Beatles Biopic Shake-Up: McKenna-Bruce’s Wild Ride From Novice to Notorious

Olivia Bennett, 12/31/2025Sam Mendes is set to direct a unique Beatles biopic—a four-part film exploring each member through the lens of their intimate connections. Starring Mia McKenna-Bruce as Ringo's first wife, Maureen Starkey, the project promises to blend nostalgia with a fresh perspective, aiming to resonate with a new generation.

Then there’s the matter of Mia McKenna-Bruce, an ingenue at 28, all charm and candor, suddenly thrust into the role of Maureen Starkey—Ringo’s first wife, no less. Instead of rehearsing Beatles trivia for the part, McKenna-Bruce admitted with disarming honesty (and perhaps a wince) that distinguishing between Lennon and McCartney wasn’t her strong suit. Those iconic records, so often lionized in documentaries and remastered vinyl, simply hadn't carved any deep tracks in her life. Childhood singalongs to “Yellow Submarine” somehow never translated to Beatlemania. And when her co-star Martin Freeman attempted to test her pop knowledge (“What band was Mick Jagger in?”), her response—entirely genuine—was met with the gentle exasperation only a nation of music buffs could muster.

The irony, of course, is delicious: casting someone nearly untouched by the mythology of the Beatles to play a woman who embodied its tumultuous undertow. Maureen Starkey isn’t just a footnote in rock history. Her story—Liverpool teenager, whirlwind wedding, bittersweet adulation, and turbulent family life—mirrors the larger narrative of youthful dreams crashing headlong into the relentless flashbulbs of fame. Through Maureen's kitchen-sink reality, one catches glimpses of the cost of Beatlemania, its frenetic joys and its lurking heartbreaks. There’s a reason the phrase "the fifth Beatle" persists—it never belonged to just one outsider, but to the orbit of lives spun out by John, Paul, George, and Ringo.

For McKenna-Bruce, this role swings somewhere between historical research and a form of emotional time travel. She’s spoken about Maureen not as a pop-culture cipher but as a woman whose impact on Ringo, even decades on, remains vivid. Someone, it seems, glimpsed not through the public’s lens, but in the gentle recollections of those left behind. On one hand, she’s negotiating this heavy, lore-laden material; on the other, she’s plotting her own wedding, juggling guest lists and shooting schedules in ways that feel stubbornly ordinary, even as surreal glamour encroaches. Anyone picturing a modern-day Julie Christie weaving through rock’n’roll London might be just about right—if Julie Christie had to rebook her reception venue to accommodate a reshoot.

The Mendes ensemble, meanwhile, reads like a fever-dream cast list: Paul Mescal, Harris Dickinson, Joseph Quinn, Barry Keoghan—each pegged as a different Beatle, with supporting stars in equally head-turning roles. Glance at it and one is reminded, faintly, of the Oscars red carpet—glamour and chaos, both meticulously arranged and entirely unpredictable. Mendes, certain as ever, has summoned a group as likely to bicker as inspire, which any Beatles aficionado will recognize as nothing less than authentic.

Yet beneath the casting announcements and Instagram speculation, a subtle worry hums. Even Sean Ono Lennon, heir to rock’s most mythologized legacy, wonders if the magic will seep through to the TikTok crowd. Will the sunlit psychedelia of “Abbey Road” or the smirk of Beatle boots mean much to kids used to everything arriving as short-form ephemera? It’s hard to say. The Beatles have outlived dozens of generational crises, but nostalgia is a currency that often loses value in the digital marketplace.

Still, the real charm of Mendes’ experiment may lie precisely in these tensions. McKenna-Bruce—once blissfully immune to Beatle-worship—is, in her own way, a portal for skepticism and wonder alike. As she slips into Maureen Starkey, she's forced to carve sense and soul from legendary noise, to resolve tabloid infamy and private devotion within a single, flickering performance. It’s a reminder that every great pop story, when traced back far enough, lands not at the feet of icons, but in the muddled, marvelous lives orbiting them.

And so the age-old melodies find new ears. By the time this four-headed celluloid beast hits the screen, perhaps more than one Gen Z commuter will be thumbing through "Here Comes The Sun" on Spotify, half-curious, half-entranced. Maybe legacy is exactly that unruly—a flash of something golden, passed along in spite of itself. McKenna-Bruce may have come late to the party, but with Mendes at the helm, and Hollywood’s appetite for reinvention undimmed, there’s hope that even the most storied bands can be rediscovered, one accidental convert at a time.

Of course, no guarantee Hollywood gets it all right. But then, the Beatles themselves never did everything according to plan, either.

