The call of the New York flat renters to their love-struck lesbian friend weeping in the closet to "Come out to play" was humorously poignant as well as deliciously tongue-in-cheek.

The stunning symbolism of soldiers dressed as slaves bearing a gargantuan Statue of Liberty on their back while trodding down miniaturized jungles under their feet while singing "She ain't heavy" made me literally gasp. It needed no explanation; even my daughter, who had never understood why the Vietnam War had been so controversial, was instantly impacted with an epiphany about it that no documentaries and discussions had ever accomplished.

The sinister metallic soldier production factory and the frighteningly blank-faced synchronized drill sergeants had the same dramatic "Oh!" impact. It was incredible.

Scene after scene melded seamlessly with both popular and lesser known songs. I felt they had captured the essence of the Beatles, and had decided it was now my newest favorite movie. But then it came crashing downhill and left me deeply disappointed.

Somewhere in the middle, it suddenly looked as though the movie had switched screenwriters. It went from skillful symbolic and artistic allusions to the sort of tiresome docu-dramas that are portrayed on history channels. Intermixed with that was an overlong and tedious love triangle spanning the rest of the length of the film that just seemed sadly dated. My daughter turned to me and wondered where the magic had gone. It was as if two totally different movies had been spliced together smack in the middle of the showing.

It began as a true Magical Mystery Tour and ended buried an ignominious death much as Eleanor Rigby suffered. Pity.