It’s a few days before Christmas 1983 and like all good American families, we are at the mall. I’m proudly showing off my latest purchase, a price guide for Beatles records and memorabilia, when my stepfather grunts at me through his bushy black mustache.
“You’d eat dog**** if it had “Beatles” written on it.”
Now, I’d never eaten anything with the word “Beatles” written on it before, nor was I aware of any company willing to enter the surely lucrative business of printing the Fab 4’s name on canine excrement, but these were subtleties lost on my stepfather. His remark was meant to demean me, to make me embarrassed in front of the rest of my family. Stung, but unwilling to buckle under his pressure, I tucked my book back into the B. Dalton bag and said nothing. After all, I was used to being teased about listening to the Beatles — it was easy. The band hadn’t been popular in years. John Lennon was long dead, and Paul McCartney had became a corny parody of his former self; George was honoring the title “The Quiet Beatle” by hiding in his mansion counting his money, while Ringo Starr was busy making a fool of himself in the movie Caveman. It was a bleak time to be a fan but, if the present sucked, I could always retreat to the past.
I spent the next few months pouring over that price guide studying rare Polish LP covers, flasher bracelets, and Beatles talcum powder. I was a sponge, soaking up everything I could about my favorite band. To the casual reader, a price guide might seem a bit dry, but to me it was endlessly fascinating. Part history book, part wish list, it was a window into a time period I’d only just missed but had no hope of returning to, my ticket to what seemed like a more interesting world. I’d play the same scratchy records over and over again, losing myself in the grainy black and white photos of decades before.
They had only been released two years before, but somehow I’d missed them. Dressed in the classic grey collarless suits America first met them in, each figure came with the instrument he played, as well as a doll-stand base featuring a reproduction of their signatures. The set was available at stores like Spencers — yes, children, Spencers once sold more than novelty t-shirts and joy jelly. But enough of my yammering. Let’s take a look at the figures!
We’ll start with the toppermost of the poppermost, the Fab’s legendary leader John Lennon. The likeness is terrific for the time. Mind you, this was before digital scanners and all the techno trickery that’s responsible for today’s toys. Whoever sculpted the figure really knew their stuff — with his mouth open slightly and eyebrows raised, “the smart one” is joyfully captured in mid-song.
His hawk nose and angular jaw are spot-on, not overly emphasized, but certainly present. Even his posture is correct, with the figure’s legs characteristically bowed and his body leaning slightly forward to sing into the microphone. He’s playing his signature black Rickenbacher — the sculptor even posed his hand correctly — so the band’s rhythm guitarist appears to be strumming, not picking. A lovely figure.
Next up is Paul McCartney, “the cute one” (your mileage may vary). While the figure is recognizable as Paul, the sculpt is a bit more generic. I suppose it’s harder to capture the likeness of someone who lacks the distinctive facial features of John or Ringo. Everything is proportionate, which is absolutely correct, if not terribly exciting. The figure works best in profile — with his cheeky smile and doe eyes, you can almost believe he’s about to break into “All My Loving” while dodging a hail of jelly babies.
He comes with his Hofner bass positioned to be played left-handed, which is essential for the southpaw of the group. He sports the same three-button suit as John, right down to the distinctive pointed “winklepicker” boots. A decent representation.
Next up is George Harrison. The “quiet” Beatle should have spoken up since his figure is the worst of the bunch. Even more generic than Paul, under that mop-top George could be anyone — a Beatle, one of Herman’s Hermits, or your 4th grade English teacher. He just doesn’t have the mojo. I can’t really fault the sculptor as he clearly made an effort. The youngest Beatle does have a leaner face than the others, but, unfortunately, this causes him to appear older than his band mates.
He’s best viewed from the right side, but even then he looks a bit off. He comes with his Gretsch guitar. Strangely, his hand is posed in the same strumming position as John — I guess the logistics of sculpting a pick for a vinyl figure made it prohibitive. Ah, well.
We round out the band with legendary drummer Richard “Ringo Starr” Starkey. And while it’s a very good likeness that hits all the major beats, there’s still an element of caricature to him. Sure, the figure has a big nose, but it’s a touch too big, making his figure come off more like his cartoon counterpart than the actual person. The goofy grin and sloping eyes balance it out a bit, but that honker really dominates. He’s wearing his requisite rings, the detail of which are smothered by bad paint apps.
The “funny one” is posed in a seated position, obviously — it’s hard to play drums standing up! The kit is dynamite and is certainly the best accessory of the bunch. Heck, it’s so big it’s practically a figure unto itself. I have to admit, I wouldn’t have expected so much from a vinyl figure: due to their rotocast nature, their seeming inability to hold detail and a history of being sold cheaply, I had become biased towards them. These figures surpassed all expectations, coming out at the high end of the spectrum.
By now I’m sure some of you have noticed George and Ringo seem to be wearing the wrong pants. Was there a mix up at the dry cleaners? Did some ardent fan break into their hotel room and swipe them? Nothing so exciting, I’m afraid — the paint simply had an unforeseen reaction to the vinyl and, in the ensuing decades, turned a chocolate-brown. Exposure to sunlight is the most likely answer, but there’s really no way of knowing; this is simply how they were when I found the set, and I’m hesitant to retouch them. Like the Beatles themselves, these figures are a part of history now, warts and all. I’m just happy to finally have them in my collection — time to go find that old price guide and check ’em of the list. Now, if I could only track down some Beatles talcum powder …
Jason R Mink is The Man in the Ant Hill! Nov. 2012
