the film codes, he also eschews the codes associated with live music performance. So while the audience is distanced and left out from closer contact and engagement with the band, they still remain the primary topic of the conversation—​a kind of elephant in the room. By using the strange juxtapositions in this way to place the viewer in a voyeuristic role, the director does not allow for “an unproblematic transfer of motivation” from the band to the viewer nor does it “encourage a strong indentificatory bond” between the band and the viewer (Nichols 1991, 113). Even the arguments in the film are centered on the questions of the fans’ role and the viewers’ place within the Beatles. They are centered on questions to which there can be no compromise because in order to function as a successful commercial act, the Beatles need their fans’ support. In the first segment of the film, the camera often acts as the viewer’s “peephole” rather than allowing the band to engage directly with the audience. In this space, the band sit in a circle and the audience only sees shots of the band as a unit from outside this circle; all other shots are extreme close-​ups on individual performers. So while the Beatles will allow this filming of them at work in a studio, viewers are still restricted in some way. Two minutes and forty-​two seconds in, the viewer gets an almost complete shot of the band, minus Starr, during the rehearsal for “Don’t Let Me Down.” This is a wide shot with Harrison’s back to the camera on the left side of the frame, Lennon and Ono in center frame in the background, and McCartney in the middle ground at the right of the frame. In the very far back, a film crew member is just visible. The shot is poorly lit, casting faces in shadow and Harrison’s positioning acts as a barrier between the viewer and the entrance to the circle. There is no eye contact with the camera.

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Another example of this occurs during “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer” (3:15, and later used at 3:34), where we get the first shot in which all four Beatles can be seen. It is filmed from the reverse angle of the previous example and again from outside the circle. McCartney and Lennon have their backs to the camera, while Harrison and Starr’s faces are almost completely obscured in darkness from the low lighting. These shots could be compared with the band’s performance of “I Should Have Known Better” in the baggage compartment of the train in A Hard Day’s Night. In that sequence, the band is physically separated from their fans but the camera work does break through that barrier for the viewing audience. And in Help! low lighting in the recording studio was used to deemphasize the band’s image and place more focus on the instruments. But in this sequence in Let It Be, the high angle wide shot and the backlighting place the viewer even further back at a distance from the two previous examples. In addition, a lot of the dialogue between numbers is recorded at a very low level, requiring the audience to strain to hear what is being said. When the location moves to the smaller, more intimate studio setting at Apple Headquarters, there is a greater sense of authenticity to how the Beatles would have actually worked in the studio. The lighting is brighter and more natural, there are children’s drawings on the wall, and the band has lighthearted conversations. Harrison’s “For You Blue” marks a transition in the film, as the performance is more complete than the fragments that filled the Twickenham footage. With the more relaxed space, there is more eye contact with the camera and the viewer is not confined due to greater use of handheld cameras. The camera now puts the viewer among the circle and shots are on a level plane, not at higher and lower angles. We see this with Starr playing “Octopus’s Garden” to Harrison—​both are facing the camera and the brighter lighting illuminates both musicians’ faces clearly. The lighting as well as the banter and nostalgic conversations help to create a warmer, less hostile ambiance to these sessions. The viewer no longer feels like a voyeur but like an audience with the camera’s point-​of-​view shots. This shot lasts for a full sixteen seconds before cutting to a medium close shot from the right side of the piano. The camera then zooms out slightly (31:01) to reveal George Martin, creating the illusion that Martin is standing next to the viewer at an equal level. What is also worth noting is Lindsay-​Hogg’s use of cameras. Handheld cameras are primarily used in order to move freely around and to get closer to the subjects. However there are shots when the handheld camera is fixed at a higher point away from the action. In these moments, large stationary cameras can be seen also filming the Beatles, which suggests that the footage would have been used for a televised broadcast. Similar to A Hard Day’s Night, there is a knowingness that the audience is watching a performance being filmed and it heightens the sense of truly being behind the scenes when we see camera crew, cameras, and Beatles’ personnel in shot. Nichols (1991,

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57) notes how important it is for all of these functions of documentary film to come together in order to present a slice of reality rather than allow the viewer to recognize for themselves that they are actually seeing constructed images.

The Beatles take a final bow: “Revolution,” “Hey Jude,” and the rooftop performance The Beatles as live performers are identified by three distinctive elements: specific iconography that conforms to the Beatles’ myth, songs that feature a strong rock ’n’ roll element without the aid of studio technology or other musicians, and the presence of an audience. Lindsay-​ Hogg’s promotional films for “Revolution,” “Hey Jude,” and the final rooftop concert from Let It Be challenge these elements of what audiences had come to expect from the Beatles as performers. As musicians, the Beatles did not want to compromise artistic integrity, but as performers they understand the value of having a good relationship with their audience. Problems for the Beatles seem to arise anytime they try to control traditional aspects of live performance and the concert experience. In these three examples, footage of the Beatles performing live or in mock live setups are ways in which the band continued to explore various compromises. Where “Revolution” uses a concert stage setup but without an audience, “Hey Jude” subverts that by allowing the audience access to the stage and thus allows them to fully interact with and touch the band. But the rooftop concert takes the idea of stage as physical barrier a step too far and ends up excluding the audience from the spectacle of the live performance in which they cannot see the group, cannot communicate with the group, and barely can even hear the group. Michael Lindsay-​Hogg had previously worked on the music television program Ready, Steady, Go! and had also filmed a series of taped performances and promo films for the Beatles’ “Rain” and “Paperback Writer,” so the Beatles trusted him and knew that he had an understanding of how live performance could be most effectively communicated, as well as how to subvert some of the common tropes. Unlike previous promos for “Hello Goodbye” or “I am the Walrus,” “Revolution” is not presented as a satire on live performance or the Beatlemania imagery. Instead it is one of the first attempts to reign in the studio experimentation and abuse of power that the Beatles had previously relied too heavily on. In order to reunite the band as a collective, the idea of performing a live, basic rock ’n’ roll song was proposed. To compensate for most of the members’ ambivalence toward playing in front of a live audience, the setup was designed to at least evoke the image of a live performance. The Beatles stand in their traditional stage formation with Lennon on the right

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and McCartney and Harrison sharing a microphone on the left. Starr is set on a drum riser behind them at the middle of the stage. While the Beatles are casually dressed in their own, nonuniform clothing, McCartney does use his Höfner bass, and Starr plays his black-​and-​pearl Ludwig drum set. While there is no audience and while this clearly uses a prerecorded backing track (the keyboard can be heard but not seen to be played), the standard editing with a number of close-​ups and extreme close-​ups puts Lennon in the position of having to address the audience watching at home. Also, keeping in mind the types of musical and variety programs that this promo aired on, the directorial style is in line with such programs—​more structured and orthodox camera methods are used as if to replicate cutting to different cameras on the floor of a television studio. Camera movement is stationary rather than “roving,” and cuts are made in time to the beat of the music. Also, this promo was videotaped rather than filmed, making it easier for television broadcasting. These practical and aesthetic choices help to create a sense of authenticity to mark a shift back to the more structured style of the Beatles’ performances from the earlier stages of their career. While used on a lesser scale than A Hard Day’s Night, “Revolution” ends with quicker, more frantic editing to aid in creating a sense of wild applause and hysteria of a Beatlemania performance. But at this point in their career, the band did not completely revert back to the old ways of live performance as this performance evokes those experiences rather than recreating them entirely. As both promos show, the Beatles are willing to consider reconnecting with their audience, but it has to be on their more controlled terms. “Hey Jude” was the first of the two Lindsay-​Hogg videos to be taped and the one that was more frequently broadcast on British television. Rather than play live, something that would have required the involvement of close to forty orchestral musicians, and perhaps numerous takes, the Beatles played to a backing track. Also, because of the Musician Union’s ban on lip-​synced performances, the Beatles recorded an introduction to the song with David Frost. While the introduction serves for practical reasons (a presenter introducing the band’s segment), it also lends an authenticity to the performance as the home viewers get to see Lennon playing a guitar rendition of the Frost theme song and hear the light banter between the band. Frost’s introduction also includes him, saying that this is the band’s “first audience performance in over a year,” so it seems like an exclusive, and certainly a rare, event. The performance begins with a close-​up of McCartney at the piano, addressing the camera with the song’s opening lyrics. As with “Revolution,” the viewer is directly addressed without any hint of satire. What the audience gets is a straightforward performance by a matured group of musicians, and the focus is on the music rather than any imagery gimmicks. Similar to “Revolution,” the camera work is traditional, television studio work providing close-​ups of McCartney as the lead singer and then cutting