Sam Mendes has never been one for half-measures. In 2025, as everyone in the industry clutches their pearls over reboot fatigue, he’s quietly marshaling what might be the boldest swing of the decade: not a retread, but a quadriptych—a Beatles biopic in four distinct films, one for each member, styled as a kind of pop culture Rubik’s Cube. Of course, true to its cloak-and-dagger spirit, the production has been wrapped tighter than Ringo's snare drum. Some stars were reportedly under lockdown so strict, they couldn't even confide in family lest Auntie spill the casting beans at Sunday lunch. Only in British cinema.Then there’s the matter of Mia McKenna-Bruce, an ingenue at 28, all charm and candor, suddenly thrust into the role of Maureen Starkey—Ringo’s first wife, no less. Instead of rehearsing Beatles trivia for the part, McKenna-Bruce admitted with disarming honesty (and perhaps a wince) that distinguishing between Lennon and McCartney wasn’t her strong suit. Those iconic records, so often lionized in documentaries and remastered vinyl, simply hadn't carved any deep tracks in her life. Childhood singalongs to “Yellow Submarine” somehow never translated to Beatlemania. And when her co-star Martin Freeman attempted to test her pop knowledge (“What band was Mick Jagger in?”), her response—entirely genuine—was met with the gentle exasperation only a nation of music buffs could muster.The irony, of course, is delicious: casting someone nearly untouched by the mythology of the Beatles to play a woman who embodied its tumultuous undertow. Maureen Starkey isn’t just a footnote in rock history. Her story—Liverpool teenager, whirlwind wedding, bittersweet adulation, and turbulent family life—mirrors the larger narrative of youthful dreams crashing headlong into the relentless flashbulbs of fame. Through Maureen's kitchen-sink reality, one catches glimpses of the cost of Beatlemania, its frenetic joys and its lurking heartbreaks. There’s a reason the phrase "the fifth Beatle" persists—it never belonged to just one outsider, but to the orbit of lives spun out by John, Paul, George, and Ringo.For McKenna-Bruce, this role swings somewhere between historical research and a form of emotional time travel. She’s spoken about Maureen not as a pop-culture cipher but as a woman whose impact on Ringo, even decades on, remains vivid. Someone, it seems, glimpsed not through the public’s lens, but in the gentle recollections of those left behind. On one hand, she’s negotiating this heavy, lore-laden material; on the other, she’s plotting her own wedding, juggling guest lists and shooting schedules in ways that feel stubbornly ordinary, even as surreal glamour encroaches. Anyone picturing a modern-day Julie Christie weaving through rock’n’roll London might be just about right—if Julie Christie had to rebook her reception venue to accommodate a reshoot.The Mendes ensemble, meanwhile, reads like a fever-dream cast list: Paul Mescal, Harris Dickinson, Joseph Quinn, Barry Keoghan—each pegged as a different Beatle, with supporting stars in equally head-turning roles. Glance at it and one is reminded, faintly, of the Oscars red carpet—glamour and chaos, both meticulously arranged and entirely unpredictable. Mendes, certain as ever, has summoned a group as likely to bicker as inspire, which any Beatles aficionado will recognize as nothing less than authentic.Yet beneath the casting announcements and Instagram speculation, a subtle worry hums. Even Sean Ono Lennon, heir to rock’s most mythologized legacy, wonders if the magic will seep through to the TikTok crowd. Will the sunlit psychedelia of “Abbey Road” or the smirk of Beatle boots mean much to kids used to everything arriving as short-form ephemera? It’s hard to say. The Beatles have outlived dozens of generational crises, but nostalgia is a currency that often loses value in the digital marketplace.Still, the real charm of Mendes’ experiment may lie precisely in these tensions. McKenna-Bruce—once blissfully immune to Beatle-worship—is, in her own way, a portal for skepticism and wonder alike. As she slips into Maureen Starkey, she's forced to carve sense and soul from legendary noise, to resolve tabloid infamy and private devotion within a single, flickering performance. It’s a reminder that every great pop story, when traced back far enough, lands not at the feet of icons, but in the muddled, marvelous lives orbiting them.And so the age-old melodies find new ears. By the time this four-headed celluloid beast hits the screen, perhaps more than one Gen Z commuter will be thumbing through "Here Comes The Sun" on Spotify, half-curious, half-entranced. Maybe legacy is exactly that unruly—a flash of something golden, passed along in spite of itself. McKenna-Bruce may have come late to the party, but with Mendes at the helm, and Hollywood’s appetite for reinvention undimmed, there’s hope that even the most storied bands can be rediscovered, one accidental convert at a time.Of course, no guarantee Hollywood gets it all right. But then, the Beatles themselves never did everything according to plan, either.