‘There were a lot of things we had to do collectively that didn’t grab me personally that deeply,’ so he wrote in his book. ‘There was never anything, in any of the Beatle experiences, really, that good; even the best thrill soon got tiring. You don’t really laugh twice at the same joke, do you, unless you really get silly.
‘There was more good than evil in being a Beatle, but it was awful being on the front page of everyone’s life, every day. What an intrusion into our lives. Dick Lester’s version made it look fun and games, a good romp. That was fair in the films, but in the real world, there was never any doubt. The Beatles were doomed. Your own space, man, it’s so important. That’s why we were doomed, because we didn’t have any. You know, everything needs to be left alone.’
Any success on the scale of the Beatles is of course doomed. How can it continue at that rate? Once you get to the peak, where can you go? And by definition, in Beatle terms, even standing still at the top is failure. George always knew their days were numbered and wanted to get out before anyone else realized it.
George’s own life, after those mid ’70s problems, was helped by his house and garden, by his marriage and first child, and also by having a few laughs. This is one of the many paradoxes about George. He can appear to be preaching at you, bending your ear back with Indian philosophy, or gardening, or history, and just as you’re beginning to think he’s gone a bit loony, taking himself and life far too seriously, he then stops and laughs at himself.
He was always a fan of the Monty Python comedy team, as so many millions of people were in the 1970s, both here and in the States. He became friendly with them, especially with Eric Idle and Michael Palin. The Pythons come from rather different worlds than the Beatles, proper middle-class English boys, mostly educated at Oxbridge, far more serious and erudite in real life than their image might suggest, although they were working against the system, trying to do things their way, just as the Beatles did.
George loved The Ruttles, a television parody of the Beatles’ story, which was done mainly by Eric Idle. He even appeared in the show, heavily disguised, as a reporter. In 1978, George heard that the Python team was having trouble with EMI over their proposed film, Life of Brian. Lord Delfont, then head of EMI, thought it was in very bad taste, making fun of the life of Jesus.
George asked his business partner, Denis O’Brien, who had been helping him with his affairs since the Apple fiasco, if perhaps they could manage to raise the two million pounds needed to get the film floated. They did, and the film was a huge success. The result was Handmade Films. George took the title from some handmade paper he had been given when he went to visit an old paper mill in Somerset.
Since 1978, Handmade Films had become one of the big successes of the British film industry. Not exactly a strong field, though David Puttnam during the same period has also done very well. They have now produced or backed ten major films, including The Long Good Friday, Time Bandits, The Missionary, Privates on Parade, Water, Private Function. They have one thing in common — all have British settings or British inspiration. It was partly by trying to ape America, and do mid-Atlantic films, that Lords Grade and Delfont eventually came to grief.
George takes an active part in the company, with his name often appearing as ‘producer’, and there are a lot more films in the pipeline, but he says that Denis O’Brien is the real businessman, the one with the financial flare, who makes sure the films get made on time and on budget.
It’s difficult being a film producer. I’ve been the one who’s said of the people with the money, “What do they know?” and now I’m that person. But I know that unless you give an artist as much freedom as possible, there’s no point in using that artist. On the whole, most of our relationships are still intact.’
I have talked to several of the people involved in making Handmade films and they all say George has been an ideal boss to work for, concerned, helpful, yet at the same time decently remote. Despite being ‘friends’ with the Pythons, he is not one of them, not their type, nor is he really in tune with the more artistic pretensions of some of the creators. He lets them get on with it.
One has to admire George for what he has done with Handmade Films, a creation of which he can be proud, and it must give him a lot of satisfaction. He has done it without using his ‘Beatle’ persona in any way. He has not insisted on star-studded premieres, lent his name to gala shows, turned up in person to promote his films, or gone on tour to publicize his own investments. He has been a background backer, a figure in the wings, content to let the product speak for itself.
I am not so sure that his book I Me Mine was such an admirable decision. He has gone to great lengths to distance himself from his Beatle days, yet the selling point of this book was presumably his boyhood and Beatle memories, and the presentation of the original manuscripts of his songs. It was all harmless enough, and fairly brief as far as the words went, revealing very little. It was the cost that was ridiculous. Each book, in the limited 1980 edition of 2,000 signed copies, cost £148. In it, he does confess to qualms about his reasons for doing such a book, but he never satisfactorily explains them, except that it was keeping alive the craft of hand-tooled, leather-bound, terribly expensive books.
In his spiritual searches, George, as I understand it, has been trying to rise above himself, to relate to greater gods and more constant truths, yet the contents of the book were an exercise in pure ego. The title makes that clear, though that could have been a double irony.
We should perhaps look upon it as yet further proof of the paradoxical George. While denying his fame, he provides for it. While casting off the Beatles, there are times when he appears to be calling for them again. ‘The fab four were good because if one was in a bad mood, the others would cover. We protected each other. Now, you have to be more on your guard when you’re alone. I miss them at times. We had great love for each other.’
George has discovered, as they all quickly did, that being famous attracts people who like you for being famous. It is very hard to find people you can trust. Nice people hold back. Pushers push forward. At least with three others, all in the same position, they had their brutal honesty to fall back on. In their present happy marriages, it is to be hoped that George, Paul and Ringo are getting the real truth, the ice-cold advice, the unpleasant criticisms, which John could give them, or they in turn could give John and each other.
I was also intrigued to learn, from George’s book, that he had been back to Liverpool. It was when he first met his new wife, Olivia, to show her the house where he was born in Arnold Grove and then his old school, the Institute, to take her into his old classrooms. A normal enough thing to do. Yet this was the school George went through life hating. And in the book he still says he hated it. Has he protested too much?
George still hates flying, as he did in his Beatle years, when he could be almost physically sick in a plane or at an airport, and yet he has taken up fast driving in recent years, even in racing cars. He is still a vegetarian, still interested in India, in Hare Krishna and in things of the spirit.
As with the others, he has become obsessive about protection since John’s death. Paul’s fear is that there will be someone lurking in his bushes, who will spring out at him when he’s jogging. He once imagined that someone was hiding in his garden, smoking a cigarette. It turned out to be a distant street lamp. George’s fear is that the danger will come from a photographer, pointing a loaded camera at him, which is why he hates anyone suddenly snapping at him.