LONDON — Have the 1960s been fetishized to a point where the decade is now seen as a storybook utopia of political, environmental, and cultural superiority by people who fancy themselves greater than the greatest generation? Or at least consider themselves the most tuned-in generation?

I wouldn’t touch that question with a 10-foot bouffant. But 50-plus years later there seems to be no escaping the impact of the 1960s. Here’s a bit of evidence to back that up: During a single September week in London, a new Beatles documentary opened in theaters, news broke that long-married Petula Clark had a man on the side (!), and at London Fashion Week, designer Mary Katrantzou showed a collection influenced by psychedelic art from the 1960s.

The fringe on this nostalgic miniskirt could be found at the Victoria and Albert Museum as it opened a sprawling exhibition called “You Say You Want a Revolution? Records and Rebels 1966-1970’’ (on display through Feb. 26, 2017). The merchandise tie-ins at the V&A gift shop featured a selection of Twiggy postcards and buttons reading “Peace is Patriotic,’’ “Psychedeicize Suburbia,’’ and “Is There Life After Youth?’’

Is this the lasting impact of a generation that optimistically tried to change the world, or simply a generation that can’t stop talking about the good old days? “Revolution’’ makes a strong case for the former, with its exhaustive collection of artifacts representing music, design, fashion, consumerism, and politics.

It’s an ambitious mélange which goes as big as displays of the satin military-inspired uniforms worn by George Harrison and John Lennon on the cover of “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band’’ and as small as Twiggy-brand hangers. There are handwritten song lyrics from some of the decade’s biggest artists, political posters, and the dress that Dusty Springfield wore on the cover of “Dusty... Definitely.’’

I’m not a baby boomer, and I was still in awe of these artifacts, right down to notes left on a tree at Woodstock. Who had the foresight to save these? As a pop culture aficionado, how could I not feel thrilled standing next to Jane Fonda’s barely-there “Barbarella’’costume?

I was dazed by the riot of color and psychedelic patterns that abounded as my personal headset guided me through the show with a somewhat predictable soundtrack of hits.

The exhibition even attempts to recreate the Woodstock experience with the 1970 film of the defining concert playing on a surround screen with the audio pounding through one of the most impressive sound systems I’ve ever heard. On the day I visited, a pair of boomers groaned as they lowered themselves onto beanbags in the faux grass to watch. Sadly the V&A didn’t recreate those famous Woodstock mud pits on Max Yasgur’s farm.

“I wished I had gone,’’ said 68-year-old Yvette Murphy as she watched Joe Cocker scream-sing from her bean bag. “I was a hell-raiser. I could have had a bit of fun.’’

“You Say You Want a Revolution?’’ is probably the closest anyone can get to Woodstock in 2016. There’s a kaftan that was worn by Grace Slick, a Native American-inspired suit worn by Who lead singer Roger Daltry, and a guitar used by Jimi Hendrix. Lists and diagrams of Woodstock logistics neatly scrawled on scraps of paper by organizers sit in glass cases. How these pieces survived intact is almost as mind-boggling as the recordings of people describing their experiences on LSD.

Before Woodstock, we need to back up. “Revolution’’ kicks off with the culture shock of London’s 1966 youthquake. The exhibition begins with a look at the fashion of the Carnaby Street scene. There are Mary Quantdresses, a men’s jacket from the quintessential Carnaby Street boutique Granny Takes a Trip, and a small recreation of Vidal Sassoon’s salon. I watched a hairdresser snip at a model’s wig, recreating one of Sassoon’s short, geometric bobs.

“Revolution’’ thrives on pop culture, counter culture, and the experimental drugs that fueled much of the rebellion and free love. There are reminders everywhere of the political calls to action that permeated nearly every aspect of youth culture. A section of “Revolution’’ focused on consumerism looks solidly at an optimistic future that could perhaps have been a goal of the movement. At least for those not ready for life on the commune. A space age Pierre Cardindress, futuristic furniture, and images from Montreal’s Expo 67 all serve as reminders of a “Jetsons’’ Shangri-La that never came to pass.

The good vibrations occasionally need reigning in. The show ends as bright and cheery as a Peter Max painting with John Lennon’s “Imagine’’ playing while you exit. What would feel more authentic is a balanced look at the legacy, and how it crashed to an end with the disastrous and violent Altamont Free Concert (sometimes called “Woodstock West’’) of Dec. 1969. It cast a dark pallor and effectively ended the age of Aquarius.

The sweetness of Coca-Cola teaching the world to sing in perfect harmony in 1971 may have sugared over a bit of the end-of-the-1960s bitterness, but the let-the-sunshine-in ethos never felt as genuine in the 1970s as it did in the 1960s.

Still, as much as all this can be seen as a blast from the past, the legacy of the era persists as two baby boomers vie to be president of the United States and Bob Dylan wins the Nobel Prize in literature, each shaped by very different values of the 1960s.

“Revolution’’ glides too quickly over the feminist movement, gay rights, and black power, but it’s hard to find too much fault here. This is an era that has already been analyzed ad nauseam. “Revolution’’ fills in many of the blanks through the sheer volume of artifacts and a smart, all-encompassing approach. It is, to borrow a lyric, a long, strange trip.

“You Say You Want a Revolution? Records and Rebels 1966-1977’’ runs through Feb. 26 at the Victoria and Albert Museum. Tickets are $20.

Christopher Muther can be reached at muther@globe.com. Follow him on Twitter@Chris_Muther and on Instagram @Chris_Muther.