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to Lennon and Harrison who provide harmonies and sit casually on Starr’s drum riser. There is a strong feeling though because of the camera work that the other three are more like McCartney’s backing band than equal members of the same group, such is the style and musicianship of this McCartney number. There isn’t the camaraderie or the interaction between the band as there was in earlier live performances—​both Lennon and Starr refrain from looking at the others, there are no glances or smiling, nodding heads that cue entrances or acknowledge a good piece of musicianship. Starr looks expressionless until the song’s sing-​along chorus. There is also very little Beatlemania iconography—​only Starr’s drum kit hints at the band’s mop-​ topped past. And perhaps for the first time, the audience sees McCartney playing piano rather than his bass. Despite the lack of interaction between the band, there is plenty of interaction with the on-​screen audience. Just before the sing-​along, a large number of young people crowd onto the stage around the Beatles. There are no barriers to keep the fans away and the prominence and proximity of the audience creates a hyperreal sense of live performance as a “communal ritual” that provides “concrete evidence of the . . . audience’s support” as they are invited to share in this sing-​along (Marshall 1997, 195). Critics may have felt that the Beatles’ popularity was beginning to wane and that “the White Album” included primarily filler songs. MacDonald (2005, 281)  refers to the album as “rambling” and “flawed and bulked out with filler material.” Also, in 1968, William Mann of the Times commented, “There are too many private jokes and too much pastiche to convince me that Lennon and McCartney are still pressing forward” (MacDonald 2004, 343). But in “Hey Jude,” the studio is full of fans singing and dancing in solidarity. Even a young man playing the tambourine erratically can be heard. So this marks a point where the Beatles reconnect with their audience and allow them to participate fully in the performance. With the Beatles’ countercultural beliefs still an important factor, “the close connection and apparent commitment of the audience” gives visual evidence of the “representation and embodiment of the crowd and the crowd’s power in contemporary culture” (Marshall 1997, 195). What these promos capture is the essence of an iconic performance, authentic representations of when the Beatles ruled the television ratings and brought nations of people together for their performances. While Let It Be’s final live performance appears to deliver a larger-​than-​life, iconic performance, it is actually an artificial construct that never really connects the band to their audience. It is perhaps more for the band to feel a sense of accomplishment that they can still play live if they want to, rather than being any kind of gift or experience for the audience down below or even for the viewers in the cinema. Throughout the filming, Lindsay-​Hogg was always in search of the “payoff”—​the grand finale that would leave them cheering and wanting more. The main concert kind of acts as the main climax that the narrative is leading up to, but it comes with limitations. Despite McCartney’s

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attempts to bring the band back together, he finally acknowledged that they have become “four individuals who are strong individuals” (“Liner notes” 2003, 27). So the rooftop concert that almost didn’t happen ends up being a compromise for both the band and the audience. Nichols (1991, 255) believes that the challenge of documentary films “is to sustain a sense of magnitude . . . that acknowledges the tensions among historical person, narrative agent, and mythic persona.” The tensions are certainly present, but the final concert sequence never really gives a sense of triumph over those tensions and perhaps the promise of an “intimate experience” tainted by the Beatles’ awareness of the camera and of the tensions with their mythical status is what makes such an experience problematic. Instead, what the viewers experience turns out to be an illusion of proximity. At the moment of the concert, Lindsay-​Hogg shifts slightly from observational documentary to expositional. Not only does this allow for the director to editorialize the enormity of the last performance, but it also allows the director more explicit control over what the viewer sees and hears. Where the Beatles constantly expressed the importance of the music, Lindsay-​Hogg exploits the moment of nostalgia and sells the concert as an event much like the buildup to the Rolling Stones’ performance at the end of Rock ’n’ Roll Circus. Music documentaries in the 1960s offered viewers closeness to the performer, displayed active participation from the audience, and captured iconic, “event” performances that have become the stuff of popular music culture history. For example, Pennebaker’s Don’t Look Back allows the viewer to watch Dylan’s sold-​out performance from the stage’s wings. Jimi Hendrix’s iconic performance at Monterey Pop Festival—​where he sets his guitar on fire—​is not only permanently documented on film but was also canonized on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine. Instead, this performance, though it has since been replicated by bands over the years as an intertexual tribute to the Beatles, goes against the trends of documentary filming at a time when audience were the main focus of these events. Even the viewer in the cinema does not get to see the entire rooftop concert despite having been right there with the band through their sketchy false starts and arguments. Some of these reasons for not including an audience are practical—​they are playing on a rooftop to a private building but the segregation from the audience down below is poignant and sums up the culmination of the band’s relationship with their audience since they stopped touring in 1966. But recall Marshall’s (1997, 159)  argument for the true purpose of the live performance, “The concert, then, becomes much more a display and expression by the audience member . . . than an appreciation of the performer’s skill and technique in performing live.” Yet the Beatles, as musicians, seem to feel performing live is a test of their musicianship and find security in distancing themselves from the audience to this extent. By performing high above the Mayfair streets from the rooftop at Apple Headquarters, the Beatles are positioned in an exclusive area

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where there is a dramatic physical barrier between them and their “audience” below. While the symbolism might suggest that the Beatles are reaffirming their position as “rock gods,” this performance space allows the focus to be taken away from both the Beatles’ image and the ensuing mistakes and jitters that happen in the first few takes of each song. It creates an illusion of their greatness as musicians, without exposing too badly the truth that their skills to play a song straight through without mistakes or a retake are not as well-​honed as they used to be. While the film shows an edited performance, the Beatles actually played on the rooftop for forty-​two minutes, playing ten songs—​only six of those were different songs, and only five appear in the film (Lewisohn 2004, 312). Lindsay-​Hogg cuts away from the performance at various times to mask the lackluster performance so, when the director cuts to the crowd on the street, the performance can just be heard in the distance, but the sound quality is tinny and echoed. Examples of this can be found at 1:06:07 with the start of “I’ve Got a Feeling”—​the intro on guitar is sloppy with at least one wrong note obvious to the casual listener, and at 1:07:48 McCartney’s vocals are echoes coming off from the surrounding buildings. Overdubbing the sound would have provided the viewer with better sound quality during these cutaways but would undermine the authenticity of the experience from crowd level. A  similar technique is used with the visuals and zooms—​the camera at one point zooms out to show that the seemingly close shot of the group was actually being filmed from a rooftop across the street (1:00:23), showing how far away the viewer actually is from the performance. The shot at 1:04:31 reveals that there is no way a person could actually see the Beatles from street level because of the building’s position on the block and the band’s distance from the roof’s edge. Certain shots try to mask this (1:09:34), where the camera is most likely leaning over the edge to capture footage of the onlookers below. Also, zero visibility would explain why so many took to neighboring rooftops to see what was going on. But because of the poor sound quality and the lack of visibility, the director is merely selling the idea of an event and a spectacle rather than an authentic performance. To further reinforce the idea of the spectacle, the police eventually show up during the band’s final performance of “Get Back.” This seems to be staged, as when the police arrive, there is a camera outside and one in the hallway of Apple’s entrance to capture the police coming through the door. When the police make it up to the rooftop, they stand and watch—​there is really no serious attempt to haul the band off in handcuffs or to stop the performance. At one point, John and George’s amps go off, but this seems to be because their friend and roadie Mal Evans has unplugged them, perhaps under police request or of his own decision when he sees the police arrive. Either way, the guitars are soon amplified again, and the song continues to the end. John thanks

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the group of friends and partners on the rooftop and hopes that they have passed the audition. While the audience on the rooftop, made up of the film crew and the Beatles’ closest inner circle—​wives, girlfriends, Apple staff, and so on—​all cheer and clap supportively after each number, Lindsay-​Hogg captures a very different reaction from the “audience” in the streets below. No one in the crowd is shown clapping or cheering, nor do the Beatles address those down below. The crowd is asked for their opinion on the Beatles, rather than specifically being asked to comment on the performance above. The response is mainly positive, if largely lukewarm. What is also telling is how subdued the responses are in the varied demographic of young and old, black and white, and people of various professions and classes. A middle-​ aged vicar comments, “It’s nice to have something free in this country at the moment” (1:09:40), and one young woman casually comments, “Yeah, I think it’s great. Well, it breaks up the office hours at least” (1:07:45). This kind of response is the polar opposite to the reaction and mass hysteria the band had previously experienced. Beatles fans had grown up, just as the Beatles themselves had, and to present the concert as a throwback to Beatlemania would have undermined the band’s development as musicians. But while the band had spent so much time in the refuge of the studio, they seemed to have lost touch with their fans’ own journey of maturity.

