A Hard Day’s Night


When I, in years past, resided in Liverpool I frequently saw the Beatles Magical Mystery Tour Bus ferrying tourists about the city. Everyone inside invariably looked pale and sad. I could never work out why. Here is my review of A Hard Day’s Night.

Wowee. What must it have been like to be the Beatles in 1964? Styleless unhip guttersnipe that I am, my mind is terminally incapable of formulating even the most basic, hand-gesture-based of responses to this question. Thankfully, I have an audio-visual aid to help me, in the form of ‘A Hard Day’s Night’.

What is a Hard Day’s Night? Is it the sense of seasonal displacement the Scandinavian peoples feel when stranded in the midst of the 24 hour perma-darkness of the Arctic midwinter? Probably not. But you can be sure that whatever it is, it is profound and fab in equal measure.

David Crosby, erstwhile big-faced guitarist of The Byrds, reputedly saw this film and did a merry little twirl around a lamppost, thus heralding his entrance into the capersome world of rock and roll. It may actually have been Roger McGuinn who did this. It doesn’t really matter. What matters is that after you have seen this film you will be transformed. Many individuals from all walks of life have reported similar experiences: Lulu, Pope John Paul II, Mark Chapman – the list goes on.

My favourite scene in this film came halfway through, when the ‘Quazy Quartet’ (copyright Noel Edmonds) were scuttling up and down the undulating hillocks of a vernal meadow. They come upon a barrel standing inexplicably under a willow tree, and start throwing dirty bits of rag and loathsome half-chewed chicken chunks down a small aperture in the top of the barrel, laugh, then scamper away at high speed. Only after they have disappeared do we hear a shrill cry, similar to that of a distressed piglet. The camera peers through the hole to reveal former Beatles drummer Pete Best, lamenting, in a comically maudlin fashion, ‘those meffs are always doing that, la’. Pure cinematic gold!

There is, alas, no tried and tested way of deciding who the fabbest Beatle is. They are all so unique and different, except in the respect that John and George are deceased and Paul and Ringo are, ostensibly, not. I think my favourite Beatle is probably George, on account of his superhuman sagacity and Indian-style insight. In fact it has been scientifically proven that George was at least half as enlightened as the Dalai Lama, who, as we all know, is unquantifiably enlightened.

The film ends with the group climbing into bed together, only to discover Eric Morecambe and Ernie Wise already nestled within like hibernating stoats. Everyone laughs squeakingly and John says something hilarious and witty but unfortunately inaudible.


One Response to “A Hard Day’s Night”

  1. Banjo vandalism… a cut-up review « The Agoraphobic Reviewer Says:

    […] the mood for some mischievous cut-up fun. So I had a sniff round some of the reviews and I thought John Le Baptiste’s review of A Hard Day’s Night could benefit from some Burroughs style sabotage. I used the Lazarus Corporation’s text […]

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