The new Peter Jackson documentary Get Back, about the Beatles recording what would become their final album, has been called The Lord of the Rings in reverse. Jackson’s other masterpiece is also nearing nine hours long, but there, the epic quest to beat back the forces of darkness is won by our heroes. In Get Back, various vices – chiefly, drug addiction, but also jealousy and clashing egos – conspire to break up the greatest band of all time, and with it, one of the more meaningful friendships in history. Frodo and Sam have nothing on John and Paul.
Obviously, Get Back is a delight for the Beatles obsessives among us, but for an erstwhile travel columnist stymied by world events, it’s also an excuse to take a trip – back in time, to London in the late ’60s. I was fascinated by Paul’s ability to compose the song Get Back during what amounted to a quick smoke break for his bandmates, but was also transfixed by the smoking itself. Namely, how much of it was done, by everyone, and in such small spaces. I found myself worrying about the dry-cleaning bill for getting the stench out of George’s lovely velvet jackets.
In Get Back, various vices – chiefly, drug addiction, but also jealousy and clashing egos – conspire to break up the greatest band of all time.
What’s remarkable about the Beatles is how modern they look and sound, even 50 years later. The jarring thing is when you see the stuff around them, starting with their food, which is distinctly antiquated. Every morning in the studio begins with a rack of thinly sliced white toast, the antithesis of rock ‘n’ roll. Leaning into the high-carb diet, Ringo orders mashed potatoes for lunch one day. Just mashed potatoes. The past is truly a different country!
The other slightly poignant detail is their obsession with milky – and, no doubt, sugary – tea, brought into the studio in large batches on a tray by a young woman not yet introduced to the concept of gendered labour. You notice how many fillings they all had when they sing high notes and wonder if there’s a connection with the tea, consumed in such copious quantities they should have hooked it up to an IV. Another thought while watching: imagine the Beatles’ productivity if they’d been writing post-espresso revolution. The Beatles released album after album of masterpieces, each one bursting with originality and dynamism, but what if they’d all been pumped up on macchiatos rather than insipid Earl Grey?
Finally, there’s the way they all fixate on reading about themselves – whether it be in a fan magazine or a tabloid report. I found this fascinating because I’d assumed once you were widely accepted to be among the most talented artists of all time, your thirst for the approval of others would be quenched. Apparently, this is not the case. One of the more excruciating scenes features Paul McCartney, a man who has made gazillions by writing songs that resonate the world over, reading out a newspaper gossip item about the band. It’s excruciating because although the details may be fudged or exaggerated, the gist – that the boys have ceased to get along and that a break-up is imminent – is spot on.
In that moment, I felt a newfound sympathy for celebrities in 2021, who have not only press reports to deal with, but also the random thoughts and observations of the entire internet, available at any time and in almost unlimited quantities, should they pluck up the courage to look. Still, at least we’re all eating less bread these days.
