Review: ‘Beatles ’64’ shows an unguarded band stepping into America’s limelight

As a baby boomer who grew up during the Beatlemania era, I can confidently say that the Fab Four have left an indelible mark on my generation and beyond. Their music was more than just tunes; it was a cultural revolution that transcended time and space.

Many people believe, although I can’t pinpoint the source, that the Beatles’ arrival in America, three months following President Kennedy’s assassination, may have unknowingly provided a glimmer of hope to a grieving nation, helping it find a path towards healing and progress. Maybe revisiting that moment in 2024 could offer a sense of respite, even though others might yearn for those bygone days.

In a fresh documentary titled “Beatles ’64,” premiering this Friday on Disney+, Paul McCartney echoes a sentiment that, following “The Beatles Anthology” in 1995 and “Get Back” in 2019, feels like an uncommon annual celebration. The film, masterminded by Martin Scorsese and helmed by David Tedeschi, reuses archival footage captured by Albert and David Maysles when the band made their way to America for “The Ed Sullivan Show” in February 1964.

Originally, the Maysles’ footage was utilized for the BBC documentary “What’s Happening! The Beatles in the U.S.A.” and served as the basis for the 1991 release “The Beatles: The First U.S. Visit.” Over the years, some of this material has been featured in other Beatles documentaries; it is essential content. However, in this collection, you’ll find additional footage from the Maysles, accompanied by new interviews with Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr, and fans and acquaintances who were part of that era. Also included are archival interviews with George Harrison and John Lennon. The context provided by Marshall McLuhan and Betty Friedan adds some social perspective. Thankfully, there are no modern pop stars praising the band’s brilliance or performing their songs, neither do the Beatles themselves claim such accolades.

McCartney replied jokingly, “I can’t believe you’re asking that,” when queried about their role in ‘Western culture.’ He clarified, “It’s not about culture, it’s all about having a good chuckle.

The story primarily unfolds near New York’s Plaza Hotel, Washington D.C., where they debuted their first American concert, and on trains traveling to and fro. Additional stops and dates of the journey – such as another Sullivan broadcast from Miami Beach, a performance at Carnegie Hall – are illustrated with photos and interviews.

Five years before creating what’s widely recognized as the best rock ‘n’ roll documentary, “Gimme Shelter,” the Maysles brothers pioneered a film style known as “direct cinema,” akin to French cinéma vérité but focusing on the domestic scene. Filmed in 16mm black and white, their footage retains an unexpected sense of urgency amidst today’s flood of over 14 billion color images shared daily on social media. Remarkably, scenes from the Maysles film seem to foreshadow “A Hard Day’s Night,” which started production a month later, as John Lennon himself hinted at when he said, “This is what our movie will be like… The train days.

These days, rock bands often create polished documentaries about themselves, with Bruce Springsteen being credited as writer for this year’s “Road Diary”. These films carefully choose and present their revelations. In contrast, back then, cameras were allowed to capture the unguarded moments. At the Peppermint Lounge, similar to a scene in “A Hard Day’s Night”, McCartney, Lennon, and a dancing Starr were visibly intoxicated and unrestrained; they hadn’t yet developed their protective barriers or handlers to shield them from the camera. Interestingly, The Beatles’ team was surprisingly compact; it could all fit in a single van.

In their Plaza suite, they smoke cigarettes, read newspapers, watch themselves on TV and mess with the film crew, forcing them through the fourth wall: “There’s a woman there, you see,” says McCartney, “with a little microphone, see, and she daren’t talk.” They listen to Pepsi-branded transistor radios, fence with disc jockey Murray the K, who insinuates himself into their inner sanctum. (“I’ve never quite understood how he did that,” says George, looking back.) In a train car packed with press, they clown — Harrison in a porter’s uniform, carrying a tray of cans of 7-Up (“It’s me!” he tells the camera, coming in close and doffing his cap), Starr with a dozen cameras and camera bags slung around his neck, Harrison lying in an overhead luggage rack, slating the film. (McCartney sits it out: “I’m not in a laughing mood, even.”)

Simultaneously, groups of fans, many being teenage girls with their textbooks, gather at the Plaza Hotel’s barricades, make their way through its corridors, lean against the limousine windows that transport the band to the Sullivan show, and trail it along the street. In their distinctive New York accents, echoing a dialect that might soon be extinct, they express their affection for the Beatles, and their preference for specific Beatles.

They weren’t just English; their unique style was heavily influenced by their bohemian German friends Astrid Kirchherr and Klaus Voormann. This made them more continental than ordinary. Their long, styled hair and Cuban heels gave them a forward-thinking appearance, hinting at what was to come. They were also working-class children from a city still in the process of post-WWII recovery, yet they harbored a profound affection for Black American pop music, which they later helped reintroduce to America. In essence, they were both curators and creators of this music scene. Smokey Robinson, who met them in England and whose song “You’ve Really Got a Hold On Me” they covered, described them as the “first white group I had ever heard in my life … who openly admitted, ‘We grew up listening to Black music.'” The late Ronnie Spector, another friend, remembered taking the band for barbecues in Harlem, where they reveled in the anonymity that came with being ignored.

That would only become harder. I daresay we know more about the Beatles than any other pop band in history — their music, their less than private private lives, their fab gear, where they were and what they were doing nearly every day of their eventful career. (Mark Lewisohn‘s excellent, engaging “Tune In,” the first of a projected three-volume group biography, which doesn’t even get to 1963, runs nearly a thousand pages; it’s also available as a 1,728-page extended version.) Imagine if we had that much on, say, William Shakespeare, not just a couple of probable, probably posthumous portraits, but photos, video, interviews and documents numbering in the hundreds of thousands — not to mention books by everyone who knew him even slightly. It would kill the Who Really Wrote Shakespeare business, but there’d be so much more to parse. (Incidentally, the Beatles played Shakespeare, the “Pyramus and Thisbe” section of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” in their 1964 TV special “Around the Beatles.”)

The Beatles’ song ‘Now and Then,’ a digital collaboration of all four members, has been nominated for two Grammys, 54 years after the group disbanded and 44 years since Lennon, its writer and singer, was tragically shot. This timeless piece is destined to be listened to, debated, and analyzed for many years, even long after I’m gone, to see if my assumption proves true. Although Beatlemania may have faded, the spirit of ‘Yellow Submarine’ continues to live on as a child somewhere hums its catchy chorus.

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2024-11-26 02:02