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My duties were pretty basic for someone starting on the bottom rung of the film business ladder. Following two hours of driving lessons every morning at seven am, I would get a phone call from Peter asking my progress behind the wheel. I would tell him about reversing around corners and three-point turns but all he ever asked was “Yes, yes but can they get you a cancellation Miles?” I think he was desperate to be driven to work. I would then make my way to the film studios by bus where I would make copies of film scripts and schedules and generally arrange meetings etc. I also had to file and index thousands of photographs of The Beatles, a job I loved doing.
It was sort of like being on a Beatles film like A Hard Day’s Night or Help! but without any of The Beatles being involved.
Most days Peter Brown, having driven himself to the studios in his bright yellow VW Beetle, would then arrange for everyone on the production team to see old film clips of the Fab Four. This would be done in one of the studio’s viewing theatres. This way people could work on the Beatles’ accents and check out their clothes for the wardrobe designers to accurately copy etc. After all this was to be the movie of The Beatles’ extraordinary tale of how they became the biggest entertainment act the world had ever seen. Everything had to be exactly right.
And then, as often happens in the movie business, it all came to a crashing halt.
Just as quickly as it begun, Peter asked me to join him in his office where he told me that Robert Stigwood had decided not to go ahead with the movie. He didn’t elaborate. I never found out why and still don’t know to this day. But it’s sad when a team of people put together for a project have to be broken up. Although we’d only been in pre-production for a few weeks, friendships had been made and now it seemed that we were all going off in different directions. Desks were cleared, phone-numbers exchanged, car-park space names repainted. The more experienced film people quickly tried to get on-board other tinsel town projects and my free driving lessons were cancelled.
For me it was a personal disappointment. My first foray into the movies had been exciting and although the film never got made, the whole experience had given me a valuable insight into how a film is put together in pre-production and in that respect I have no regrets.
Seventeen years later I revisited the same studios when I went to the recording of an episode I had written for the TV sitcom Birds of a Feather. Between the afternoon run-through and the actual recording I went for a walk. I didn’t get very far. Most of the studio had been turned into a supermarket.
Today it’s where they make Big Brother.
However there was one small gem in the story of the Beatles film that never got made.
On my last day at the studios, Chris Palmer, from the Robert Stigwood Organisation arrived for a final lunch with Peter and myself. Afterwards he asked me to show him around the studio. Despite having only been working at Elstree a few weeks I had somehow managed to find my feet and thought I knew where everything was, more or less. How wrong I was! We went off for a wander. There was some loud music coming from within one of the sound stages and Chris asked me what was being filmed in there. I replied that it was the new Terry-Thomas comedy called Spanish Fly. Chris was as big a T-T fan as I was and the two of us decided to sneak in and see if we could catch a glimpse of the “absolute shower” genius at work.
As we walked through the flats of scenery we saw some bright lights lighting up a stage at the far end. We moved towards it. The music was loud and we imagined it must be a disco scene that was being filmed. But as our eyes adjusted to the brightly coloured lights we suddenly realised that it wasn’t Terry-Thomas at all. It was Paul McCartney! And he was belting out Band on the Run.
Thinking that McCartney would throw both of us out if he knew we were there, Chris and I stepped quickly backwards where we disappeared into the shadows. We then lent against the wall and enjoyed the most incredible free show taking place thirty yards in front of us. Up there on the stage was Paul, wife Linda, Denny Laine and the rest of his band Wings. We found out later they were rehearsing for their up and coming Wings Over the World tour. One great McCartney number after another was sung to their grateful audience of two unknown gatecrashers hiding in the shadows. Jet, Let Me Roll It, Maybe I’m Amazed, Lady Madonna, The Long and Winding Road, Listen to What the Man Said, My Love, Blackbird. It was almost as if the band was doing a personal gig in our front room. And sometimes they would stop halfway through a song and start again. It was magic.
Chris and I watched praying that our cover wouldn’t be blown. Suddenly McCartney was alone on the stage, sitting on a stool with an acoustic guitar playing Yesterday. Chris looked at me with a “this is it” type of look. We both knew that we were witnessing a once in a lifetime moment.
Unfortunately that feeling didn’t last too long. Paul McCartney had just started singing the second verse when we heard this Scottish voice behind us. “Oi! What you two doing here?” We shot around, cursing this intrusion and saw that it was Jimmy McCulloch, the brilliant twenty-two year old Wings guitarist. For a minute I thought we’d had it but then a huge smile crossed his face as he recognised Chris. They had known each other years ago when Jimmy had played in Thunderclap Newman.
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