The Final Piece in the Beatles Puzzle

F ifty-three years after its component parts were filmed, Get Back looks like the last major piece of historical evidence that we will get to consider in assessing the Beatles, and director Peter Jackson has done a public service in bringing this daunting project to Disney+ in a three-part, eight-hour series.

A word of caution to the casual fan, though: Get Back may be a landmark event in Beatlesology, but it belongs more to the category of archival footage for completists than entertainment. Eight hours of narration-free fly-on-the-wall footage is far more than mere casual fans are likely to find enlightening; non-obsessive Beatles listeners are advised just to skip to the third and final episode, which culminates with the glorious, unannounced January 30, 1969, rooftop jam that proved to be the band’s final concert. “I hope we passed the audition,” John Lennon’s sardonic last lines as heard on the album Let It Be, would be the last words spoken to the public at a Beatles show.

The footage given to Jackson was famously also the source of the 80-minute 1970 documentary Let It Be, but Paul McCartney caused that film to be withdrawn from circulation in the 1980s, apparently because he thought the editing of the picture, directed by Michael Lindsay-Hogg, was unfair to him. Let It Be, the film and album, were not released until several weeks after the band’s dissolution — something for which McCartney was widely blamed, though it was really driven by Lennon. As much as McCartney thought the film made him look like a tyrant, Lennon complained that it was too focused on McCartney’s contributions and even groused that the camera angles favored his partner. Other viewers have observed that the film highlighted the supposed toxic influence of Yoko Ono, Lennon’s then-girlfriend.

McCartney was wise to give the mountain of footage to a respected filmmaker and to trust that a fuller record of the sessions would vindicate him, as indeed it does. Get Back confirms that McCartney was not only the chief creative genius of the Beatles — it’s a dizzying miracle when he starts noodling around with the chords for “Let It Be” and “The Long and Winding Road” on consecutive days — but also its chief executive. As seen in the film, Lennon is so recessive that McCartney, who was slightly abashed by the prospect, was forced to take charge and push the band onward. McCartney was also the sole band member who gave proper thought to the theatrical aspect of rock; early in the film he muses that he’d like the band to do an impromptu performance in the main hall of the Houses of Parliament, envisioning the concert ending as truncheon-wielding police drag the boys out by their collars. “You have to take a bit of violence,” he says cheerfully. When the others were inclined to drift, he urged the Beatles to keep coming up with fresh surprises: “You’ve got to be sneaky about the Beatles. Otherwise we just go on forever in a circle.” After other options fell away, McCartney pushed for the grand finale of the rooftop appearance.

The film shouldn’t be regarded as an explanation for why the Beatles broke up. That was mostly a matter of management rather than creative differences. A prologue explains that following the 1967 death of the band manager Brian Epstein — lovingly referred to as “Mr. Epstein” by his protégés — the Beatles managed themselves. There was no authority figure who could make impartial decisions and nudge everyone to get to work. Lennon was inclined to laziness — in the prime of life, six years later, he would take five years off to watch TV — and in 1969 he was more interested in Ono than his career, so it fell to McCartney to appoint himself the locomotive of the band.

The White Album had just been released (on November 22, 1968) when the band agreed to put together an album in just one month, starting January 2. Everything had to wrap by January 30 because the following day Ringo Starr would be off to film The Magic Christian, a comedy with Peter Sellers. At Twickenham Studios, the very same place where the movie was to be filmed, the guys started work in an empty box on January 2 as workmen set hastily to work painting the walls and adding lights around them.

McCartney has for 60 years been as rigorously on-message as any politician, presenting his showman’s face to the world every time cameras roll, so this film’s glimpse under the mask is highly instructive. Still, unlike the other Beatles, McCartney does seem savvy about the possibility that he might come off badly. “I always hear myself annoying you,” he tells George Harrison after telling the guitarist to play a part differently.

