Generation after generation, Beatles obsessives emerge and reinterpret their legacy. To be a part of a fandom is to be a part of a family, says director and writer Simon Weitzman. In a career that has taken him all over the world, he has been involved in a succession of Beatles-based projects, including both books and films. Here, Kai Marshall explores Simon’s TV, music and film career as well as his most recent documentary A Love Letter To The Beatles (reviewed here), with contributions from Executive Producer Stuart Everett. 

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Louder Than War: So I’d like to start with when we first met on Tuesday (11th November 2025) for Vicky McClure’s Dementia Choir event at the Cavern. Tell us more about your involvement with that. 

Simon Weitzman: This is the third year it’s happened. I first saw the choir online and reached out to Vicky McClure’s company, and that’s how I became involved. 

In August 2023 I watched them perform in person, and when they sing Beatles songs something remarkable happens – they drop into the moment and you see these flashes of clarity. And when the music stops, it’s like someone’s taken the batteries out. 

The Cavern trip grew out of an idea about bringing a care home into the Cavern itself. Gill and Chris – the couple who performed – were wonderful, as were the other ensemble and solo performances by other members of the choir. The choir are also now based at Nottingham Forest Football Club. We’re exploring ways of getting Beatles-based music programmes into care homes and brain-injury units. 

What are the plans for the Dementia Choir going forward? 

SW: I’d like it to become an annual event. For the families, it’s incredibly emotional – they’re witnessing these pure moments and building memories they can cherish. 

We film the performances so they’re available afterwards. That means even when the members of the choir aren’t on stage they can later be shown the footage and reminded, “You performed at the Cavern.” It gives them a connection to the experience long after the day itself. 

Dr John Powell, who specialises in music and neurology, is looking into why Beatles music in particular has such an effect. It doesn’t seem to work the same way with other bands or songs. Last year, Chris remembered performing – and remembering things isn’t easy for him normally. So something is happening there. 

We’re also talking about opportunities like supporting a band at the Philharmonic or doing something at St Peter’s Church. 

You’ve had a pretty diverse creative background. Can you talk a bit about your career path? 

SW: I was supposed to be a footballer. I was with Glenn Hoddle and Ray Wilkins at QPR when I suffered an injury off the pitch and I didn’t recover for nine months. 

Academically I wasn’t strong, but I could draw. My mum studied under Peter Blake – the Sgt Pepper cover artist – so I probably inherited some of that. I went to art school, started with photography, then shifted into film. 

I loved music, so I ended up doing music videos with a friend who played guitar for Tina Turner. I was picked up by Limelight at 19. This was 1986; suddenly I was directing. I worked with Depeche Mode and Anton Corbijn, Duran Duran, then branched out on my own. 

Later I went into TV with Mark Westcott and we made American Fair, which was about the Americanisation of the UK. That put us on the map. Then I moved to Disney and worked on The Lion King and Hunchback of Notre Dame. I worked on Disney TV across London, California, Florida, Paris. I went on to Work with Don Hahn and Roy Conli. 

I then produced about 300 pre-school programmes at Maidstone Studios. Eventually I hit a point where I’d had enough and stepped away in 2007. 

I did work with National Geographic. In the ’90s I’d written some short stories – one became Event Horizon, which paid for me to get married and buy a flat. Another became Bad Santa, which paid for my divorce. 

Then I wrote a huge book on the history of golf with Paul Skellett. 

I’d grown up with a bit of the Beatles – Revolver, Sgt Pepper – but my parents were more into Queen. When I was about 13, I thought I had a girlfriend but it turned out she was just a pen friend. We made mixtapes for each other that always ended with The Long And Winding Road.

Paul (Skellett) got me properly back into the Beatles in my late 30s. We did Eight Arms to Hold You, a book about Help!, around 2013/14. Then a book about the All You Need Is Love broadcast and one about Tom Murray, who shot the Mad Day Out. Then the Beatles in Stereograph box set.

By then I had the itch. 

There’s been a Beatles resurgence lately. Do you think their work still resonates with young people? 

SW: The pandemic shifted things – it could have killed off interest. This year’s International Beatleweek felt like the first proper rebound. 

TikTok has played a huge role. Young people are taking these songs and either recreating them faithfully or reinventing them entirely. With all respect to the Stones or the Beach Boys, the Beatles catalogue lends itself to being reimagined. These songs keep finding new life. 

I don’t think we’ll see another moment like it in our lifetime. 

Some people say Now And Then, the latest and supposed last Beatles single, represents a nostalgia “doom-loop.” Is it the Beatles’ last big cultural moment? 

SW: I honestly don’t know. What’s interesting about Now And Then is that it doesn’t behave like a classic Beatles track. You hear it once and think, “Alright,” but then it gets grows on you. Its the definition of an ear worm. 