Conclusion By December 1969, Lindsay-​Hogg had finished postproduction work on Let It Be after editing nearly five hundred rolls of film down to a ninety-​ minute feature film, with any prospects of a television special officially abandoned. Rather than abort the entire project, United Artists agreed to release the film, and music producer Phil Spector was eventually brought in to complete the album soundtrack. Spector, known for his lavish, high production values, achieved through his “Wall of Sound” process of multiple overdubs, was introduced to Lennon because of the work he did to enhance Lennon’s “Instant Karma!” single. The album was released in May 1970 and included twelve original compositions. The album, which had always sat poorly with McCartney due to Spector’s overproduction of his tracks, was rereleased in 2003 as Let It Be . . . Naked, in which a slightly different track listing was included and all of Spector’s overdubs and additions were removed. This version helps to adhere to McCartney’s authorship and original vision for his songs and also reflects the “back to roots” approach the band were trying to achieve. In addition, the original album’s packaging was seen by McCartney as an extreme example of exploiting the record-​ buying public. The album was packaged with a book of photographs taken by Ethan Russell, who photographed the Rolling Stones for Rock

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’n’ Roll Circus. The inclusion of the book, which was available only for initial pressings, raised the retail price by 33 percent (Lewisohn 2004, 341). Unlike previous Beatles albums, critics and fans had become firmly divided over both the film and the album. Critics saw the project as a half-​hearted attempt to exploit consumers before the band’s impending break up. Upon its release, critics appeared unanimous in their decision:  Let It Be was a “cheapskate epitaph, a cardboard tombstone, a glorified EP” (Lewisohn 2004, 340). Derek Jewell of the Sunday Times called the album “a last will and testament, from the blackly funereal packaging to the music itself . . . brilliant at their best, careless and self-​indulgent at their least” (Harris 2004, 418). Furthermore, David Skan from Record Mirror, also in May 1970, wrote, “It was tampered with . . . some people say castrated is a better word . . . This awful spectre, the very idea that John or Paul’s songs need slick production techniques is an impertinence” (ibid., 418). And Robert Hilburn (1970, C40), writing for the Los Angeles Times ran the headline, “ ‘Let It Be’ an album for Beatle Loyalists,” commenting that the album lacked “the ambition and achievement” of the Beatles’ psychedelic, experimental period and that overall the album lacked “the raw enthusiasm of . . . early Beatle albums.” Despite the critical reception, Let It Be stayed at number one on the album charts for three weeks, had three number one singles in the United States, and sold 3.2 million copies in thirteen days to gross $26 million, proving that there was still a market and a strong fan base for Beatles’ output. By this time, the newspapers had started to report on the litigation between the band, McCartney’s first solo album, and speculation that the band had broken up in April 1970, one month before the film and album’s release. If the Beatles were really over, it can be argued that people wanted to be part of that event and to purchase the last remains of “a dying civilization” (“Beatles Latest Film . . .” 1970, G14). Just as fans and critics disagreed with each other over the worth of the album, so too were there disagreements on the film. Rather than reading Let It Be as an example of the evolution of the Beatles’ performance style from a collective to individuals, many critics saw Let It Be as the Beatles’ failed attempt at a grand exit. The Evening Standard’s Alexander Walker (cited in “Beatles Latest Film . . .” 1970, G14) noted how the film was a contractual obligation, for which reason Walker commented that the film appeared “like a chore” for the band. He concluded, “They are dull and unfunny.” While many mainstream admirers and critics had come to associate the Beatles with the lighthearted japes of A Hard Day’s Night and the cheeky responses at those early press conferences, Walker’s comment shows the mainstream’s reluctance to let go of the band’s Beatlemania image. If anything, the viewer can get a sense of how much the Beatles had changed, both in looks and musically, and returning to the earlier working practices just simply no longer worked. Perhaps those disappointed with the film finally had to confront the realization that the

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Beatles had moved on and could no longer function as a band. Just as the ideas of the counterculture—​classless societies, free love, free expressions of art and ideas, utopian aspirations—​had become overshadowed by the harsh realities of unemployment, recession, Vietnam, and race riots at the start of the new decade, so too had the Beatles. Let It Be is a visual struggle between ending the Beatles’ myth and showing how far the band had developed as individuals and musicians. Lindsay-​Hogg finds himself caught between trying to authenticate an image that represents where the Beatles were in their career and the fans’ longing for the iconography and excitement of the Beatles’ early days. But what the audience gets is a band where some members just want to move on from the limitations of the group and one member in particular who is confronted by, and has to grapple with, the reality of the situation. Both Dyer (2004) and Marshall (1997, 17) note that audiences are always “obsessively and incessantly searching the star persona for the real and authentic,” yet throughout there are guarded performances hidden further down new personae. And when the audience does see these moments of the real, the moments are brief and it is difficult to accept that there could be so much bitterness and discord between this once band of brothers. Rolling Stone journalists Cott and Dalton (1970, 18) believed the film was popular with fans because of the Beatles’ iconic stature, “It is one of the paradoxes of reverence that we always wish to know the most intimate details of those we idolize, even when the details are not flattering.” Despite these unflattering portrayals, the film does humanize the band in some way and brings these idols down a bit more closely to their fans’ level. Perhaps this is the only way the Beatles could be truly considered musicians—​by exposing the Beatles’ myth and calling time on one of the most prolific and successful bands of contemporary popular music culture. As Derek Taylor, longtime friend and press officer of the band, wrote in the Chicago Tribune (1970, 7), they had often said in the latter stages of their career, “We can’t be 30 year old Beatles.” And so Let It Be completes the Beatles’ journey from pop stars to musicians with a film that tries to come full circle in returning to their rough rock ’n’ roll roots and in confronting the feasibility and relevance of the band. History has canonized each as being a successful and celebrated musician in their own right, and while retrospectives and new biographies continually search for the real stories, the hard times, and the relatively lower sales figures, and the legal struggles and battles with alcoholism and depression (see Doyle 2014; Doggett 2010), we are left with a catalogue of records, promos, and films that allow us to put aside the myth and instead witness a complete story of interlinking artifacts that document the ways in which the Beatles used and manipulated image and persona to reflect an authentic performance from pop star to musician for both their audience and themselves.

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The journey the Beatles take between their first film and their last depicts the turbulence, challenges, and new possibilities of individuality that come from questioning and undermining traditional ways of thinking about image. And in case that message wasn’t strong enough from looking at these films as a cycle, Ron Howard’s latest film, the documentary Eight Days a Week:  The Touring Years (2016) tells precisely this story in more explicit detail, though all the while reinforcing the mythology of the Beatles. Arguably this film is the missing link between Help! and Magical Mystery Tour and even though there is not much in the way of new information here for Beatles’ fans—​the hysteria and dangers of touring have been well-​ mythologized as part of Beatlemania by Beatles biographies—​it does allow McCartney and Starr a chance to set the record straight on the period of time between 1964 to 1966 when the Beatles were at their busiest with touring, media appearances, songwriting, recording, and making films. When presented in chronological order, it becomes staggering to realize how much they accomplished in those two years and how far around the globe and back they traveled. It is also one of the first times when we see the surviving members talk about the experiences of this period in less positive terms. Patterson (2016) argues that the film “strips away layers of myth,” and while I  would argue this isn’t precisely the case, what the film does reveal are the weary faces and unguarded comments. Where we might have seen one or two instances of this previously, here we get nearly two hours of visual evidence and recollections of what the touring experience was like for the band—​at first, energy, excitement, and a novelty for a group of young men who were used to playing to small crowds in the Hamburg clubs and at the Cavern. However, as McCartney (Male 2016, 71) states, “it got more and more boring [. . .] and so you really were going through the motions.” What the film also uncovers is that the decision to stop touring was down to a number of factors: Was there any point when they couldn’t even be heard? They started out as an amazing live band, but toward the end their playing

