Let It Be

Part 2 - Analysis

With the exception of the final day's studio footage, which is neatly edited into the middle section, the final cut of the film sticks fairly faithfully to the initial plan of chronicling the Beatles' progression from rough rehearsal to polished studio performances, with the rooftop concert providing additional excitement as the film's musical climax. With the footage divided into more or less temporally balanced sections of approximately twenty-five to thirty minutes, the movie is effectively structured into a triptych of chronological ‘acts’ (Twickenham, the Apple studio, the rooftop), their conclusions emphasized by pronounced wipes.

Although conventionally chronological, the film's form is not without interest, not least because it is one of the most minimalist films to attain a full theatrical release in Britain. As well as avoiding the classical documentary techniques of reportage and interview, the edited film lacks the traditional narrative signifiers of temporal construction, and although the audience must naturally assume that the acts of the triptych are presented chronologically, there are no titles or voice-over narration to clarify this. Indeed, beyond the ‘correct’ ordering of the sequences, the only other sense of temporal progression is provided by the increasingly accomplished musicianship of the Beatles, and in this sense Let It Be really does let the music do the talking’. In a similar manner, the film also avoids conventional signifiers of place, and with the exception of a few grainy shots of the Beatles entering the Apple offices, the audience is provided with very little information about where the group are playing. By avoiding these conventions, the film focuses the viewer's attentions entirely upon the Beatles' performances/ relationships, and imbues them with a mythical sense of timelessness and universality. Indeed, as Jonathan Cott and David Dalton maintain, ‘If A Hard Day's Night portrayed the Beatles' ‘real life’ image as fiction, and if Yellow Submarine embodied that image mythically, Let It Be documents a few moments of the Beatles together "awake" and ‘for real’.’22

Such minimalist techniques possibly grew from a number of influences. Whilst the idea of avoiding conventional signifiers is probably derived from the counter-culture's distrust of traditional form, it also seems highly derivative of American direct cinema. Indeed, if the initial ‘invisible camera’ approach and ‘backstage’ aesthetic of the project was derivative of much of Pennebaker's work, then so too were the film's editing techniques, which in their anti-institutional refusal to employ such conventional signifiers also place emphasis upon capturing the ‘essence’ rather than the historicity of events. Although made under vastly different circumstances from Pennebaker's masterpiece Don’t Look Back (as well as having far more elaborate production values, the rooftop sequence was clearly staged specifically for the film), Let It Be is similar in spirit (if not content), and the similarities certainly add credence to the idea posited in Chapter Three, that the Beatles admired Dylan's ‘truthful’ presentation in Don't Look Back and wanted to make a similar film of themselves. Indeed, if Magical Mystery Tour can be said to absorb some of the Dylan film's characteristics, then Let It Be bought into direct cinema with greater tenacity.

Beyond its form, Let It Be is, at least for admirers of the Beatles, of great interest. The rawness of the film's colossal soundtrack (around twenty songs) documents the manner in which the group, in their return to rock and roll, had gone full circle musically (something emphasized by the original discarded cover for the accompanying album, which featured a modern recreation of the Please Please Me LP photographs), and by employing a ‘fly-on-the-wall’ approach Lindsay-Hogg allows audiences the fascinating opportunity to eavesdrop upon the Beatles' rehearsals and recordings with a voyeurism which is a fascinating, if at times painful, experience. Whatever one's opinion of Let It Be, it is impossible to deny the film's honesty. It makes no secret of the fact that the Beatles are in the process of splitting up and, although any sequences filmed in Harrison's absence are edited out, there are scenes which pull no punches in laying bear the stark reality that the group are no longer working in a state of artistic harmony. This is particularly evident towards the end of the Twickenham footage, where we see McCartney (who was clearly the dominant artistic and motivating force behind the Beatles in the Let It Be sessions) patronizing Harrison about his musicianship and Harrison retorting that ‘I’ll play whatever you want me to play or I won't play at all if you don't want me to play. Whatever it is that will please you - I'll do it.’ It is a deeply unsettling sequence, and one finds oneself squirming with a sense of guilty embarrassment as the Beatles expose the open wounds of their decaying relationships for public consumption.

