Blu-ray Review: THE LOVE WE MAKE - A Mighty Fine Macca Doc

On the morning of Tuesday, September 11, 2001, Sir Paul McCartney sat on the tarmac waiting to fly back to the UK. The pilot came over the speaker to announce that there had been an accident, and that the trade centres had been hit (viewable out the port side of the plane). As they taxied back to the gate, the second plane hit, and everyone aboard knew something very dramatic was taking place in NYC.

Just weeks later, a memorial concert is staged for the people of New York. Headlined and organized by the former Beatle, he called upon some help from his very famous and accomplished friends to stage a show at Madison Square Garden. The front of the audience was filled with first responders and their families, many holding framed pictures of their loved ones killed a few blocks south, buildings that were then still smouldering after the attacks.

Against this backdrop, the film could have been simply a general documentation of that time, rushed out as some sort of advertisement for the event or tacked on as a DVD extra. Instead, we get a truly remarkable bit of cinema, and, I'd suggest, a verité classic. The images are captured on black and white 8mm stock, harkening back to the likes of Don't Look Back or other seminal music documentaries. Calling upon Albert Maysles, one half of the team that captured the Beatles' arrival back in '64, we follow Paul as he engages with his fans, ducks into limos, and hangs out backstage waiting for his turn in front of the audience. This is the usual, casual stuff of any verité doc, but what's made remarkably compelling is the intimacy of the event that is captured.

The city at that time, for obvious reasons, was still entirely on edge. Paul walks the street, signing dozens of autographs with a smile, taking time for those approaching him, grateful to see his return. What's often forgotten is the real sense that things would never be the same in NYC, that it was a real political act to come back and hold a celebration. What's also not to be forgotten is that some 20 years earlier his partner and friend had been shot on those very streets, a gunman who approached John ostensibly looking for an autograph.

After the ease with which he engages with the crowd, Paul gets into the relative security of his limo, extolling his driver to exit the scene that has now swelled to dozens of people. The sense of quiet consternation, almost panic, is at first blush embarrassing, the big star putting on a false facade to his fans whom he can't exit soon enough. However, we quickly realize that, in fact, this is a man wrestling with his own fears and trepidations quietly, privately, while outwardly exuding confidence and generosity. It's entirely reasonable, given both the events of that time and the events of two decades previously, for him to be on edge in the city. Yet despite any reservation, he still takes the time to engage with his fans with courtesy, even one who manages to follow the fleeing limo on bicycle. There's a real sense of moral courage on display, overcoming his natural reservation, and it provides a stunning metaphor for the city at large during that time period. The sense of anxiousness that is overcome in order to both celebrate and commemorate, the actions of the concert are mirrored in Paul's own engagement with the city and its people.

At the concert itself, we find Paul engaging with his friends in a similarly casual way. There are some delightfully telling moments - Letterman Bassist Will Lee is talking about his Beatles cover band, and Paul seems to be feigning interest. When Pete Townshend walks him mid conversation, Will slips away almost unnoticed, despite the fact that he's tasked with performing Paul's own Bass parts that evening. Paul talks of a song he just wrote for the event, "Freedom", and Pete seems amused as the thought of debuting what amounts to a demo on a night like this. Reconnecting with James Taylor, an early Apple Records signed musician, is elevated by the entrance of Bill Clinton, who then regales of tales about being aboard JT's sailboat. A scene where Ozzy Osborne meets Paul for the first time is both touching a strangely surreal.

We watch Paul watch the show from backstage, cross cutting with broadcast footage of the event. His reaction to Zak Starkey, drummer for The Who and son of his own bandmate, is another one of those small slices of intimacy that makes the film so remarkable. Sure, verité docs often dwell on these tiny moments, but what elevates this film is that the participants themselves are often so grand, so controlled in their public persona, that these small, human moments are even more telling.

With yet another remarkable scene, Paul convinces Clapton to play guitar on "Freedom", saying "it's just in G, you'll follow along". When the song is finally trotted out, it's a brash mix of cliche and sing-song chorus, but Clapton does nail a bluesy solo and the crowd gets to chant with appropriate aplomb.

More than a mere concert doc, The Love We Make weaves these and other stories with the events of that time period, capturing in a most remarkable way the mood and spirit of the city shortly after the attacks. The work benefits enormously by waiting for a decade, for its message is subtle enough that it may have been lost in the slew of other works. By capturing this unique moment in time, by tying Paul's own trepidation with that of the city, and by highlighting the remarkable events that led up to the show, The Love We Make proves to transcend any expectations, and is an absolute gem of a film. 

The Disc
On first blush, a 4:3, black and white grainy film wouldn't be your first choice for Blu-Ray demo material. There's even a warning screen at the head of the film discussing the various sources used to present the film.

That said, the majority of the doc is shot using  8mm film, and that footage is faithfully represented, the grain looking very filmic (rather than like video noise which is indicative of most Standard Def presentations of elements such as these). Colour video interviews and select concert footage are interspersed throughout, and they look commensurate with the SD presentations of the day.

The audio on disc has no caveats attached - lossless stereo and surround mixes are provided, as well as a lossy surround mix for systems requiring such things. From soundcheck performances of "Let It Be" to the final concert, the surround mix certainly is the preferred iteration, with judicious use of the rear channels to provide ambiance and a sense of the venue's vastness. Intimate interviews, meanwhile, are clearly captured, locked wisely to the centre channel.

Supplements
Save for some brief essays on the inside of the digipack-like packaging, there are no additional materials on the disc. It's a shame, really, as hearing from Macca a decade out about the show and its effect would have been a nice addition to the set, as would talk about the production and compilation of the footage some time after the original shoot.

In Conclusion
Save for a missed opportunity regarding the inclusion of additional materials, I still wholeheartedly recommend adding this film to your collection. Rewatching it months after my first viewing during TIFF 2011, it has lost none of its power. It's a wonderfully intimate, unique portrait about a highly charged time in our recent history, and the film works on several levels to craft something quite extraordinary. One of the vanguard of recent exceptional music documentaries, The Love We Make easily stands as one of the finest examples of the form

The theatrical portion of this review first appeared on Filmfest.ca