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was more sloppy. They wanted to start exploring more complex song craft that could not be easily replicated live. They wanted more control over what projects they did. And the Beatlemania image was no longer reflective of who they were maturing into as young men. For the great American storyteller, and a cultural icon in his own right, Howard felt there was a lesser-​known story to be told about the Beatles after a chat with producer Nigel Sinclair while they were filming the Formula 1 biopic Rush (2013). They had decided to search the internet for footage of the Beatles playing live, which led to putting a callout for anyone who might have been at these gigs and taken home movie footage. Having the backing of the Beatles’ estate and Apple Corps helped to complete the story with rarely seen and never before seen pictures and performance footage. The premiere in cinemas in England was billed as an event not to be missed, with an exclusive satellite broadcast to the “blue” carpet event in London’s Leicester Square where all the main guests including Giles Martin, McCartney, Starr, and Yoko Ono were interviewed and the crowds saw other musical luminaries arrive for the screening. In addition, those in attendance in cinemas across the country on September 15 were also treated to an exclusive thirty-​minute screening of the 4K upgraded footage from the Beatles’ most well-​known live performance at Shea Stadium, New York, on August 15, 1965. While this footage was already commercially available on VHS in the late 1980s on unauthorized DVD bootlegs, and easily viewed on video streaming site YouTube, seeing the footage restored to 4K quality with the accompanying de-​mixed soundtrack on a large screen with surround sound created a simulacrum to match the concert’s “legendary” status. There is a vibrancy and excitement that comes with being at a live performance and rather than singing along or clapping, the cinema audience in Screen 12 of Liverpool One’s Odeon Cinema sat in awed silence, heads swaying in time with the music. I can’t say that the experience was equal to actually being there. I never had the opportunity to see the Beatles live, and looking at the wide shots, the stage is placed in the middle of the baseball diamond, a good distance from the stadium seats. And how much would one actually remember of the performance if they had been there? You would have been among screams and high energy, squinting to see the band, and hearing the music over the stadium’s public address system—​something that Howard replicates the effects of in The Touring Years. But this exclusive cinematic event (the footage was not included with the DVD release) attempts to recreate “the Shea event,” as Duffett (2015, 30) refers to it. He argues that this was the moment when that event “came to symbolize the way that popular music fandom had entered the public sphere as a collective and ‘excessive’ emotional phenomenon.” And the visual closeness of the filming style of this thirty-​minute footage helps to replicate communal and emotional closeness that is most often associated with live music performance codes. During the numbers, the camera stays in various close-​up configurations

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with cameras positioned close to and on the stage. Between the numbers, the footage cuts to the audience in the seats and to the girls clinging to the chain-​linked fence in the hopes of getting that much closer to their idols. And at one point, we also get a point of view from the stage when John is talking to the audience between numbers and notices people running on the field, chased by police; the camera cuts to a near-​stage-​level view of that action happening on the field while John and Paul joke about it. In The Touring Years, the Shea footage is cut from both the original professionally shot 35 mm restored footage and footage from Daniel Bennett’s (son of singer Tony Bennett) 16  mm, home movie camera. This gives the effect of what it would have been like to actually see the Beatles from Bennett’s vantage point in the audience compared with the closer proximity of the professional cameras documenting the event for television and cinematic exhibition. Making enquires to Apple Corps initially for permission from the Beatles’ estate to develop this film also enabled Howard and Sinclair to work with Giles Martin on a tie-​in album, since Martin’s project was to de-​mix the tapes from the Beatles’ legendary Hollywood Bowl concerts in 1964 and 1965. The original album, The Beatles at the Hollywood Bowl, produced by George Martin, had been released in 1977 on vinyl but due to the poor sound quality, with the screams drowning out the vocals and instruments, it was never released on CD until September 2016, when technological advancements had made the remastering process easier and more sophisticated. This process had already worked wonders in remastering the Beatles’ catalogue for a series of mono and stereo box sets in 2009—​the first such attempt since the albums were officially released on CD in 1987 (see Pareles 1987). It seems this process of de-​mixing the Hollywood Bowl tapes had been something Giles Martin had been working on for a few years and, in the end, it coincided nicely with Howard’s documentary. Martin explains that to de-​mix is to “remove and separate sounds from a single track” (Sharp 2016, 75). The process allowed Martin and engineer James Clarke to bring down (though not remove) the screaming from the fans in order to add in more of Ringo’s drums and Paul’s bass. In revisiting these tapes that Capitol Records had found and sent to Martin, he found that he had chosen the same tracks to include on this new album as his father George had in 1977 for the original Hollywood Bowl record (Sharp 2016, 75). Howard’s story of the Beatles on tour begins with audio of backstage chatter and the tuning of instruments before the Beatles take to the stage. There is a sense of anticipation in hearing these brief snatches of the band getting ready before a gig. McCartney’s voice-​over explained the process of getting into their jackets, combing their hair, and then putting on the Beatle boots (his description). It emphasizes that these were stage costumes and, when these items were on, the band became the Beatles, “Yeah. There we are,” McCartney exclaims. Howard then cuts to newly colorized footage of the Beatles performing at the ABC Cinema in Manchester on Wednesday,

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November 20, 1963—​one of the earliest surviving and officially filmed recordings of the Beatles playing live, in addition to the two-​minute footage of the band playing “Some Other Guy” in the Cavern in Liverpool on Wednesday, August 22, 1962 that also features in the film (see Pieper and Path 2005, 30; 59 for full details on the footage). The story’s narrative is constructed around interviews with McCartney and Starr—​the latter rarely giving interviews anymore—​and also includes interviews with experts such as writer Malcolm Gladwell and composer Howard Goodall. Historian Kitty Oliver talks about what it was like to go to the first desegregated concert in the south when she attended the band’s Jacksonville Gator Bowl show in 1964, while radio broadcaster and journalist Larry Kane shares his memories of life on the road with the Fab Four. In addition, there is reminiscing from celebrities like Whoopi Goldberg, Sigourney Weaver, and Elvis Costello on being a Beatles’ fan in the 1960s and the cultural significance of the band’s influence on their identity and on society. These, along with Kitty Oliver’s memories, are perhaps the most poignant because though they are well-​known personalities now, we become connected to them through their stories and mutual adoration of the Beatles. It creates an interesting dichotomy of the viewing audience and these personalities being on a different plane from The Beatles—​the ordinary and the extraordinary. In this way, the Beatles are perhaps further mythologized as Howard situates the band and their success as live performers around a series of key cultural events in the United States. The assassination of President John F. Kennedy and the civil rights movement are two such events that help to contextualize the mood and realities of the decade at a time when Time magazine announced that the sixties were well and truly swinging (Halasz 1966). Kennedy was seen as having fresh, progressive ideals and vigor, and spoke out to the youth culture, especially during his inaugural speech, famously saying, “Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.” It was an empowering proposition from the youngest leader of the United States to be elected president, a figure who would himself become celebrified along with his wife Jackie, and who would be seen hanging out with stars like Marilyn Monroe and Frank Sinatra and the Rat Pack. His assassination was a blow to the youth culture, but the Beatles’ arrival in America’s hearts reclaimed a triumph for the new order, suggested by Howard’s juxtaposition of the two events. And while Howard does not suggest that the Beatles single-​handedly defeated racial tensions and segregation, he does emphasize their role in uniting youths, regardless of color, focusing on the story of how the Beatles were prepared to boycott playing the Jacksonville Gator Bowl when they found out that it would be a segregated performance. When the question of how they felt about this was put to them at a press conference, McCartney replied, “We don’t like it if there’s any segregation or anything because it just seems mad to me [. . .] you can’t treat other human beings like animals” (The Touring Years,

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46:18–​46:41), to which Ringo adds, “That’s the way we all feel.” Larry Kane recalled being impressed to see these four young men stand up against something they did not see as right, despite the fact that it would not have been a popular view in large parts of America (The Touring Years, 47:51). Long before the Beatles donned their moustaches and their psychedelic Sgt. Pepper tunics, moments like this demonstrate how the band used their celebrity and their position to become counterculturalists and leaders of the youth culture. It resonates all the more loudly when this segment of the film can be juxtaposed against today’s twenty-​four-​hour, rolling news broadcasts about the increased racial tensions and xenophobia in America and Great Britain, the Black Lives Matter movement, and the musicians including Ringo Starr who boycotted performing in North Carolina out of protest against the House Bill 2, which would make it illegal for transgender people to choose which gendered public bathroom they were most comfortable with. The Touring Years also highlights how the Beatles were instrumental in giving young fans the courage to become their own selves. For a young Whoopi Goldberg watching The Ed Sullivan Show with her family on February 9, 1964, as they had done every Sunday evening, seeing the Beatles on television was a life-​changing moment. Recalling that evening in the family apartment in Manhattan, New  York City, she comments, “I could be friends with them and I’m black [.  . .] They were colorless” (The Touring Years, 16:51–​17:35). Though the Beatles became the formula for every successful boy band and girl group that followed, especially in the 1990s and early millennium with the popularity of Take That, the Spice Girls, and One Direction to name only three, there was a level of autonomy and activism that the Beatles projected that has not yet been equaled. Perhaps some of the Beatles’ uniqueness and success can be best explained by Frontani’s (2007, 193)  analysis, “Their image comprised, in part, two seemingly inconsistent qualities: They were exceptional and they were identifiable as ‘us,’ meaning youth and counterculture. Thus, while their uniqueness was assumed, they nonetheless were viewed ‘whether they liked it or not,’ as mirrors of ourselves.” This is not just a clever example of marketing an image—​although that is part of the process—​but it is a genuine sense that these four young men actually cared about the music they were making, about the image they were projecting, and about the people they encountered on a daily basis. The importance placed upon that sincerity and upon their image as The Beatles and how that was/​is mediated is a central theme in Howard’s film. Again, Goldberg argues, “I am my own person. I can look the way I want, I can be the way I want, and it’s o.k., and I got that specifically from [the Beatles]” (The Touring Years, 17:50–​18:00). And it is important that Goldberg first saw the Beatles on television—​a medium that functions around “conceptions of familiarity” (Marshall 1997, 119). Although the Beatles looked different, sounded different, and even exuded a kind of aura that was seen to be different from other pop acts at

