As a child of the 70s, I can vividly recall the profound impact John Lennon had on my generation. Watching “One to One” has been a poignant journey through the kaleidoscope of that era, filled with nostalgia and a sense of loss for what could have been.
The unique bond shared by John Lennon and Yoko Ono, two artists originating from distinct spheres, is just one of the heartwarming love stories central to director Kevin Macdonald’s latest captivating and emotionally charged documentary. Titled One to One: John & Yoko, this film takes us through a momentous year in their lives, primarily focusing on their passionate romance with New York City, their recent adopted home. The documentary skillfully combines rare historical footage, creating a delicate yet invigorating blend that evokes the essence of 1972 New York City (a time I can certainly relate to) and presents an innovative perspective on the tumultuous times of America and the cultural revolution of a generation.
In the perspective of Macdonald (author of “One Day in September” and “The Last King of Scotland”), “One to One” stands as a remarkable return to form, following his diverse work on John Galliano’s profile, and one of his best works yet. Collaborating with co-director/editor Sam Rice-Edwards, they have skillfully generated an immersive, firsthand feeling using a carefully chosen assortment of existing materials.
The heart of the assembled content focuses on reworked video clips from One to One, the August 1972 concert that the couple arranged and starred in, with proceeds going towards Staten Island’s Willowbrook institution children. The original camera work at Madison Square Garden lends an intimate and captivating feel, while John and Yoko’s son, Sean Ono Lennon, has masterfully remastered the sound.
After Lennon and Ono departed their English estate for a modest flat on Bank Street, offering them opportunities to socialize with “artists and revolutionary thinkers,” as the movie’s tactful title cards described, the events at Attica Prison were still fresh in everyone’s mind. At this time, Nixon was campaigning for another term, anti-war sentiments were running high, and New York City became their new home – a city where Lennon would tragically be murdered in 1980. During a radio talk show, Lennon expressed his strong sense of belonging in the city, a sentiment that carried an unexpected poignancy. At a later phone conversation, the renowned drummer Jim Keltner expressed concerns about participating in fundraisers with political messages. He worried about potential violent backlash. To this, Lennon responded, “I’m not planning to put myself in harm’s way.”
“Just as One to One vividly demonstrates, Lennon identified himself as a revolutionary artist and frequently aligned with cultural rebels and the anti-war movement. However, it’s equally evident that he resisted being confined by any particular ideology. Among the significant figures he collaborated with, until they parted ways, was Jerry Rubin, a flamboyant co-founder of the Yippies and one of the Chicago Seven. Regardless of your opinion about Rubin, in today’s oversaturated world of ‘icons,’ we desperately require a few iconoclasts like him.”
Also in the circle of New York activists at the time was the mildly goofy and weirdly contentious “Dylanologist” and Rock Liberation Front co-founder A.J. Weberman, who pored through Bob Dylan’s garbage on a purist’s mission to prove the depths of his onetime hero’s betrayal. “He’s doing a whole capitalist number,” Weberman rails to Ono in one of several fascinating exchanges excerpted in the documentary. “He’s become the enemy,” he insists, while she tries to broker a peace deal.
Over my bustling first year and a half in Manhattan, before we relocated to the Dakota, Yoko and I were not just forging friendships with the local scene but also kept ourselves quite occupied — me with music, Yoko with music, films, and avant-garde art. Simultaneously, we endeavored to reconnect with Yoko’s daughter from her previous marriage, navigated through tapped phones, and grappled with the looming threat of deportation due to a marijuana incident in the U.K.
And, in their Village apartment, they watched a lot of TV.
In their bedroom, the movie creators blend snippets of television shows and advertisements that the couple could’ve watched on set – like Mary Tyler Moore, Tony the Tiger, Tupperware miracles, car ads featuring scantily clad women, apparently essential for sales. However, in the filmmakers’ capable hands, these seemingly outdated tropes pulse with vitality and irony, rhythmically accompanied by a music that perfectly matches a heartbeat. There are also poignant scenes of the devastating Vietnam War, the kind of news broadcasts that filled the evening airwaves with images of explosions, fires, weeping children, and American soldiers on an endless, futile mission.
