I never saw Slumdog Millionaire or Love Actually, no offense to their writers or directors. But the breathtaking premise of their new movie—a 12-second glitch in the planet erases The Beatles from history and from the memory of every living person, save one hack musician—knocked me off my feet. That the film effortlessly pulls off this audacious conceit in the first 20 minutes is testament to the power of suspended disbelief. Well, and to the skill of the filmmakers, obviously.
Like everybody else who was alive in April of 1970, I first heard "The Long And Winding Road" on the radio. I hadn't yet celebrated my 14th birthday. But the Beatles had already been a constant on my mental playlist for nearly half my life—starting, in my case, with their appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show in February of 1964. I'd collected Beatles trading cards, gotten a mop-top haircut, wore a Nehru collared shirt, and was just beginning to wonder what it would be like to say I-wanna-hold-your-hand to a real live girl.
But in the movie, the struggling hack musician—Jack Malik—is challenged by a slightly jealous Ed Sheeran to a songwriting duel. Each would go away for ten minutes to write, then come back to sing a brand new song for Sheeran's band and crew. Best song wins. This challenge takes place just minutes after Jack's first major concert performance, opening for megastar Sheeran in Moscow, Russia. Every one of the songs Jack had sung on stage that night—Beatles songs of course—had slain the crowd, and Sheeran wanted to bring Jack down a notch.
So the ten minutes are up, and Sheeran goes first: strumming and singing a tender, intimate love song that is sweet, and nearly memorable. Jack's turn. He sits at a piano and sings a plaintive, heartfelt rendition of "The Long And Winding Road." I am undone, tears streaming down my face: that used to be just a Beatles song to me. But now, nearly 50 years later, I have myself actually walked a long and winding road. How did you just demolish me here in the AMC Spring Hill Cinema 12 with a song I've heard a thousand times before?
Ed Sheeran has been pummeled too. He offers stunned applause in mute surrender.
The story is woven alongside the life of Jack's boyhood pal, and longsuffering "manager," Ellie, played by the radiant Lilly James. They are not a couple, romantically speaking, though as the film unspools, we keep wondering why not. And this is exactly what the filmmakers want us to wonder.
Because the picture is so new, I won't spoil the ending, except to say it addresses the ethical dilemma Jack wrestles with, knowing these aren't really his songs. Jack's course toward the deeply satisfying conclusion is set by his revelatory visit to an artist who looks as though he may well have written songs, but has instead put brush to canvas all of his life.
There is astonishing grace in the end. There is the highest, and noblest, and most time-honored tradition realized in the end. In the end, the young man who struggled to remember lyrics and melodies that would thrill audiences around the world, selflessly proves love really is all you need.