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the time, Goldberg, like many others, sensed an authenticity and a closeness in their difference, reinforced by the intimacy of television, understanding that familiarity to what it was like to be or feel different in some way. Frith (1996, 123) argues that identity is “what we would like to be, not what we are.” These mediations of the Beatles’ image perhaps connected with fans in such powerful and extreme ways because of the ways in which our musical experiences can help to shape our identity. The Touring Years gives us insight into the Beatles’ questioning of identity, of its function and its possibilities. It explores how the Beatles had perceived themselves and how they were being perceived by fans and by critics. The features and promo films were the Beatles trying on and performing identities at that crucial paradigm shift between stardom and celebrity, where these are not so much constructions of identity and image but a playing of image. Beatlemania became the ideal realized and, in that realization, the band longed for something more authentic. Though guarded, we still see these brief moments where the façade slips slightly and the real shows through. It is important to note that, for the Beatles, this play with image and identity reaches a point when it is no longer stage managed by their manager or some public relations officer—​this narrative was being explored and experimented with by the Beatles themselves. Sometimes it took them into inventive new spaces of musical and artistic possibility like Rubber Soul or Sgt. Pepper, and other times those moments of unguarded realism exposed them against popular public opinion. When Keith Negus and Román Velázquez (2002, 136)  examined the role of music in understanding fans’ identities, they argued that music does not “ ‘reflect’ pre-​existing identities” but that “it now constructs them.” This is actually a useful idea in understanding how and why the Beatles’ music led the way in shaping their new image post-​ Beatlemania. The image inevitably would come to be constructed by their new direction in music and The Touring Years shows that disjoin particularly around 1965/​1966 when the band were playing the old songs like “Twist and Shout” and “She Loves You” in their Beatlemania costumes but had already moved forward in recording more complex tracks, musically and thematically, like “Rain” and “She Said She Said.” Beatlemania, the image and iconography, still encapsulates the Beatles even to this day because of the mythology of the innocence they captured, the carefree days of youth before love and life in the world became a complicated series of harsh realities:  civil rights, Vietnam, political assassinations, recessions, unemployment, oil crisis, hostages in Iran, Contra arms scandals, and one deposed dictator after another. In facing the fact that the Beatles had grown up, fans had to face that they had grown up too. For some, this was very much welcome; the music was a more authentic extension of fans’ lives and feelings, and it is an image that dominated a series of magazine retrospectives on the fiftieth anniversary of Beatlemania (see Parade 2014; People 2014; Spitz for Time 2014; Smithsonian 2014; Rolling Stone 2014).

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But for others, these were not the Beatles they knew and loved (see Kirkup 2014). Some of those fans found familiarity in bands like the Monkees and the Kinks who did reflect these fans’ preexisting identities. The former were originally an Americanized version of the Beatles sporting similarly mop-​ toppy hair, riffing off funny one-​ liners in their network television series (NBC 1966–​1968), and performed parent and radio friendly pop songs with jangly tambourines. The latter maintained a mod look with slightly longer and outgrown mop-​tops and in 1968 released a nostalgia-​themed album, The Kinks are the Village Green Preservation Society. And for the others, they sought authenticity in new bands and in new genres, particularly the burgeoning hard rock and heavy metal scenes led by bands like Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath. For Black Sabbath, led by Ozzy Osbourne who had been inspired by the Beatles, that image and music no longer related to the realities of their working-​class, industrial upbringings in Birmingham, England. Even the Beatles’ music as solo artists helped to create a new image for Lennon, Harrison, and Starr, which came to define them throughout their post-​Beatles careers. Lennon’s image of long hair, granny glasses, and thin build rejected his Beatles’ persona as he devoted himself to peaceful protests and activism—​it was the aspect of him that he had to most suppress while being a Beatle. While Lennon became the working-​class hero, Harrison reveled in his newfound talents as a songwriter, campaigner, and film producer, helping to fund a number of films by Monty Python alumni, and using film to raise awareness of the humanitarian crisis in Bangladesh a decade before mass-​benefit concerts for Live Aid, Farm Aid, USA for Africa, and AIDS awareness. Starr remains most guarded over his privacy, wearing sunglasses and rarely giving interviews. Through his All-​Starr Band lineups, which vary from year to year and feature musicians from key 1960s and 1970s pop bands, he maintains popularity on the tour circuit through nostalgic and lighthearted pop music. However, it was McCartney’s struggles with his post-​Beatles image, and his place within a post-​Beatles world, that is perhaps the most interesting. As the consummate entertainer from the old showbiz/​music hall traditions, McCartney was perhaps the one most conflicted by the rejection of the Beatlemania iconography. As the band’s breakup was imminent and the friendships they shared tested, McCartney sought space and refuge with his wife and young family at his estate on the peninsula of Kintyre in Scotland. When it was clear that the Beatles would no longer continue as a collective, McCartney formed a band that would hopefully help him reconcile his Beatles past, to start over afresh, and hit “reset.” Wings would play smaller venues and student unions and, while many of his fans embrace these songs and albums, at the time response was lukewarm, and critics’ opinions, as well as Lennon’s, were unflattering. Now McCartney has returned to his Beatlemania image and continues to carry the torch of the Beatles’ heyday in his live shows, with three hours of Beatles and solo hits, playing his Höfner violin–​shaped bass and wearing

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black trousers, white shirt, and black suit jacket reminiscent of his former band’s stage costumes. Today the world of pop music seems to move far more quickly, with the life span of pop stars in a much more uncertain position. With the internet, social media, and streaming platforms all vying for fans’ attentions, there seems to be more choice in music than ever before, to the extent that artists no longer get the chance to develop their craft over a series of albums. Instead, record labels are looking for the next sure thing to capitalize on before interest wanes and consumers go looking for something new. Indie bands like the Killers, the Arctic Monkeys, and Kasabian all had critically acclaimed first albums in the United Kingdom, and though the follow-​ups were each decent albums, they did not achieve the same level of success or number of plaudits of their debuts. They maintain loyal fan followings, but do not garner the attention of the press as they once had. If this had been the landscape in the early 1960s, what would have happened to the Beatles if they had not persevered with the American market? And while films and music videos are still used to commercialize on a pop star’s success, most of them fit comfortably in the pop musical and concert documentary genres with little experimentation or deviation from the formula. Instead, innovation comes from offering exclusive access to “visual albums” like Beyoncé’s Lemonade, initially released on music streaming subscription service Tidal in April 2016. Similarly, when metal band Metallica released Hardwired . . . to Self-​Destruct in November 2016, it was also announced by drummer Lars Ulrich that the band would make a music video for each of the twelve disc one songs of the two-​disc set and broadcast them on YouTube under the band’s official Metallica TV channel. Like the Beatles, Metallica found moving toward a new sound and a new image difficult when the band cut their long hair and released the less-​metal, more hard rock Load (1996) and Reload (1997). And like the Beatles, they also participated in a behind-​the-​scenes, warts and all documentary Some Kind of Monster (dirs. Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky, 2004), which filmed the band in the recording studio during bassist Jason Newsted’s departure and lead singer James Hetfield entering a rehabilitation center to deal with his alcoholism. Now, more than ever, pop stars navigate their image in carefully constructed ways more frequently, updating their looks and style to remain relevant and to help their fans mature along with them. The balancing act of making successful, chart topping, pop friendly hits for tweens and their mothers while also developing more edgy, adult themes is a challenge that needs careful management of image and persona by not only the star but also their public relations team. With the ephemeral nature of celebrity culture, popular music has seen the rise of Miley Cyrus—​the Disney Channel’s clean teen sweetheart Hannah Montana in 2003 and the more extreme, more authentic persona of Miley Cyrus pop star. Hannah Montana: The Movie (dir. Peter Chelsom, 2009) openly grappled with the struggles of living two

