More than just the latest political documentary, and not just another Beatle-relate retrospective, “The U.S. vs. John Lennon” attempts to weave the two topics while slyly implying a relevance to today’s world. It is a documentary that swirls around a lot of topics before landing snuggly on its titular struggle. Long before the United States government ever legally pursues the former Beatle, the film plows through the turbulent history of the radical late 1960s and early 1970s, spotlighting the Vietnam War, the Black Panther movement, and the rise of President Richard Nixon. All the while, footage of the fab four from Liverpool pops up, reminding us that the Beatles, at the height of their international fame, were finding their own voice of dissent among the global chaos. But the footage of napalmed villages and political leaders about to be murdered, scored to “Revolution” and “All You Need is Love”, threaten to swallow up the musicians at any moment, simply on the strength of the overwhelming tragedy and chaos they depict. Any other guitar playing singer/songwriter wouldn’t have a chance, but fortunately for the filmmakers David Leaf and John Scheinfeld, Lennon was no ordinary musician. Magnetic and irresistible, Lennon was a classic acerbic wit, an undeniable entertainment genius with no “off” switch. Footage of him trading barbs with the press and arguing for peace stand up on their own, regardless of whatever macro topic they accompany. Thankfully, Leaf & Scheinfeld get it pretty well together once Lennon effectively trades his Beatle status for performance artist wife Yoko Ono, and moves to New York City. It is only then - around the film’s halfway point - with the outside world and Lennon’s fame well established, that the headline battle to deport the singer is waged.
The story is told through the conventional blend of archival footage peppered with newly filmed interviews. It is the late 1960s, and the Vietnam War, coupled with increasing racial and social unrest, has thrown the world into turmoil. Talking heads ranging from the expected (Yoko Ono, activist Angela Davis) to the surprising (G. Gordon Liddy, Geraldo Rivera) guide us through the time period, Lennon’s life and mind, and ultimately, the Nixon administration’s transparent attempt to get rid of him. All of this has been covered before in numerous other Lennon bio-projects (in particular in the superior “Imagine John Lennon”), although most of the time, it’s been relegated to a portion amid the much more complex whole of Lennon’s life. For diehard fans (myself included) that have seen numerous Beatle-related docs over the years, the question of whether this particular chapter of Lennon’s life could sustain feature length scrutiny is understandable. On top of that, it doesn’t take the cynicism of the title character to realize that from a box office point of view, the producers had to realize the potential dollar signs in combining the ever-popular Beatles with the recent political doc craze, spurred on by “Fahrenheit 9/11”. Of course, they’re a few years too late for that heyday, but the general anti-Bush sentiment that stirred it back in the summer of ’04 is still alive and well.
The movie’s easy and obvious premise of Nixon = bad/Lennon = good isn’t a difficult one for most people to swallow, although in a feature length documentary, the black and white quality of it all seems far too easy. Most people understand that the times were complex, and the personalities behind them were of equal complexity. Yes, G. Gordon Liddy is here to represent Nixon’s side of things, but it hardly seems fair to prop up one of the biggest loudmouth a-holes that recent history has to offer as the sole representative of the unfavorable point of view. Of course, the fact that even a Fox News maven like Geraldo Rivera is forced into a truly fair and balanced perspective lends a little credence to the possibility that the filmmakers’ stance is plenty viable. Nonetheless, it doesn’t take Gore Vidal’s repeated jabs at today’s presidential administration to see that the topical sentiment beneath the historical surface.
Of course, one of the big differences between today’s anti-war movement (such as it is) and the infamous movement of the 1960s may just be the lack of a vibrant Lennon-esque character. The thing about Lennon is that he, perhaps above all others whom have been famous in the twentieth century, truly understood the power of fame, and the potential of a famous person to use their media attention for something important, ahead of ones self. Beyond even that, though, was a true artist looking to explore and deal with his own ego, his own anger, and his own admitted contradictions. (For someone so bent on peace, he sure spent a lot of time arguing and fighting.) Yes, the song “Revolution” is held up in the film as a signal of the Beatles’ arrival at the antiwar table, but overlooked is Lennon’s declaration in the song’s lyrics “When you talk about destruction, don’t you know that you can count me out (in)”. This utterance of “in” is an obvious admission to his own duality, and merely one instance of the personal quality in the man’s work overshadowing his political nature, as evidenced in his eventual transition into a quiet family man, recording songs about his wife and son.