McCartney is uncharacteristically open as he tries to defend himself. “I’m scared of me being the boss and I have been for like a couple of years. . . . The three of you just sit there like, ‘Oh, he’s saying that one again, is he?’ And I never get any support or anything.” Harrison, sounding a bit bullied, says, “Whatever it is that will please you, I’ll do it.” Lethargy hangs in the air all around. “I mean, why are you here?,” McCartney says to the others. “I’m here because I want to do a show. But I really don’t feel an awful lot of support.” On January 10, Harrison abruptly announces that he’s leaving, and goes home at midday. It’s unclear exactly what the problem is (no dramatic confrontation appears in the film), but on January 12, a meeting of the band off-camera at Starr’s house goes badly. On January 13, McCartney, back in the studio, notes that at the meeting Lennon hardly said a word, leaving Ono to do his speaking for him.

The dramatic centerpiece of the drama is a scene that was not caught on film. Lennon and McCartney retreat to a lunchroom to discuss a tense moment when it is unclear whether Harrison will ever return. Unaware that sound engineers had planted a hidden microphone in the room, they speak frankly, and the tape tells us a lot. Both McCartney and Lennon express resentment of the other’s leadership, and that is the fault line that ran through the band. Lennon says that for a period, McCartney would reject all others’ ideas for arrangements because — the voice is mocking — “I’m Paul McCartney.” McCartney says, “You have always been boss, and I’ve been sort of secondary boss.” Along with Epstein’s death, Lennon’s passivity and focus on his relationship with Ono created the leadership vacuum that McCartney did his best to fill, though that alienated Harrison, who would have preferred Lennon to lead. It’s understood that Harrison was smarting at his junior-partner status when he stalked off, not to return for several days.

Get Back is so exhaustive and thorough in trying to present a fair picture of the sessions that it should put to rest any notion that McCartney was a tyrant who drove the others out of the band; the breakup was primarily caused by Lennon and McCartney’s dispute over whether the band’s manager should be Allen Klein, who handled the Rolling Stones. Lennon, who was easily dazzled by forceful personalities, bears most of the blame here; in Get Back he marvels at a long conversation he had with Klein that lasted till after midnight. When music producer Glyn Johns cautions against Klein — a prototypical showbiz leech who would inflict much financial mayhem on his clients — Lennon dubs him “a con man who’s on our side, for once.”

This statement, more than any other captured in the film, sounds the death knell for the Beatles. Ono, though, should be let off the hook; odd as it looks for her to sit beside Lennon, she is quiet and unobtrusive, even if during breaks she would try out the occasional primal scream. If any female disrupted things it was Heather, the six-year-old daughter of Linda Eastman (soon to become McCartney’s bride), who is seen interjecting herself on percussion and vocals.

Get Back clarifies that, the vast majority of the time, the Beatles had a grand time making the record, especially after the action moved from Twickenham to Savile Row midway through the month and an old friend from Hamburg days, keyboardist Billy Preston, showed up to fill in for a session and proved so valuable that the others kept him on for the rest of the month. Lennon and McCartney feed beautifully off each other, admire each other, and smile and laugh at each other’s little jokes. The supposed enmity between them has been overstated for many years, and it’s a pleasure to see them young and larkish together. The joy of discovery arises again and again as we see them developing many famous tracks, including much of what would wind up on the Beatles’ next and final album, Abbey Road, later that year. It’s also marvelous to be in the room as Harrison sings the dummy lyrics for what would become “Something” (“What do you know now, Mr. Show?”) and Starr shares the opening verse of “Octopus’s Garden.”

As the Beatles work on, for instance, dozens of takes of “Get Back,” there is a palpable sense of stuckness. Lindsay-Hogg remarks toward the end that, “at the moment, the documentary is really like No Exit; it’s just going around and around and around with no payoff. There’s no story.”

But it’s enough to be present at the creation of a slate of indelible songs, capped by that mischievous, windy lunch hour above London, only 21 working days after the boys reported for work. The rooftop caper ends with a bit of copus interruptus: two frowning Bobbies arrive at the studio to lob charges of disturbing the peace. “You can hear it down at the police station!” they complain. “There will be arrests,” says one, but “I’m not threatening you or anything.”

Meanwhile, crews down on the street interview passersby. Reviews are strong. “Oh, I think jolly good,” says an old woman. A middle-aged man says, “I reckon they give a bit of life to London. I like their music. I think it’s very nice indeed.” Gentlemen of the band, you may consider your audition passed.