I’m a little weary of white men telling us about the Beatles. I say this as a white woman who actively likes the Beatles. And occasionally tolerates men. Of course, it’s a criticism we could extend to many artists – whiteness and maleness are qualities often shared by the diligent students of Dylan, Springsteen, Cohen, to name but three. But in the case of the Beatles, a band whose early success was so propelled by female support, it feels particularly obnoxious.
News of a four-part biopic of the band, to be released one after another in cinemas in April 2028, broke in February. Its director Sam Mendes described it as an ambitious attempt to tell the story of the world’s most successful band from the individual perspective of each member. Not long afterwards came the announcement of its cast: Paul Mescal as Paul McCartney, Harris Dickinson as John Lennon, Joseph Quinn as George Harrison and Barry Keoghan as Ringo Starr. This week came details of its writers: Jack Thorne (Adolescence), Peter Straughan (Conclave) and Jez Butterworth (Jerusalem).
