By: David Schultz
Timed to coincide with the 10th anniversary of the September 11th attacks, Showtime debuted The Love We Make, Albert Maysles’ documentary about The Concert For New York, the superstar-filled show conceived and organized by Paul McCartney. Footage of the actual Madison Square Garden concert is in short supply, quick glimpses of the show giving context to the reactions to the release of emotion from a crowd filled with policemen, firefighters and assorted New Yorkers in desperate need of a catharsis. While not giving the performance short shrift, Maysles leaves much of The Who’s “Won’t Get Fooled Again,” one of the last with John Entwistle, in the editing room. A shame as Daltrey and Townshend hadn’t delivered the song with that sense of committed fervor or purpose in years. (See for yourself. This is the last time The Who played this song like it meant something . . . because on this night, it did).
Focusing the camera almost exclusively on the ex-Beatle for the entirety of the documentary, Maysles captured two absolutely extraordinary aspects of his life: his unremitting fame and his peers’ utmost respect, although not in a way that many would expect. The sheer burden of being Paul McCartney was not the intended focus of the film. However, it’s an inextricable part of his personality; unavoidable and practically transfixing. As McCartney walks the streets going about the business of promoting the show, he sits amidst an epicenter of gawking pedestrians and stunned bystanders. The camera crew following McCartney may have helped attract attention towards his presence but it’s abundantly clear that McCartney cannot perform the simplest of public tasks without being besieged by his legion of fans whose desires range from offering polite compliments and warm wishes to baffling interpersonal encroachments and impositions. An entire show could be crafted around watching people simply react to breathing the same air as Sir Paul.
On the flip side of this coin is the deference paid to McCartney by his fellow musicians who wouldn’t dream of telling the man who wrote “Hey Jude” and “Yesterday” that his latest idea is a pathetic one. For the MSG concert, McCartney has written “Freedom,” a schmaltzy, somewhat pandering tune that he has unfortunately mistaken for a modern day anthem. Over the course of the film, McCartney describes his vision for the close of the show, complete with an audience immediately embracing his song and pumping their fists in unison, to Eric Clapton, Pete Townshend and Billy Joel. Whether out of politeness, disinterest or sheer awe that one of the masters has such an ill-advised conception, they all become sycophantic yes-men, nodding approvingly, their true thoughts betrayed by their visage of disinterest.
The goal of any documentary should be to capture the truth if its subject. Maysles may have intended to gather footage memorializing the planning and execution of a concert staged with the noblest of intentions and, in a sense, he succeeded in his mission. The greater accomplishment though was offering an unfiltered look at the life-changing effect of world renown.
Timed to coincide with the 10th anniversary of the September 11th attacks, Showtime debuted The Love We Make, Albert Maysles’ documentary about The Concert For New York, the superstar-filled show conceived and organized by Paul McCartney. Footage of the actual Madison Square Garden concert is in short supply, quick glimpses of the show giving context to the reactions to the release of emotion from a crowd filled with policemen, firefighters and assorted New Yorkers in desperate need of a catharsis. While not giving the performance short shrift, Maysles leaves much of The Who’s “Won’t Get Fooled Again,” one of the last with John Entwistle, in the editing room. A shame as Daltrey and Townshend hadn’t delivered the song with that sense of committed fervor or purpose in years. (See for yourself. This is the last time The Who played this song like it meant something . . . because on this night, it did).On the flip side of this coin is the deference paid to McCartney by his fellow musicians who wouldn’t dream of telling the man who wrote “Hey Jude” and “Yesterday” that his latest idea is a pathetic one. For the MSG concert, McCartney has written “Freedom,” a schmaltzy, somewhat pandering tune that he has unfortunately mistaken for a modern day anthem. Over the course of the film, McCartney describes his vision for the close of the show, complete with an audience immediately embracing his song and pumping their fists in unison, to Eric Clapton, Pete Townshend and Billy Joel. Whether out of politeness, disinterest or sheer awe that one of the masters has such an ill-advised conception, they all become sycophantic yes-men, nodding approvingly, their true thoughts betrayed by their visage of disinterest.
The goal of any documentary should be to capture the truth if its subject. Maysles may have intended to gather footage memorializing the planning and execution of a concert staged with the noblest of intentions and, in a sense, he succeeded in his mission. The greater accomplishment though was offering an unfiltered look at the life-changing effect of world renown.
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