The Price of Fame: A Review of John, Paul, George, Ringo...& Bert

So we all know that a four-movie biopic about the Beatles is currently in the works, but did you know that 50 years ago, Willy Russell wrote an award-winning play about the famous foursome? And I read it! The only other Willy Russell play I’ve seen is Blood Brothers and I was able to spot large parallels between the two Liverpool-set shows. John Paul George Ringo…& Bert, written in 1974, features a clever, quick witted voice, strongly developed characters - each with their own idiolects and sound, and most noticeably for me, a striking thematic distinction between Act One and Act Two. All very Blood Brothers-esque. 

The play is narrated by Bert McGhee, a fictional singular representation of the band’s hoard of loyal fans. He’s energetic, warm and a little bit weird - a bit hopeless but sweet all the same. He acts as the reminder of who the Beatles once were before the money, fame and drugs. Simple Scouse lads with a dream. And so, when he’s paired next to the argument-stricken, frayed and overworked four piece, the story practically tells itself. This, a clear social commentary on fame and the power of a pervasive fanbase, is made all the more striking by the closing scene, where Bert’s “dream” comes true. He’s given a new name, Leroy Lover, and shoved onstage in place of the Beatles to crowds of screaming girls and greedy reporters. The audience are left with a sickening feeling as they realise, through Bert’s shallow joy,  how fame can be equally fleeting and cyclical, often simultaneously so. 

Whilst Act One didn’t particularly grip or interest me, Act Two, with its fast-paced drama and heightened social commentary, motivated and excited the two sides of my personality: the theatre kid and the Beatles fan.  There were some features I truly admired and they inspired me to think even more creatively when writing my own plays. A pre-show that takes place outside the theatre, the Beatles performing a little busking show for the audience, once again reminding them of the band’s origins. A sequence heavily influenced by the psychedelic sound of the late 60s with distorted records, swirling imagery and kaleidoscopic projections. Certain lines by members of the ensemble being randomly injected with the simple word “Beatle” (eg. “It’s six thirty Beatle time, the temperature is 32 Beatle degrees and a slight touch of Beatle snow is beginning to fall.”) reflecting the band’s inescapability and the undivided attention given to them by the media. I really enjoyed this clever use of dialogue, it felt unnatural and unsettling to read, kickstarting that gut-twisting feeling the audience should be feeling. I just wished Russell used it more. 

All in all, this play is both weirdly smart and smartly weird. It’s so blatant in its depiction of the Beatles and of fame that George Harrison famously walked out halfway through a performance and Paul McCartney criticised it to the point where he refused a film adaptation. It is for this, Willy Russell’s surety and confidence around the topics of his plays, that he is my favourite playwright of all that I have read so far.