THE BEATLES: GET BACK (B+) - Let's go back, circa 1977. It's a ballroom in the Palmer House in downtown Chicago. The lights dim. A film projector clatters, and the crowd buzzes as images come to life from 1969 -- the Beatles recording tracks for their final album. It's Second Wave Beatlemania, so different klatches of women still scream when their favorite Beatle appears on the screen. Eventually, Paul McCartney is at the piano, looking up toward the camera with heavy-lidded puppy-dog eyes, as the squeals wash across the ballroom: "When I find myself in times of trouble ..."
That was the annual Beatlefest gathering, which, in addition to panel discussions and a massive flea market that featured memorabilia and bootleg albums, showed films all day -- e.g., the ur-music-video for "Strawberry Fields," John Lennon vamping in the studio while recording his "Rock 'n' Roll" oldies album, and, in the days before home video, "Let It Be," Michael Lindsay-Hogg's gloomy 1970 capstone to a no longer fabulous pop era.
Now comes "Get Back," in which Peter Jackson takes those January 1969 "Let It Be" sessions, which had yielded that run-of-the-mill 80-minute documentary, and blows it up to nearly eight hours (in three parts) for a vanity streaming site. It as if Jackson -- perhaps fulfilling a long-held fantasy to have released the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy all at once -- tells the king of documentary tedium, Frederick Wiseman, "Hold my beer." It's also a quirky parallel to obsessive producer Phil Spector, who at the time commandeered the session's recordings and smothered them in shmaltz for the album release.
The result is a tedious but fascinating time capsule that endeavors to rewrite the history of the final year of the Fab Four. While the original documentary was a dour affair starring four seemingly miserable musicians getting on each others' nerves, Jackson's mix is more illuminating and provides a wider perspective. First off, there is more frivolity than bickering among the men, whose personal bonds, while frayed, still run deep and even loving. Paul and John often glance at each other, offering a hint of the teenage boys in their gazes, even if their professional competition gets the better of them at times. They all call Ringo Rich or Richie. They reminisce about India the year before (Jackson illustrates this with shots from their home movies). Paul still refers to the others as "lads." Yoko Ono is not the only girlfriend present; Linda Eastman (McCartney), ironically camera-shy, and her 6-year-old daughter hang out a lot; and even Pattie Boyd and Maureen Starkey have cameos.
There is a fascination to engage in here and a joy to share in as you get to observe the workings of the quartet, who were merely in their late 20s but dog tired of this whole Beatles thing. The idea was to Get Back to their roots -- craft (or resurrect) some simple songs that they could play at a quasi-impromptu concert before their first proper live audience since 1966. The band we see consists of bored, tired, grumpy, and creatively challenged men who care about each other but who each have one foot out the door. But they still get plenty of kicks playing as a group -- just listen to the rollicking rooftop version of John and Paul's boyhood composition "One After 909" for Exhibit A.
The biggest nit to pick with Jackson's project is that it is mostly one big cheat, at least in Part 1, which is the weakest of the three. He has more than twice as much audio recordings than he has video footage, and rarely do the two sync up properly. So he often has sound that doesn't match an image. To get around that, Jackson strains with obvious editing techniques to have the speaker off camera or merely run audio over the wrong video but approximate the lip movements, a gimmick that often brings to mind badly dubbed foreign films of the era.
Jackson performed a similar vanity exercise when he restored and colorized World War I footage and dubbed in audio for 2018's "They Shall Not Grow Old." While that documentary had an old-world kitchiness to it, "Get Back" -- considering the mind-boggling length and more modern sensibility of the gorgeously restored footage -- just seems monotonous and indulgent during that first episode. So that's annoying. But then again, you might not mind, because you're in the studio with the Beatles. There's George, petulant at the slights his songs receive and at Paul telling him how to play guitar; Ringo seemingly stoned and amiable; Paul brimming with brilliant song ideas but nagging his mates like a schoolmarm; and arrogant, silly John, often lazily strolling in late, with only a couple of songs to offer besides the oldies he likes to jam to.
And then there's the music. It seems now, a half century later, that songs like "Let It Be" and "Get Back" have always existed, but this documentary reminds us that they and other classics sprouted as germs of ideas from the minds of these guys and then got workshopped over weeks. The former, referred to in utero as "Mother Mary," is Paul's comfort food when he noodles at the piano, perhaps aware that he has a canonical song at his fingertips; the latter results from true Lennon-McCartney collaboration, as Jojo Jackson from Arizona becomes Jojo from Tucson, Arizona, John assuring Paul that they have the geography correct.
The albums "Let It Be" and "Abbey Road" (recorded and released in reverse order) are remembered as Paul taking over the band while the others were mostly checked out. But that's quite an exaggeration. Sure, Lennon didn't show up with many songs, but one of them was "Don't Let Me Down," one of the all-time great rock 'n' roll numbers ever but which was tossed off merely as a single B-side and filler on an odds-and-sods compilation album in early 1970. He's also essential to "I've Got a Feeling," not to mention his lead-guitar contributions.
