The quaint Alpine village that got taken over by The Beatles

When they were younger, ‘oh so much younger than today’, the Fab Four made a series of films designed to capitalise on the Beatlemania that, in the 1960s, was steadily sweeping the world. Fervent adoration of a European musical figure or group had not reached such frenzied levels since the Lisztomania fad of the 1840s (for Hungarian composer Franz Liszt) and fan-targeted film tie-ins, such as those starring Elvis Presley and Cliff Richard, were all the rage.

Following the success of 1964’s A Hard Day’s Night, director Richard Lester took the Liverpudlian quartet on a surreal globe-trotting escapade for the following year’s Help!, a feature-length proto-music-video for their fifth studio album of the same name. The bizarre plot, what little of it there was, revolved around the pursuit of a mystical ring worn by, appropriately enough, Ringo Starr. It was a case of ‘band on the run’ (both finger and musical kind) as the Fab Four were chased from Britain to the Bahamas, via the Alps, by an Eastern cult — a comic parody of the real-life villainous sect from India called The Thuggee, whose members provided the origin of the English word ‘thug’.

Manager Brian Epstein chose the filming locations: New Providence and Paradise Island in the Bahamas for the sun (and, according to Lester, tax reasons) and Obertauern in Austria for the snow, which was required for the scenes in which the quartet — incongruously attired in the Swinging London fashions of the day — flee their pursuers on skis, toboggans, snowmobiles and even through a delightfully explosive game of curling with Roy Kinnear and Victor Spinetti.

As well as proximity to Salzburg — into which The Beatles and a 60-strong film crew flew during March 1965 to be greeted by 5,000 fans (mostly female, mainly screaming) — Obertauern offered an advantage over other winter-sports resorts, such as Kitzbühel, that had also been considered. ‘As the snowiest destination in Austria — we receive an average depth of 264cm — it was the only place where they could count on snow that late in the season,’ says Lukas Eisl from the local tourism office. ‘Obertauern sits at 1,750 metres above sea level with the ski lifts rising up to 2,300 metres. Its location on the Radstädter Tauern Pass means we get two different snowstorms hitting it in winter, which pretty much guarantees perfect skiing conditions.'

With the white stuff sorted, one problem remained: none of The Beatles, who were all in their early twenties, could actually ski. A solution was provided in the form of four instructors from the local Krallinger ski school. The men, clad in fur coats, dark glasses and wigs, doubled as the Fab Four in any scenes requiring a modicom of alpine aptitude. One of those instructors was Herbert Lürzer whose family own the Edelweiss Sporthotel where Messrs Lennon, McCartney, Harrison and Starr stayed (in separate rooms on the second floor that can still be booked today).

A memorial to Obertauern’s most famous guests stands outside the Edelweiss, erected 10 years ago to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the film. An even larger-than-life version, the ‘Beatles denkmal’, welcomes guests to Obertauern on the gentle slopes opposite the Steiner Hotel.

‘The Beatles came,’ Herbert recalls, ‘and someone said: “You’re about Paul’s size — you’ll be Paul.”’ Far from being starstruck, the 82-year-old reveals that they ‘couldn’t ski at all’ and they had to ‘teach them very slowly, step by step. Even using the lift was difficult’.

Although their skills on the slopes may have been questionable at best, they excelled in one off-piste activity: après-ski. In the bar of the Marietta Hotel, where the rest of the crew stayed, the Beatles staged an impromptu and unofficial concert one evening (their only one in Austria) that continued into the early hours. McCartney, being the only member of the band travelling without a female companion, had struck up a friendship with the hotel owner’s 22-year-old daughter, Gloria ‘Gigi’ Mackh. Gigi spoke excellent English and her translation skills may well have prompted the (at that time) single Beatle to prolong the performance.

Renamed ‘Places by Valamar’, the hotel still possesses the drum kit used by Ringo Starr, now enshrined within a glass case. Another instrument from that night has also been preserved for posterity, on celluloid. The Marietta’s Bösendorfer grand piano was hoisted 6,463ft up the mountain by helicopter to be used in the Ticket to Ride sequence of the film. A shiny replica now stands in its place, reached via the Grünwaldkopfbahn gondola. Its lower station stands opposite a branch of the Sport Gefäll shop from which The Beatles rented their Kneissl skis.

Sport Gefäll’s new owner Peter Kernstock (previously head chef of the Marietta Hotel) remembers that the piano was completely ruined — probably due to the cold and snow, combined with the fact that Harrison and Lennon stood right inside the piano during shooting. ‘When the film crew checked out of the Marietta,’ Peter explains, ‘they were charged with the cost of replacing the piano. Richard Lester said: “Okay, but then deduct it from what we’ll charge you for having the biggest group in the world play a concert in your bar!”’

During my summertime visit to Obertauern, I saw neither skis nor snow — although I’d only missed the last flurry by weeks, according to locals. Instead, I hiked around the Hundsfeld Moor (moorland) where The Beatles filmed the scenes on snow bikes. Filled with the healthy aroma of Zirbe (Pinus cembra), it’s believed to be one of only two places in Europe (the other being in Sweden) where a small, rare bird called the red-spotted bluethroat (Luscinia svecica) nests, making Obertauern popular with bird enthusiasts, as well as Beatles fans.

Over an excellent Wiener Schnitzel in the town’s five-star Seekarhaus Hotel, where two menus signed by the Beatles are displayed proudly on the wall, I rewatched the Obertauern section of Help! on my phone (with sound off, naturally, out of respect for other diners). It’s not as if hearing the dialogue would help it make any more sense, anyway. Even some members of the cast are still flummoxed by the film. As Herr Lürzer writes in his memoirs (Die Beatles und Ich) about the time when a small, but beautiful ski resort in the Austrian Alps became, for one week, the epicentre of the Swinging Sixties: ‘Now that it’s all 60 years ago, I think I can reveal: I still don’t really understand the script.’

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