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different images at the same time as Cyrus’s semi-​fictional portrayal of Miley Stewart tries to live a normal life away from the media when not performing under the blonde wig of pop sensation Montana. Like Help! it tries to prepare fans for the changes in musical direction that Cyrus was starting to experiment with. But it was in 2013 that Cyrus began making news headlines for her candid discussions about her recreational drug use and that now infamous performance of “Blurred Lines” with Robin Thicke at the MTV Video Music Awards in which she twerked against Thicke with her tongue hanging out. Since the release of Bangerz (2013), Cyrus has used Instagram and the media to project a more adult, and at times “bad girl” persona to challenge mainstream views on drug use, gender, and sexuality. She is a vocal supporter of the LGBT+ community, identifies as gender fluid, and has become as well-​known for her provocative fashion trends, much like Lady Gaga. Perhaps most daring was her naked photo shoot with Terry Richardson for Candy magazine (2015), in which she posed in sexually explicit positions with sex toys. Her pop star male counterpart Justin Bieber has similarly negotiated his image from teen idol heartthrob to tattooed, eccentric bad boy with an arrest record. But unlike the 1960s, digital platforms and twenty-​four-​hour news channels have created a culture of faster paced trends and interests. Celebrities and their bizarre, more-​shocking-​than-​ever-​ before news stories will literally have their fifteen minutes of fame and be quickly replaced by the next Pop Idol or X-​Factor star. The pop musical has started to decline as a quick and cheap vehicle for exploiting the latest pop star. Instead pop musicals have tended to focus on nostalgia (Jersey Boys; Dreamgirls; The Sapphires; Across the Universe) or utilize an extensive popular music soundtrack (Moulin Rouge; Mamma Mia!; The Get Down). Of course this is a very basic dichotomy, particularly when the Hollywood musical is seeing a revival with the critical acclaim and box office success of La La Land (dir. Damien Chazelle, 2017). But in recent years, the pop musical seems to have given way to the music documentary—​ exposés into the lives and talents of musicians being more preferred in this age of hyperreality and celebrity culture. These have included Amy and Montage of Heck, bittersweet investigations into the creative talents and tragic ends to Amy Winehouse and Nirvana’s Kurt Cobain respectively, both released in 2015. Online subscription service Netflix has featured Beware of Mr. Baker (2012), Ice Cube’s 30 for 30: Straight Outta LA (2010), and Keith Richards:  Under the Influence (2015). Some bands have used the music documentary to embrace new technologies such as One Direction’s 3D film This Is Us (2013) directed by Morgan Spurlock of Supersize Me (2004) fame. This Is Us is an unscripted, behind the scenes look at life on the road with British pop sensations One Direction, and if the observational documentary mode was not enough to give fans a sense of closeness to their pop idols, seeing them in three dimensions on the big screen certainly would. While One Direction was popular enough at the time to draw in their fans

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in healthy numbers to see the film, using the 3D revival gave audiences a reason to see the documentary in cinemas rather than straight to DVD or streamed on YouTube. Similarly, the Beastie Boy’s concert film Awesome; I  Fuckin’ Shot That! (dir. Nathaniel Hörnblowér, 2006)  raised questions about the communal nature of the live music experience. Rather than speak out against the negative effects mobile technologies had brought to this new participatory culture of liveness, the Beastie Boys embraced it to create a film made up of concert goers’ mobile phone footage. As Fox (2015, 213) notes, the film “problematizes the idea that the concert film could be an authentic representation of an experience for everyone in attendance, or indeed anyone in attendance, in the way that the traditional, unchallenged concert film did by default.” He also points out that a film like this highlights the potential for the “pluralities of experience.” This was a canny decision on the band’s part to engage with the changing nature of the concert experience(s) in this way as it recognizes the rise in the prosumer, the amateur content creator, and the rise in Do-​It-​Yourself, Do-​It-​Together practices made possible by the digital era. It begins to break down the image of the pop star as unattainable or as expert, in ways that communicate that popular music is not just a commodity but also a cooperative between artist and fan. Now musicians are turning to social media platforms like twitter and Instagram to keep their fans up-​ to-​ date with their latest looks and sounds and, where Lennon’s comments about Christianity caused outrage and prompted bonfires of Beatles’ albums, today controversy and the provocative are actively sought out for that all-​important headline-​ grabbing publicity. In this way, a pop star’s image can become an essential brand identifier—​a plausible reason why the iconography of Beatlemania has become a distinct brand used as a key marketing strategy for the Beatles’ legacy releases in recent years. Fiftieth anniversary rereleases and new technologies in sound remastering have also enabled a wave of Beatles reissues: the mono and stereo deluxe box sets of the Beatles’ catalogue available on CD, 180 gram vinyl, and, digitally, the deluxe box set treatment for the band’s US Capitol Records albums, as well as reissues in various box set configurations for A Hard Day’s Night, Help!, and Magical Mystery Tour with lavish extras, booklets, and collectable reproductions, and remastered in high definition quality on Blu-​ray. In 2015, Apple Corps released 1+, a DVD/​Blu-​ray companion to 2000’s 1 CD, featuring promotional films and the alternative versions of twenty-​ seven Beatles number one singles. These promos were restored to HD quality, with remixed stereo and 5.1 audio. Arguably since the reissues of the band’s albums on CD in 1987 and with the remastering of Yellow Submarine to DVD in 1999, which was given the HD deluxe treatment in 2012, the Beatles have been aware of how technology can help them to connect with a new, younger generation of fans. And finally ending decades of legal disputes with Apple Computers/​ iTunes allowed the

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Beatles’ albums to be purchased in MP3 digital downloads in 2010 for the first time—​a big step forward for the Beatles brand. Similarly, products from the video game experience The Beatles:  Rock Band (Harmonix/​ EA Games, 2009) and the Yellow Submarine Lego set (2016) also lend themselves to generational crossover appeal. The rerelease, remastering, and introduction of new authorized materials demonstrate the lasting appeal and the importance of the Beatles’ filmic outputs. There may be questions about the artistic integrity of the restoration process, particularly with the band’s “Paperback Writer” and “Rain” promos, where McCartney’s injured lip from a moped accident appears to have been retouched, for example. But largely the Beatles’ journey from pop stars to musicians, their questioning of and experimenting with image and identity for all to see has raised some interesting lines of enquiry in regard to how musicians use and project their image to audiences. For artists like David Bowie, characters and the fluidity of personae were part of his vision of music as a complete art form. But for the Beatles who had developed an image around their own upbringing in Liverpool and their influences in rock ’n’ roll and R&B music, this play with image as part of the musical experience was not as straightforward. They had to be a different band entirely (Sgt. Pepper) or hide their well-​known image (Magical Mystery Tour) or reject it altogether (“the White Album”). This is still a pressure that McCartney faces today and, when he initially experimented with electronic music, he did so anonymously as The Fireman; it was two albums and fifteen years before anyone found out McCartney was behind it. In this age of “alternative facts” and fake news, music fans are forever in search of the real and the authentic even within the manufactured confines of the music industries’ marketing strategies. What makes the Beatles’ films so enduring and worth further study are the ways in which music and image come together as a complete performance. We could never watch the films, and yet still enjoy their music and appreciate their contribution to popular music culture. But in studying these films, we are able to get a complete picture of the process of how pop stars navigate the changing landscapes of popularity. We can better understand how stars and celebrities have used media to carefully negotiate those issues of image and personae in order to settle upon something that maintains personal distance but still reflects a sense of authenticity. It is interesting to think that some fifty years before social media, before the idea of collective individualization that such platforms encourage, and before the extent to which anyone can be celebrified today, the Beatles used their films to project their ordinariness even at the height of their success. It is that sense of ordinariness and fans’ own personal connections to the Beatles’ journey that will forever be remembered and celebrated in this cycle of films.

