an existential cry for the forgotten
by Douglas Messerli
Richard Curtis (screenplay, based on a story
by Curtis and Jack Barth), Danny Boyle (director) Yesterday / 2019
Of the three Beatles movies of which I write,
the most recent, Danny Boyle’s Yesterday is certainly the most
fantastical. In a sense Boyle’s film, with a script by noted screenwriter
Richard Curtis (Four Weddings and a Funeral and Notting Hill), as
The New Yorker critic Anthony Lane argued, as in all of Curtis’ film
writing has always been about the possibility of people who love and need each
other by not “coming together,” or coming together too late for their
effective collaboration to make sense.
Up until this moment Jack has been a mediocre Suffolk musician whose concerts are attended primarily by a straggling group of four or so friends. Even his manager Ellie Appleton (Lily James), who clearly loves him despite his failures, suggests that he should give it all up. His guitar-based compositions just don’t have the magic necessary to allow him a career. “It would take a miracle,” for his dreams to become reality, she declares.
But waking up in a hospital bed results in just such a miracle,
particularly when he discovers that no one around him any longer remembers the
Beatles. A Google search results in nothing but pictures and information on
bugs. The songs of the fab four no longer exist and no one on earth,
apparently, has ever heard them.
Jack urgently attempts to put their songs back together, recalling the
Beatles’ music, sometimes with great difficulty—his parents and family friends,
for example, keep interrupting his piano rendition of “Let It Be,” suggesting
that he change the title to “Leave It Be”; at a later point record executives
suggest he change the song “Hey Jude” to “Hey Dude”—as he gradually resurrects
their repertoire and begins to perform it with great success. They are after
all, amazing songs—and to give him his due, Patel performs them quite
brilliantly.
Indeed,
the casting of a Britisher whose parents were of south Indian origin (his
mother lived for a while in Zambia and his father in Kenya), is perhaps the
most brilliant aspect of this film. You don’t have to go across the universe to
appreciate the Beatles, their songs breathe everywhere they exist. And Patel’s
renditions of “Yesterday” and “Back in the U.S.S.R” are among the best. But the
very audacity of this kind of everyday man becoming the sole repository of the
Beatles’ albums is more than a little touching. No mop-headed boy/man is the
often scruffy-bearded Jack.
As
Malick becomes popular he is soon approached by the noted singer Ed Sheeran
(playing a fictional version of himself) who invites him to be the opening act
at one of his concerts.
Curtis’ films are all about impossible dreams come true, so you know
that Malick will soon become famous and be tempted by fame and big money, in
this case by the absolutely brilliantly acted wicked-witch of an agent (“You
make the money and we take most of it”), Debra Hammer (Kate McKinnon), whose
entire face reveals every evil fancy that crosses her empty mind.
All this is great fun, that is until Malick is trailed by two others who
somehow also survived the “blackout” and know that he is a plagiarist. They
explain that they don’t care as long as he continues to keep the Beatles’ music
alive. They even pass on a secret address, which Malick visits, encountering a
totally happy John Lennon, who, with his wife, makes art (shades of what might
have been his life with Yuko Ono had he not been tracked down near the Dakota
by his murderer Mark David Chapman).
Yet Malick is also is being tracked down by his own conscience and is
being trailed by his ex-manager girlfriend, who needs to know just how
committed he is to the money and the fame he has already achieved.
Patel’s rendition of the Beatles’ song “Help” in the midst of this
crisis is so intense and poignant that I heard that pop tune in a new way for
the first time in my life. The Beatles sang it as a kind lark, a staged trauma
that one might imagine them feeling, surrounded by their thousands of
girl-admirers and their endless commitments. For Malick it becomes an
existential statement:
Help! I need somebody
Help! Not just anybody
Help! You know I need someone
Help!
………
Help me if you can, I’m feeling down
And I do appreciate you being ’round
Help me get my feet back on the ground
Won’t you please, please help me?
Through his rendition this is a truly
angst-driven song, a desperate plea for some way out of the world in which his
has found himself and cannot easily escape without destroying his own life,
those of others, and the lovely music he has brought back into being.
I
almost wish the movie could have ended there, in a complete lack of resolution.
Once you tell so many lies, perhaps there is no way out. And it would have
represented a brave statement of irresolution that most movies are missing
these days.
But Boyle’s film is also a fantasy. And Malick, shocking everyone,
admits his plagiarism and returns to the love of his life in a literal rather
than metaphorical (as in Across the Universe) rendition of the ditty
“Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da,” life, apparently, just going on.
Los Angeles, July 16, 2019
Reprinted from World Cinema Review (July
2019).
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