James Paul McCartney (1973)
It was a time of flared trousers, platform shoes, dungarees, and mullets. And Paul McCartney was favoured with an hour's TV special which had every appearance of being a vanity project (it wasn't, it was a tradeoff as part of a dispute over songwriting rights).
It seemed to have occurred to someone that this would be an ideal opportunity to showcase not only Wings and their new recordings, but also Paul McCartney the all-round entertainer. I recall that the last time McCartney and chums endeavoured to display their chops as all-round entertainers was the Decca audition, and we all know how that turned out.
To be fair, there is some good music here: some interesting alternate versions and some pleasing live work from Wings. In particular, Henry McCullough is a keen participant throughout, at least insofar as any of the other Wings are allowed to be more than an instrument-playing piece of scenery.
And then there are three big Oh Dears.
One: the public sing Beatle songs. Grim.
Two: family singalong in a pub. This isn't that bad an idea, but a) it goes on far, far too long, and b) Paul is so camera-aware while trying to appear not to be that it's embarrassing. But it's nice to see Jim and Auntie Jin.
Three: Gotta Sing, Gotta Dance. The song is so-so. The routine - a dance sequence featuring dancing women in vertically divided male/female costumes, and Paul in a pink tux and sticky-on pencil moustache - is horrific. The reason for this is that Paul can't dance, a fact which speeding the film up fails to disguise. The pencil moustache and centre-parted brylcreem hairdo would have worked with short hair: the mullet looks AWFUL.
Gotta Sing, Gotta Dance. My sainted *rse.
It was a time of flared trousers, platform shoes, dungarees, and mullets. And Paul McCartney was favoured with an hour's TV special which had every appearance of being a vanity project (it wasn't, it was a tradeoff as part of a dispute over songwriting rights).
It seemed to have occurred to someone that this would be an ideal opportunity to showcase not only Wings and their new recordings, but also Paul McCartney the all-round entertainer. I recall that the last time McCartney and chums endeavoured to display their chops as all-round entertainers was the Decca audition, and we all know how that turned out.
To be fair, there is some good music here: some interesting alternate versions and some pleasing live work from Wings. In particular, Henry McCullough is a keen participant throughout, at least insofar as any of the other Wings are allowed to be more than an instrument-playing piece of scenery.
And then there are three big Oh Dears.
One: the public sing Beatle songs. Grim.
Two: family singalong in a pub. This isn't that bad an idea, but a) it goes on far, far too long, and b) Paul is so camera-aware while trying to appear not to be that it's embarrassing. But it's nice to see Jim and Auntie Jin.
Three: Gotta Sing, Gotta Dance. The song is so-so. The routine - a dance sequence featuring dancing women in vertically divided male/female costumes, and Paul in a pink tux and sticky-on pencil moustache - is horrific. The reason for this is that Paul can't dance, a fact which speeding the film up fails to disguise. The pencil moustache and centre-parted brylcreem hairdo would have worked with short hair: the mullet looks AWFUL.
Gotta Sing, Gotta Dance. My sainted *rse.