Lennon and Ono also appeared on popular television shows hosted by Dick Cavett and Mike Douglas. These programs, considered cultural treasures, provided opportunities for meaningful discussions that make today’s late-night and cable talk show hosts seem insignificant by comparison. Notably, their week as co-hosts on ‘The Mike Douglas Show’ is the focus of an upcoming documentary titled ‘Daytime Revolution’.
McDonald doesn’t provide on-screen identifications for people. While some can be figured out amidst the fast-paced procession, such as Billy Graham, Bob Hope, Jane Fonda, Betty Friedan, and Arthur Janov; others might necessitate research or asking your mother. Even when the names of unheard phone callers appear on screen, their professional roles or positions are rarely disclosed, although the representation of these conversations is otherwise clear and impactful. A recurring joke revolves around discussions about procuring numerous flies for an Ono art project, which involves May Pang. It’s either already known or not that she was at the time a personal assistant to the couple, and it was during this period that she would, as detailed in The Lost Weekend, become romantically involved with Lennon, following Ono’s encouragement the following year.
One fascinating aspect we come across is Carole Feraci’s bold anti-war demonstration, which contrasted sharply with the otherwise light-hearted Ray Conniff Singers, at a grand event within the Nixon White House. Although not as captivating, there are snippets that offer a hint of intrigue, such as late-night discussions between Phil Donahue and an angry Rubin, and Leslie Stahl discussing Watergate during the evening news with a wild hairstyle. However, it’s local ABC reporter John Johnson who truly leaves an impact in this account. He is seen reporting from the scene at Attica, visibly affected by tear gas, and on the streets of Manhattan’s Little Italy to gauge community sentiment about the gangland murder of Joey Gallo – a topic later commemorated by Dylan in song. This style of journalism, raw and unfiltered, is scarcely seen today.
The film offers a unique and precise perspective, highlighting a significant change in generations, as symbolized by Lennon, who was just entering his 30s and represented the postwar generation. Initially excited about collaborating with Rubin on a Free the People project – a concert series aimed at gathering funds for American prisoners unable to pay their bail – Lennon eventually reconsiders and withdraws from the venture. Instead, he directs his attention inward.
As a gamer, I can relate when they say the toughest battle is confronting your own self. It’s not just my experience, but a truth that resonates universally. In the storyteller’s skilled narrative, this struggle for introspection mirrors the transformation many boomers experienced through trends like primal therapy. Fortunately, he steers clear of clichéd and flippant “Me Generation” stereotypes, instead guiding us on a journey towards empathy.
Among the most startling television broadcasts in 1972 was Geraldo Rivera’s Willowbrook investigation; even brief snippets from his report, showcasing the immense institution’s inhumane treatment of children with mental disabilities, are distressing. For Lennon, the children at Willowbrook represented almost a symbol of all the suffering on Earth, and he and Ono aimed to aid them through One to One, Lennon’s only complete post-Beatles concert event. Footage from this charity show depicts him looking and sounding invigorated. The band was exceptional, delivering powerful performances whether they were playing “Hound Dog” or backing him on “Instant Karma” and “Come Together.” And when, at the piano, he sang “Imagine,” whose lyrics embody an idealistic vision of peace that is as profound as any ever written into music, his tearful eye was a surprising moment from this charismatic figure known for his easy charm and Liverpudlian wit.
At the core of Macdonald’s documentary lies a pressing query: Was the optimism and activism used in fighting apathy overly idealistic? On the other hand, has our society degraded so much that the notion of giving peace a chance, of dreaming about a world without conflict, is now considered outdated? As we witness the escalating power of war, corporate greed, and censorship, and as empty rhetoric replaces genuine compassion and real justice, One to One serves as a nostalgic reflection of the future many of us envisioned in 1972. It also offers hope. Lennon’s words resonate when he said, “Alright, so flower power didn’t work out. So what? Let’s try again.” Here’s to that resilience.
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2024-08-30 15:28