first broadcast in November 1995, to mixed reviews. This extended edition is a vast improvement, and is generally worth the ten hours required to sit through it. In particular, there is some amazing black & white footage in its early parts (from a film by Albert and David Maysles) of February 7, 1964—the day the Beatles first arrived in America. Following a hilarious press conference, we view the band members in the back of a limousine, entering Manhattan for the first time. We see their looks of nervousness—then astonishment—as they listen to live radio’s coverage of their coming. When they pull in front of the Ed Sullivan Theater, from inside the limousine you see the swarm of screaming young women that engulfs the car, stopping it. The limousine slowly draws away from the crowd, and is flanked by policemen on galloping horses. There are several other great moments throughout
Anthology—
including concert scenes in the United Kingdom; Sweden; Washington, D.C.; and Los Angeles, and the recording session for “A Day in the Life”—but there is nothing that matches the impact of the Beatles’ arrival in Manhattan. It is a moment of pure, true, meaningful history—the Beatles’ entry into the modern mind—and after that day so much would be different.
Unfortunately, as
Anthology
progresses, the Beatles (or at least Harrison, Starr, and McCartney) tend to gloss over some of the rougher milestones of the band’s story. There is no reference, for example, to the Beatles’ tense parting with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi in 1968, nor is there any mention of John Lennon’s sudden separation from his first wife, Cynthia, for whom the divorce was especially hurtful. It’s as if Yoko Ono simply materialized at an ideal time in Lennon’s life, and filled him with new purpose. For that matter, there’s precious little of Yoko Ono in
Anthology
at all (though when she makes her appearance, it’s accompanied by a somewhat sinister song fragment: “She’s not a girl who misses much . . . ,” from “Happiness Is a Warm Gun”), and there is no admission of the resentment she met with. Indeed, the Beatles fairly idealize the whole last period of their association, making it seem as if their break were simply a logical development. They had done enough together, and it was time to go their severed ways. In truth, the Beatles’ ending was ugly and nasty. There were rancorous fights between McCartney and the others over accepting Allen Klein as the band’s new manager (Paul wanted Lee Eastman, his father-in-law), and there was real aversion and blame leveled at Ono by some of the people in the Beatles’ circle. Most obviously, there was the bitter rift between Lennon and McCartney, which effectively finished the group. None of this is admitted here, though after so many years of legal suits and other strains, it’s understandable that today’s Beatles wouldn’t want to go back to those moments.
Even so,
Anthology
makes it plain that there was a great deal of pain involved in being the Beatles, and that pain started much earlier than many of us might have realized. Ringo Starr tells a harrowing story about how a plainclothes policeman accompanied him onstage at a Canadian appearance, after Starr had received a death threat for being Jewish (“One major fault is I’m not Jewish,” says Ringo), and George relates how, during a tense appearance in Japan, every time an unexpected loud sound occurred, the band members would look around to see which of them had been shot. Harrison also discloses his anger about the Beatles not being able to control their own schedules or movements during their hectic tours, and also tells how, in 1964, he finally balked and insisted that the Beatles not participate in a ticker tape parade planned for a San Francisco appearance. “It was only . . . a year,” he says, “since they had assassinated Kennedy. . . . I could just imagine how mad it is in America.”
The Beatles were at the
Anthology—
including concert scenes in the United Kingdom; Sweden; Washington, D.C.; and Los Angeles, and the recording session for “A Day in the Life”—but there is nothing that matches the impact of the Beatles’ arrival in Manhattan. It is a moment of pure, true, meaningful history—the Beatles’ entry into the modern mind—and after that day so much would be different.
Unfortunately, as
Anthology
progresses, the Beatles (or at least Harrison, Starr, and McCartney) tend to gloss over some of the rougher milestones of the band’s story. There is no reference, for example, to the Beatles’ tense parting with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi in 1968, nor is there any mention of John Lennon’s sudden separation from his first wife, Cynthia, for whom the divorce was especially hurtful. It’s as if Yoko Ono simply materialized at an ideal time in Lennon’s life, and filled him with new purpose. For that matter, there’s precious little of Yoko Ono in
Anthology
at all (though when she makes her appearance, it’s accompanied by a somewhat sinister song fragment: “She’s not a girl who misses much . . . ,” from “Happiness Is a Warm Gun”), and there is no admission of the resentment she met with. Indeed, the Beatles fairly idealize the whole last period of their association, making it seem as if their break were simply a logical development. They had done enough together, and it was time to go their severed ways. In truth, the Beatles’ ending was ugly and nasty. There were rancorous fights between McCartney and the others over accepting Allen Klein as the band’s new manager (Paul wanted Lee Eastman, his father-in-law), and there was real aversion and blame leveled at Ono by some of the people in the Beatles’ circle. Most obviously, there was the bitter rift between Lennon and McCartney, which effectively finished the group. None of this is admitted here, though after so many years of legal suits and other strains, it’s understandable that today’s Beatles wouldn’t want to go back to those moments.
Even so,
Anthology
makes it plain that there was a great deal of pain involved in being the Beatles, and that pain started much earlier than many of us might have realized. Ringo Starr tells a harrowing story about how a plainclothes policeman accompanied him onstage at a Canadian appearance, after Starr had received a death threat for being Jewish (“One major fault is I’m not Jewish,” says Ringo), and George relates how, during a tense appearance in Japan, every time an unexpected loud sound occurred, the band members would look around to see which of them had been shot. Harrison also discloses his anger about the Beatles not being able to control their own schedules or movements during their hectic tours, and also tells how, in 1964, he finally balked and insisted that the Beatles not participate in a ticker tape parade planned for a San Francisco appearance. “It was only . . . a year,” he says, “since they had assassinated Kennedy. . . . I could just imagine how mad it is in America.”
The Beatles were at the
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