Although the film was obviously envisaged as a ‘real’ document, it is nevertheless surprising that the Beatles should let such painful footage pass into the film. That they did is the result of one or two different possibilities. Either by this point they simply didn’t care about how they were represented since they were splitting up anyway or, and this, I think, is the most likely explanation, there was a part of them which actively wanted to show the world that they were at the end of their personal and artistic tethers. After all, when Glyn Johns had mixed the original album without overdubs, the group had been tempted to release them in their roughest possible form, Lennon commenting in retrospect that ‘I thought it would be good to go out, the shitty version, because it would break the Beatles, you know, it would break the myth. That's us, with no trousers on and no glossy paint over the cover and no sort of hope. This is what we are like with our trousers off, so would you please end the game now.’23 Although, as we have seen, this did not happen and the soundtrack for the album was ‘salvaged’ by Spector, the group were probably unprepared to make similar commercial compromises for the film, which, with its unaltered soundtrack and frequently unflattering depiction of themselves, they perhaps believed would demolish their myth once and for all If this is true, then they were sadly mistaken on both counts. While the argument footage makes fascinating, if harrowing, viewing, the unadulterated film soundtrack is, in spite (indeed, because of) its rawness and at times inspired urgency, infinitely more rewarding than the cheap kitsch and gratuitous sentimentality of Spector's superimpositions, and for all Lennon’s subsequent praise of the producer's remake there is, at least for most fans, no comparison between the ‘Naked’ and  ‘Spectorized’ two versions.

Despite its endearing honesty, however, it must be conceded that the film is flawed. Most importantly, it fails, at least partially, to provide the audience with the single element one imagines it wants most: a detailed understanding of the creative evolution behind the Beatles’ songs. Despite witnessing the progression of the group's musical prowess, the audience are largely denied the opportunity of experiencing the creative evolution of individual songs and, with a few minor exceptions (most notably, ‘Don't Let Me Down’ and ‘The Long and Winding Road’), the film concentrates instead upon presenting as many different numbers as possible. We see nothing of how the film's most polished lynchpin songs are developed, with numbers such as ‘Let It Be’ and ‘Get Back’ presented only in their finished versions. This, to my mind, is a great shame and ultimately something of a mistake. While the evolution of the film's title track is not of special interest, the development of McCartney's ‘Get Back’ went through a fascinating and lengthy series of changes. Originally a satire on contemporary British immigration issues (titled ‘Commonwealth Song’ and ‘Don't Dig No Pakistanis’ on bootleg albums), it is to the film's detriment that its gradual blossoming is absent from the final print. Moreover, despite the fact that the film attempts to cram as many numbers as possible into its discourse, its judgement over what to include and what to exclude frequently seems shaky at best. While McCartney's charming ‘Teddy Boy’ (originally included in the Glyn Johns mix of the Get Back album and later reworked for McCartney's own self-titled debut release) fails to make an appearance in the film, so too does Harrison's transcendental ‘All Things Must Pass’, which he later recorded as the title track of his massive-selling post-Beatles debut in 1970. The exclusion of the latter song is particularly surprising. While arguably the most poetic and harmonious song Harrison had produced thus far, it was also a neat, if abstract, philosophical description of the group's current situation, and far superior to either of his other contributions towards the finished film's soundtrack.

Another central flaw is that the film provides less insight into the group's personal relationships than its publicity boasted (trailers maintained that the film would show the group ‘rapping’, ‘relaxing’ and ‘philosophizing’). Although, amongst the songs, the final cut presents the audience with moments which are by turns amusing, enthralling and harrowing (Lennon's rendition of the ‘Queen Says No to Pot-Smoking FBI Members’ newspaper headline, McCartney and Starr's charming piano boogie duet, McCartney attempting to persuade an uninterested Lennon that the group should make another film), these are few and far between and there is little real dialogue and/or non-musical interaction. Indeed, beyond learning that the Beatles are experiencing musical differences and that Paul McCartney is the most enthusiastic member of the group, one is left with little idea about the Beatles' ‘philosophies’, musical or otherwise. As Nina Hibbin of the Morning Star was later to comment, ‘For those expecting it to throw some light on the development of the Beatles phenomenon, it is disappointingly barren.’24

© Bob Neaverson 1997 - 2008