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INDEX

Abbey Road Studios 14, 57, 71, 79, 90, 126, 131 album covers 4–​6, 37, 48, 68, 75, 79, 80, 86, 116, 120, 122, 142 Alice in Wonderland 105 “All You Need Is Love” 75, 77, 107, 113 American in Paris, An (Minnelli) 17 American International Pictures (AIP) 27, 83 Animals, The 62 animation 3, 20, 24, 97, 99–​102, 104–​17 Apple Corps. 2, 13, 23, 72, 76, 120–​1, 125, 148–​9, 156 Apple Records 128, 132 Apple Studios 123, 125, 127, 131, 133, 135, 138, 142–​4 Aspinall, Neil 76 authenticity 1–​5, 11, 13–​16, 22, 23, 31, 33–​6, 39, 42, 45–​7, 51, 54, 65, 69, 72, 81, 83, 86, 91, 93, 97, 102, 107, 115, 120, 126, 128, 132, 137–​8, 140–​1, 143, 146, 152–​4, 156–​7 Avalon, Frankie 18 Awesome; I Fuckin’ Shot That! (Hörnblowér) 156 “Baby You’re a Rich Man” 77 Bardos 84–​5 Barrow, Tony 75–​6, 102 Barthes, Roland 8–​9, 13 Beach Boys, The 15, 61, 72 Beach Party (Asher) 18 Beatlemania 2, 3, 5, 7, 12–​14, 23, 27, 30, 33–​4, 39–​40, 44–​5, 47, 49, 51, 53, 58, 61–​2, 67, 71, 74, 77,

79–​80, 82–​3, 91, 93, 95, 98, 102, 117, 119–​21, 135, 139–​41, 144–​5, 147–​8, 152–​3, 156 Beatles: Image and the Media, The (Frontani) 10 Beatles Book (magazine) 15 Beatles for Sale 16, 49 Beatles Movies, The (Neaverson) 10 Benson, Roy 76 Blackboard Jungle (Brooks) 18 Bonzo Dog Doo-​Dah Band 93–​4 Boone, Pat 18 Bowie, David 157 Bron, Eleanor 14, 58 Bute, Mary Ellen 110 Capitol Records 4, 6, 46–​7, 68, 79, 149, 156 Carson, Jan 77, 94 cartoon series 50, 97, 99, 101–​4, 105, 116 Catch Us if You Can (Boorman) 16 Cavern Club 6, 127, 147, 150 Chiswick House 79, 80 Clapton, Eric 119, 120, 134, 129 Coates, Britisher John 102 Columbia Pictures 83 Confidential (magazine) 69 Connery, Sean 46 counterculturalism 12, 23–​4, 69–​70, 72, 74, 75, 78, 83, 85, 88, 92, 94, 95, 99, 105, 106, 110, 112, 114–​16, 122, 141, 146, 151 Crowther, Bosley 68 Cuthbert, Tony 104, 108 cutouts 24, 45, 75, 77, 86, 104, 107, 108, 111, 113 Cyrus, Miley 154–​5

166

166

INDEX

Dave Clark Five 3, 16 “Day Tripper” 78 Disney Studios 111 Don’t Knock the Rock (Sears) 18 Doors, the 14 Dunning, George 3, 97, 102, 104, 105, 106, 108, 114 Dyer, Richard 6, 8, 22, 28, 37, 50, 52–​3, 74, 99, 106, 146 Dylan, Bob 48, 49, 59, 61, 69, 122, 129, 134, 142 Edelmann, Heinz 104, 105–​6, 108, 111, 114, 116 Ed Sullivan Show 12, 31, 45, 79, 151 Eight Days a Week: The Touring Years (Howard) 2, 147 Epstein, Brian 7, 13, 21, 27, 51, 71, 75, 102 Evans, Mal 28, 76, 143 Facebook 2 Fantasia 104 Ferry Cross the Mersey (Summers) 16 film stars 9, 11, 22, 31, 50, 51 “Fool on the Hill” 76 Freed, Alan 18 Freeman, Robert 6, 37, 68 Funicello, Annette 18 Gimme Shelter (Albert and David Maysles) 24 Godard, Jean-​Luc 30 Goldberg, Whoopi 1–​2 Goldmann, Peter 80–​1 Goliath II (Rietherman) 111 Grand Prix (Frankenheimer) 91 graphic design 24, 77, 107, 111 Haley, Bill 18 Hanna-​Barbera Productions 101 Hannah Montana 154 Harcourt, Peter 69 Hard Day’s Night, A (Lester) 2–​4, 10–​12, 15–​16, 20, 22, 33, 52, 56–​8, 68, 76, 78–​9, 86, 98, 102–​3, 140, 156

“And I Love Her”/​“I’m Happy Just to Dance with You,” sequence of 42–​4 authentication of representation 34 boundaries between Beatles’ constructed image and reality 37 “Can’t Buy Me Love,” sequence of 32, 39–​42, 59 close-​up shots 34, 39, 43 as a commentary 47 depiction of success story 29–​30 distinction between narrative and numbers 37–​8 distribution rights 27 emphasis on inclusion of viewing audience 38 establishment figures in 32 final live concert sequence 44–​6 first shot of 34 “If I Fell,” sequence of 37–​9 “I Should Have Known Better,” sequence of 35–​7 journey motif 33 Lester’s style as a director 29–​30 locations, film styles and depiction of fans 29 musical sequences 29, 32–​3 opening credits and opening moments 33–​5 original soundtrack rights 27 “others” 36 and pop musical 28 sequence between John and Ringo 38–​9, 43–​4 sound and accompanying visuals 35 successful innovations 28 Harrison, George 6, 8, 23, 42–​4, 62, 63, 71, 83, 85, 91–​3, 110, 119–​20, 124, 126–​7, 128–​30, 131–​8, 140, 141, 153 “Hello Goodbye” 77, 139 Help! (Lester) 3, 12, 16, 21–​2, 39, 48–​53, 78–​9, 81, 91, 103, 115, 147, 156 absence of fans 57, 59 “Another Girl” sequence 65–​7, 88 Blackpool Night Out 54 budget 67

167

INDEX

close-​up shots 54–​6 female character in 58 focus of John 57, 59 “I Need You” 62–​3, 65 locations 55, 57–​9, 62 marketing campaign 68 “Night Before, The” 63–​4 opening credits 53–​5 promotional merchandise for 68 Ringo, shots of 56–​7 “She’s a Woman” 64 soldiers and tanks, shots of 62–​3 “Ticket to Ride” 59–​62, 65, 67 tone and direction of 53 “You’re Going to Lose that Girl,” recording of 55–​7 “You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away” 57–​9, 65 Hoggart, Richard 94 Hollywood 4, 12, 16–​20, 22, 27, 28–​9, 30, 35, 44, 46, 50, 56, 64, 69, 72–​3, 83, 86, 95, 104, 114, 155 Hollywood Bowl 2, 149 Howard, Ron 2, 147, 149–​50 Hullabaloo 78 Hulu 2 Huxley, Aldous 87–​8 “I Feel Fine” 64, 78 image, of Beatles 5–​6, 35, 37, 45, 82 in American press 6–​7 degree of autonomy of 7 on film and television 9–​10 Hamburg days 6 identity 8–​9 in live performance 9–​10see also live performances Image Music Text (Barthes) 9 It’s Trad, Dad! (Lester) 41–​2 “I’ve Got a Feeling” 126, 128, 135, 143 Jackley, Nat “Rubber Man” 76 Jacksonville Gator Bowl show 21, 150 Jimmy, Jolly 77, 88, 92 Jungle Book, The 104 Kennedy, John F. 150 Kesey, Kenneth Elton Ken 75

167

Kinks, The 62, 153 Kinks are the Village Green Preservation Society, The 153 Kirchherr, Astrid 6, 37 Koschmider, Bruno 6 Last Waltz, The (Scorsese) 24 Leary, Timothy 74, 77, 84, 89 legacy 5, 98, 156 Lemonade (Beyoncé) 154 Lennon, John 6–​8, 13, 15, 20, 23, 25, 36, 39, 42–​3, 56, 59, 62, 79–​80, 91, 126, 131–​2, 134–​6 Lester, Richard 2, 29–​30, 48, 65, 124 approach to create live feel 42 approach to diegetic music performance 38–​9 artistic sensibilities 37 authentic representation of Beatles’ personae 34 camerawork 34–​5, 38–​9, 41–​3 choice of long shots 61 close-​up shots 43, 45, 62–​3 color filters, use of 66 directional style and approach to musical performances 22, 31, 34, 40, 55–​6, 59 distinction between on-​screen fans and viewing audience 34 editing work 43 fetishization of faces 54–​5, 66–​7 framing of John 36–​7 framing style and use of lighting 37 idea of authenticity 34–​6 mechanisms of television production 30 practical experimentations 41 reworking of generic conventions 43 soft focus, use of 56 surrealist tendencies 35, 62 traditional jazz music scene 41–​2 two jump cut sequences 61 Let It Be (Lindsay-​Hogg) 2, 3, 14, 24–​5, 117, 119–​22 Beatles as social actors in 124–​7 critics views 145 “Don’t Let Me Down” 126, 133 editing 144