Like Paul, George Harrison has song ideas coming to him daily. He shows up to the studio with a new late-night inspiration each day -- "I, Me, Mine," "For You Blue," "Old Brown Shoe" -- and we see him tinkering with "Something," his epic for "Abbey Road." Plus he's got "All Things Must Pass" and other eventual solo works in his back pocket. He tells a sympathetic John at one point that he's got enough songs for the next 10 Beatles albums if his allotment of two per disc holds into the foreseeable future. (He'll put out a triple album instead in late 1970, his masterpiece.) Even Ringo bops in one morning with the first few lines of "Octopus' Garden," and it's captivating to watch George take the time to instruct him on how to get past the first verse by climbing octaves and turn it into a successful song.
And then there's the critical contribution of Billy Preston. Episode 1 ends with George quitting the band. Episode 2 starts with the others trying to get him back -- eventually succeeding by agreeing to drop the idea of the live TV show later in January and instead focusing on recording the album (and letting the film footage maybe be a documentary someday). One scene typifies the men at this critical juncture while George was off pouting in his mansion -- sitting in a circle, John tosses out endless clever wordplay (such as brushing aside the harm of masturbation: "You don't go blind but only short-sighted") while Paul rolls his eyes and Ringo dozes in his chair. When George does return, keyboardist Preston -- who knew the boys from Hamburg when he toured with Little Richard -- randomly stops by one day. When he sits down at an electric piano and starts fiddling around with notes, he truly becomes the fifth Beatle, the solution to the problem of how a band that is accustomed to repeated overdubs records a live-to-track album. Imagine "Get Back" and "Don't Let Me Down" without Preston's indelible solos. (The single is credited to The Beatles With Billy Preston," a unique honor.)
It is at this point that the documentary finally takes off. The lads are in their element, studio rats jamming and harmonizing and bouncing ideas off each other. They've got their groove back. We hear snippets of songs that will eventually be classics. Engineer Glyn Johns -- sometimes rocking a shaggy white goat-skin coat -- persists in keeping the band on task, desperate to capture at least a few final takes of songs instead of "flogging them to death." He puts the mics and amps in the right place and runs tape; George Martin flits around soothing egos ("I'll fix it, lads"); and Mal Evans makes sure tea is served on time. (Or something stronger -- a drunken, late-night version of "Let It Be" closes out Episode 2.)
What eventually congeals in Episode 3 -- as the original director and some of his nutty ideas (flying with fans to Libya for a show at a ruined coliseum) fade into the background -- is the combination of goofing around and songsmithing that we now know will result in a batch of songs ensconced in the pantheon. As George struggles with the lyrics to "Something," John schools him in word association -- "Just sing 'Attracts me like a cauliflower,' until something comes to you." George, spitballing with "Old Brown Shoe," asks Preston, "What this chord, Billy?" John and Paul, bored with rehearsing "Two of Us," take to goofing off with the vocals during these run-throughs -- performing them in German accents, through gritted teeth like ventriloquists, and a la Dylan. By Episode 3, I fast-forwarded through a couple of the umpteenth versions of "Get Back" and others, not wanting them ruined before the capstone live performance.
Paul -- with full beard, as if to distinguish him as the adult who has taken over for manager Brian Epstein -- longs for there to be something more than just another album release. (Meantime, the others, behind his back, plot their move to Rolling Stones manager Allen Klein, a notable asshole. As Ringo puts it, "a con man who's on our side for a change.") Eventually the leading prospect for their first live concert in two-and-a-half years is the fabled session on the roof of the Apple Corps headquarters. Finally, the four men sit down and announce that they, and no one else, will make this decision. George is the only one who doesn't want to go up on the roof (he refers to it as "the chimney"), but he is out-voted. At long last, Lindsay-Hogg will have his movie ending.
Many of us might be numb to the spectacle of the Beatles disrupting lunchtime on Savile Row to debut a few new numbers. We take the event for granted, like we do with paintings of the old masters. But -- maybe it's partly the emotional exhale of surviving the first seven hours -- it's a fresh thrill to see the Beatles ascend to the roof, strap on their instruments and let loose -- finally -- with these songs. There they are in red slicker, business casual, brown fur coat, and lime pants, tossed back into Hamburg improv mode.
My girlfriend happened to wander in the room as the rooftop session started, and she had never seen it before. She was thrilled. How cool is this! Jackson splits the screen, "Woodstock"-like, to give proper perspective to the scene below -- the audience unaware that they were a part of history, the two baby-faced bobbies harrumphing about the noise and lack of protocol. (Props to Debbie at Apple's front desk for deftly stalling and feigning helplessness.) When the cops finally emerge on the rooftop, Paul looks back, smiles mischievously, and lets out a big whoop. He is back in his element. He and John exhibit the joy of school boys as they romp through their school days hit "One After 909."
It's amazing that any fresh entertainment could be wrung from this 53-year-old lark. Jackson pulls off a true feat of reinvention. He recaptures the urgency of seeing it for the first time. It's a great ending.
Still burning off adrenaline, the boys, with galpals in tow, crowd into the playback room of the studio to review the raw live recording. Like us, they are visibly impressed. They grin and chatter. Jackson dives in for a close-up as we see Ringo's hand reach out to clasp the hands of Paul and Linda. There is true warmth and intimacy in this cramped space. Love is all you need.
BONUS TRACKS
Energized by news reports of a wave of anti-immigration in Britain at the time, the band considered making more of a political statement with the lyrics of "Get Back" and then jammed out a song called "Commonwealth" (with a good example of John's ability to crack up Paul):
McCartney has a blast with a vaudevillian knockoff, "Greasepaint on Your Face":
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