I was invited to Abbey Road to hear an orchestral version, and that completely shifted my perspective. I also really liked Free As A Bird. I think that was the direction they might’ve headed in. 

You can also hear a lot of Jeff Lynne and ELO in post-’60s Beatle releases; it feels like the two worlds colliding. Had the Beatles stayed together longer, I think Jeff Lynne would have shaped the sound massively and you can see glimpses of that in those later releases. 

I still think Paul has things in drawers that could surprise everyone. 

Bob Harris said in our film that the Beatles songs were “plucked out of thin air.” Maybe it really was a once-in-humanity alignment. 

How did the idea for your film, A Love Letter To The Beatles, come about? 

SW: It started when Paul and I were invited to a Beatles festival in Chicago after we’d done Eight Arms To Hold You. We weren’t part of the Beatles community, we thought we’d be resented as the newcomers. Instead, everyone embraced us, from the organisers right to the fans. 

Whenever I come to Liverpool for Beatles events, I feel part of a family and I’ve got a very small family so that means a lot. 

In 2017 we were commissioned to do a book about Loch Lomond golf club, and that’s when the idea for a film about fandom really formed. Could we drop into a world of fandom and tell its story properly? 

We made a short version in the US and UK. I interviewed Bob Harris, and after that conversation I realised there was a much bigger film in this.

Two hours of footage became twenty, then two hundred. It’s the biggest project I’ve ever shot. 

From a musical standpoint, I wanted the film to move like a Beatles album with emotional peaks and troughs. I wanted the structure to feel familiar, like a journey. 

What was it like working with people who were close to the Beatles? Did they give off that iconic aura? 

SW: Honestly? Not really. But I’ve been around the football world for years, so maybe that blunts the awe a bit. 

Stuart Everett: I did feel it at first. I came in as a Beatles fan and it was surreal being around people who were actually there. But eventually you end up on nodding terms and you realise they’re just normal people who happened to live through something extraordinary. 

SW: Exactly. I’m still a fan, but my job means I’ve met a lot of people over the years – you learn to stay grounded. Julia Baird, for example, shares a similar background to my mum, so we connected on that level. As a filmmaker you can’t go in overawed. 

SE: And for a lot of them, the Beatles period was only a tiny slice of their lives. 

SW: Meanwhile we, as fans, are like time-travellers. We revisit that era constantly. Sometimes we know more details than they remember. I just try to treat everyone equally and with no hierarchy. 

Liverpool plays a huge role in your film. Do you think the city will ever move on and does it need to? 

SW: I don’t think it needs to move on at all. To me, Liverpool becomes a kind of memorial city. 

SE: International Beatleweek has almost become a Lennon remembrance. Because he wasn’t buried anywhere, people needed somewhere to gather. I think it’ll carry on forever. 

SW: Our next film, Real Love, coming out next year, is about Beatleweek. After John’s murder, the city became a pilgrimage site. Then in 2015 Andy Edwards’ statues created another place for people to gather. 

SE: And there’s the New York–Liverpool connection with the Imagine mosaic, Strawberry Fields, the symbols in the park. 

SW: When people see Paul (McCartney) they don’t just want the music, they want to be in his orbit. That’s what we wanted to capture: what that energy means to fans. 

SE: And there are other Liverpool stars where being from Liverpool was secondary to their public image – Billy J. Kramer, Ken Dodd. This is being celebrated more often now. 

SW: The Beatles story echoes everywhere. When I’m low and when I talk to people and the Beatles come up I realise it’s a universal language. 

SE: There’s a line from Close Encounters where the aliens are described as “a sociological event.” Everyone experiences it differently but at the same time. The Ed Sullivan performance was like that. 

Does your film capture a lasting legacy, or is it more like a snapshot of the final chapter? 

SW: I think it captures a legacy. We’ve got people across different generations. Even younger fans feel the same connection as the older ones. 

There’s a young man in the film who watched a cut and said, “Without Lennon and the Beatles, my life would have no meaning.” That kind of thing tells you the music isn’t going anywhere. 

We’ve tried to reflect the world as it is now, with a broad cross-section of people who find meaning in this story. 

To me, it starts with John. He formed the band. He always said he was a fan himself, and he put himself on the same level as the fans. 

They were four lads who weren’t born into privilege but had every star line up for them. Their message spread across the world. Sometimes it feels like they were carrying the hope of humanity. 

And like Stu said – it was a sociological event. Millions experiencing the same thing at the same time. That’s why it lasts. 

Support Vicky McClure’s Our Dementia Choir here.

Read our film review here.

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All words by Kai Marshall. Read more from Kai on his authors archive and find him on Instagram