168

168

INDEX

film form and style 122–​4 final rooftop concert 139–​44 “Get Back” sessions 125–​6, 128, 132, 134 Harrison, portrayal of 128–​30 “Hey Jude” 139–​44 “I Me Mine” 127 “I’ve Got a Feeling” 126 Lennon, portrayal of 134–​6 McCartney, portrayal of 132–​4 “Revolution” 139–​44 Ringo, portrayal of 130–​2 “Two of Us” 127, 133 viewer as voyeur 136–​9 “You Really Got a Hold on Me” 127–​8 Let It Be . . . Naked 128, 130, 144 Letraset 107, 111 Lewis, Jerry Lee 61 Lewissohn, Mark 7, 115, 119 Life magazine 83 Lindsay-​Hogg, Michael 2, 79–​80, 120 see also Let It Be directorial style 125–​6, 142 use of observational mode 124 viewer as voyeur 136–​9 live action 3, 24, 90, 101, 103, 107, 109, 111, 115, 117 live performances 2–​3, 13, 15, 23, 24–​5, 29, 33–​4, 36, 42, 48, 49, 53, 55, 60, 63, 70, 80, 90, 93, 104, 115, 116, 120, 121, 123–​5, 127, 128, 129–​30, 132, 135, 136–​7, 139–​44, 148, 150 Liverpool 4, 6, 15, 22, 24, 41, 51, 75–​6, 87, 100–​1, 107, 113, 117, 148, 150, 157 Looney Tunes 101 LSD films 83, 92, 95 LSD hallucinations 76 LSD-​induced psychedelic trip 77, 81–​3, 87–​9 see also Magical Mystery Tour Magical Mystery Tour 3, 12, 14, 23, 25, 50, 66, 69, 72, 96–​8, 115, 147, 156 “Blue Jay Way” 76, 92–​4

cast members 76 “Death Cab for Cutie” 92–​4 distinction between narrative and numbers 74 editing 76 EP and LP format 77 experimental nature of 73 “Flying” 76, 87–​90 “Fool on the Hill, The” 76, 87–​90 formal and stylistic influences 83 “I am the Walrus” 90–​2 “liberated” depiction of Beatles’ image 74 “Magical Mystery Tour” (title song) 76, 85–​6 “Paperback Writer” 79–​80 production and promotion 74–​7 as a psychedelic promotional film 78–​9, 83–​5 “Rain” 79–​80 satirical criticisms of establishment figures 77 series of sketches 77 “Strawberry Fields Forever” 77–​8, 80–​2 visual moments 84 “Your Mother Should Know” 76, 94–​6 Magic Christian, The (McGrath) 131 Mäkelä, Janne 13–​15, 81 Malone, Mary 97 Marshall, P. David 11, 13, 14–​15, 22, 31, 50–​1, 55–​6, 142, 146 Martin, Giles 2, 148, 149 Martin, Sir George 2, 4, 46, 55, 71, 112, 119, 132, 138, 149 mass hysteria 1, 3, 24, 33, 45, 50, 140, 144, 147 McCartney, Sir Paul 2, 3, 6, 8, 21, 23, 25, 40, 42–​3, 47, 54, 65, 72–​3, 75–​6, 79–​80, 82–​3, 85, 87–​9, 91, 95, 97, 102, 105, 107–​8, 114, 119–​20, 121–​38, 140–​1, 143, 144, 145, 147–​50, 153, 157 McGrath, Joseph 72, 78, 131 Merrie Melodies 101 Merry Pranksters 75 Merseyside Club 6, 115

169

INDEX

Metallica 154 MGM 104, 115 Milligan, Spike 8 Minnelli, Vincente 17 Monty Python’s Flying Circus 115 NEMS (North End Musical Stores) 78 Netflix 155 New Kids on the Block 13 New York Times 68, 97 “Octopus’s Garden” 131, 132, 138 O’Dell, Denis 76 Oklahoma! (Zinnemann) 17 101 Dalmatians 104, 111 Op Art 24, 107, 109, 112–​13 Owen, Alun 33, 46 Pacemakers 3 “Paperback Writer” 79 Paramount Pictures 27 “Penny Lane” 77 Perkins, Carl 61 Pink Floyd 14 Pop Art 24, 50, 75, 86, 107, 109, 113, 116 Presley, Elvis 3, 12, 18, 19, 27, 33, 35, 36, 46, 61, 122, 129 “Death Cab for Cutie” 93–​4 image 19 Jailhouse Rock 19, 32–​3, 35 “Treat Me Nice” 36 Preston, Billy 127–​8, 133 psychedelia 72, 74, 77–​8, 86, 134 Psychedelic Experience, The (Leary) 74, 84 “Rain” 79–​80 Ready, Steady, Go! 31, 139 Rebel without a Cause (Ray) 18 Revolver 15, 16, 69, 75, 79, 107, 112, 119 Richard, Cliff 3, 17–​19, 27, 46, 96 Richard, Little 61 Rock around the Clock (Sears) 18 rock ’n’ roll 18–​19, 24, 27, 46, 61, 64, 88, 123, 127, 139, 157 Rogers, Ginger 113–​14

169

Rolling Stones 3, 62, 94, 146 Rolling Stones’s Rock ’n’ Roll Circus, The (Michael Lindsay-​Hogg) 24–​5, 134, 142 rotoscoping 24, 108, 114 Rubber Soul 16, 69, 79, 80, 152 Salisbury Plain 62, 63 Sarandon, Susan 2 Sarris, Andrew 27, 47 Sears, Fred F. 18 Sellers, Peter 8 Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band 16, 69, 72, 73, 75, 80, 86, 107, 112, 116, 117, 119, 151, 152 Shenson, Walter 27, 67 Sinclair, Nigel 148, 149 Singin’ in the Rain (Kelly and Stanley) 40 Something New 46–​7 Song Remains the Same, The (Clifton and Massot) 24 Sound of Music, The (Wise) 59 Spector, Phil 144 Stacey, Jackie 17 Starkey, Richard B. 86, 87 Starr, Ringo 2–​3, 25, 68, 83, 85, 89, 105, 110, 124, 125, 126, 129–​32, 138, 140, 141, 147, 148, 150, 151, 153 star system 8 Steele, Tommy 17–​18 “Summer of Love” 75, 94 Sunday Night at the London Palladium 31 Sutcliffe, Stuart 6, 15 Swinging Sixties, effects of 35, 67 Swiss Alps 59 Sword and the Stone, The 104 Taylor, Alistair 76 Taylor, Derek 76, 146 Taylor, Gilbert 42 television performances 30–​1 television stars 12 Thank Your Lucky Stars 31, 78 This Is Us (Spurlock) 155

170

170

Thomas Crown Affair, The (Jewison) 91 3D style 106, 109, 111, 155, 156 “Ticket to Ride” 78 Times, The 83 Tommy Steele Show 96 Top of the Pops 7, 12, 31, 33, 53, 78, 96 Touring Years, The 2–​3, 21, 49, 71, 148–​9, 151–​2 tragic love songs 93 Truffaut, François 30 Twickenham Studios 232, 125 2D animation 107, 109, 112, 114 Tyler, Parker 84 Uses of Literacy, The (Hoggart) 94 Vee-​Jay Records 3 Vernallis, Carol 17 video games 157 Villani, Theresa 103 Warner Bros. 83, 101, 104 “We Can Work It Out” 78 West Side Story (Robbins and Wise) 29 Williams, Alan 6 Wilson, Harold 21

INDEX

With the Beatles (UK)/​Meet the Beatles (US) album cover 37 Woodstock (Wadleigh) 24 Yardbirds, The 62 Yellow Submarine (Dunning) 3, 23–​4, 98 earnings 115 “Eleanor Rigby” 100, 104, 107–​9 film form and style 104–​6 important function of 99 influence for 116 “I Should Have Known Better” 103 Lego set 157 “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” 100, 113–​15 narrative/​number relationship 106–​7 “Nowhere Man” 111 “Only a Northern Song” 100, 110–​11 “Penny Lane”/​“Strawberry Fields Forever” 103 “Sea of Holes” 112–​13 themes and aims 99 Young Ones, The 19, 32 “You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me” 128 Zinnemann, Fred 17