Of course, to get to that point, Lennon had to beat the rap against him put forth by J. Edgar Hoover and the Nixon White House. The question of why Lennon was targeted as a threat to the country is a central question in the film, and the answer of his Beatle-level “influence with the kids” is the oft-cited answer. They thought he could stir the wild youth into a deadly storm of outrage. But beyond that, it is apparent that something else may’ve motivated this action. Something completely alien and other, worthy of the fear of the Nixon prudes. It wasn’t his celebrity protestor status – there were other famous dissenters before Lennon hit the scene in America. It wasn’t his status as a foreigner – that was merely the vehicle they utilized to try to get rid of him. That sort of fever pitch xenophobia is a product of today’s war on terror, and a parallel that the filmmakers may wish to make, but cannot. No, I suspect that under all the other reasons, the headstrong no-nonsense Nixon agents, so representative of their own generation (“Can’t let these artists get TOO creative, y’know”), were simply reacting to the genius of the artist in Lennon. Specifically, the oddball media-driven anti-war performance art brought forth when he joined up with Yoko. This is precisely the sort of attention-getting shenanigans that has no textbook counter-measure. There is no by-the-book method of recourse for global media coverage (and this was pre-CNN, before “global media” was a given) of John and Yoko in bed on their honeymoon, surrounded by reporters and singing “Give Peace a Chance”. Jane Fonda posing with Viet Cong can be spun to villainize her quite easily. But this? How can anyone argue with giving peace a chance? Even in its abstract simplicity, there are levels of truth in there.
One thing that is often overlooked is the Nixon administrations if not understanding, then acknowledgement of the sheer power of the media-driven celebrity. They knew well enough that they had a problem on their hands. What they lacked was the wherewithal of how to deal with it in the form of anything more than a ridiculous attempt to deport John Lennon. That Nixon would comprehend media power is not surprising, considering that many attribute his 1962 defeat to John F. Kennedy to his ogre-like appearance on the first-ever televised presidential debate, which appeared in sharp contrast to the dashing good looks of his opponent. Only this time, his opponent isn’t something nearly so shallow as good looks. Nixon may’ve been able to handle Lennon, too, if not for the singer’s overpowering wit and ability to bulldoze anyone with his unending sarcasm. (Not to mention the fact that he was legally in the right.) This is seen clearly in a clip of Lennon, post-victory, answering a reporter’s question about his off the cuff re-action: “I believe time wounds all heels”, followed by a goofy wink to the camera. Beneath the surface naiveté of Lennon’s publicity stunts for peace lay a certain measure of truth, and a side of things that these men couldn’t acknowledge or understand. Lennon was a court jester on a global scale, consistently breaking the forth wall of the media, and in so, doing what great artists do best, challenging the status quo. The power and influence of the media is the true weapon here, and the true topic of interest. And no one brandished that weapon like the peacenik John Lennon. That’s the key point that the otherwise engaging “The U.S. vs. John Lennon” dances with but eventually misses.
It should be mentioned that the biggest mislead on the part of Leaf & Scheinfeld, whether intentional or not, is their presentation of an implied U.S. government involvement in Lennon’s 1980 assassination. Even though modern day Yoko Ono appears and offers a quote about “them not being able to kill John’s spirit”, the truth is that Lennon was killed by a deranged fan years after the central events of the film had blown over. The assassination shouldn’t have been included in the film, as it only creates misleading conclusions in the minds of the uninformed. The filmmakers most certainly know better, as each has an impressive resume of rock docs, including notable recent entries on fellow 1960s musical genius Brian Wilson and Lennon’s drinking buddy Harry Nilsson. The assassination is no more relevant to the deportation theme than other key chapters in Lennon’s post-Beatle life, such as his scandalous Lost Weekend, passed over here. Hopefully next time Leaf & Scheinfeld will show better judgment, as this time, an otherwise pretty good doc was marred.
- Jim Tudor