I'm Not There - A

Theatrical review here.

Biopics have a standard formula: family origins, pre-fame struggles, celebrity, the inevitable fall, then peace and resolution. Recent Oscar-winners Ray and Walk the Line were good movies, well-acted and entertaining, both doing justice for their subjects: Ray Charles and Johnny Cash. But for someone as influential and revolutionary as Bob Dylan, another direction is mandatory. Cowriter-director Todd Haynes’s decision to use 6 separate characters to portray the elusive and chameleonic Dylan is perfectly realized in this complex, stimulating, and emotionally riveting film. (Click below for a rather lengthy review)The film opens with the “fake” Dylan, (named Woody Guthrie and played by Marcus Carl Franklin). Guthrie was Dylan's idol and many the scenes are based on Dylan’s fictional back-stories. He’s encouraged to sing about his “own-time” rather than the real Guthrie’s Depression-era songs. This part of the film is beautifully filmed in yellows and greens and shares artistic similarities with Woody Guthrie’s own biopic Bound for Glory. Franklin is fine as the young Dylan and his abnormally young age shadows Dylan’s maturity at this stage in his life. Dylan’s imagination was already running wild in his late teens.

Throughout the film, there are snippets of the “poet” Dylan (named Arthur Rimbaud and played by Ben Whishaw) – who is the de facto narrator of the film, providing commentary on the action. The dialogue is taken directly from archival interviews. My favorite: “I accept chaos. I am not sure whether it accepts me.” Whishaw delivers his lines gracefully, but it’s Dylan’s own observations that stand out.

In the early 60s, Dylan emerges in New York as the “prophet” Dylan (named Jack Rollins and played by Christian Bale). This section should be recognizable to anyone who has watched Martin Scorsese’s documentary No Direction Home. Many of Dylan’s cover albums and famous snapshots are recreated. Other folk singers at the time (including Julianne Moore) comment on Dylan’s talent. Bale is believable as the earnest folk singer and plays another role later in the film, an evangelical Dylan (Pastor John), which depicts the late 1970s when Dylan converted to Christianity. In his commentary (the best of the year), Haynes said he chose the same actor to play both of these characters since they were the only times when Dylan felt like he had all the answers. Bale is filmed in grainy 16 mm film stock giving a realistic documentary feel.

Meanwhile “star of electricity” Dylan (named Robbie Clark and played by Heath Ledger) meets and marries a French painter (Charlotte Gainsbourg). In the film, Ledger is an actor portraying Bale’s character Rollins. (Gainsbourg is a composite of two women.) Ledger’s character probably causes the most confusion since it is not a definable segment of Dylan’s life, but a separate facet of his life, spread out over 10+ years (1964-mid70s). Many of these scenes are taken from Dylan’s life and his doomed marriage, and other scenes comment on Dylan’s influence on popular culture, including movies. These scenes are filmed straight out of Jean-Luc Godard’s playbook, with quick cuts alternating with long takes, close-ups, long zooms and pans, and sudden sound effects meant to unsettle the viewer. This story is also the emotional backbone of the film, enhanced by Ledger’s unfortunate and untimely death.

In early November 1963, a Newsweek article was released which “outed” Dylan as a middle-class Jewish kid from Minnesota, which contradicted his own backstory as an orphan who traveled the countryside. This event and the JFK assassination transformed Dylan transformed into yet another character: “ghost” Dylan (named Jude Quinn and played by Cate Blanchett). This portion of the film chronicles the 1965 era Dylan while he toured in London. He has turned his back on folk music, feeling like he can’t change the world. He has plugged his guitar into an amplifier and alienated legions of his fans. As the amphetamine-fueled Dylan, Blanchett is mesmerizing and impressive (particularly if you’ve seen D.A. Pennebaker’s 1967 documentary Don’t Look Back). It’s the best female performance since Naomi Watts in Mulholland Drive. Not only does Blanchett get the mannerisms right, but the emotion as well. She’s simultaneously hilarious, insightful, and devastating.

In this segment of the film, Haynes successfully tackles no-less-than Fellini’s 8 ½, filming in high-contrast black and white with exaggerated camera angles. There are dream sequences, musical numbers, and mind-blowing rear-projection shots. When the film stock is sped up when Dylan meets the Beatles, it’s a homage to Richard Lester’s A Hard Day’s Night. During this segment, David Cross gives an uncanny performance as Allen Ginsberg. Bruce Greenwood is equally great as “Mr. Jones”, Dylan’s nemesis reporter.

After his motorcycle crash in 1966, the “outlaw” Dylan shows up. As “Billy the Kid”, Richard Gere gives a terrifically understated performance as the recluse. There are beautiful musical numbers during this portion as the local townsfolk deal with death (of people and their town). Haynes channels the “hippie” westerns of the early 70s, specifically Altman’s McCabe and Mrs. Miller, and Peckinpaugh’s Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid. In that Peckinpaugh film, Kris Kristofferson plays Billy the Kid and Kristofferson partially narrates I’m Not There. It’s that kind of self-referential multi-layered detail that makes this film so rewarding (and causes so many neurons to fire). By the way, Bob Dylan himself appears in Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid and provided the score and songs (including "Knocking on Heaven’s Door").

If you have a work of art, it can be many things to different people. It can even mean different things to you at different times in your life. Dylan’s songs have meant a lot to me for nearly 20 years. He was right to abandon the protest songs and follow his instincts, for it’s the post-protest songs that stand higher today and don’t have to be taken in context. Dylan’s songs are used well in the film, particularly “I Want You”, “Stuck Inside a Mobile with the Memphis Blues”, and Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands”. The film also has one of the most unusual of things: covers of great songs that didn’t make me immediately wish I was listening to the original recordings. But when Dylan’s own voice is heard singing “I’m Not There” (a song I had not heard until this film) at the film’s climax, all the stories come together beautifully.

Dylan wrote the songs of his 1974 album Blood on the Tracks with the idea of parallel story lines (which is also the structure of this film). Richard Gere’s voice-over narration ends the film this way:

“People are always talking about freedom. Freedom to live a certain way – without being kicked around. Of course, the more you live a certain way, the less it feels like freedom. Me? I can change during the course of a day. I wake and I’m one person and when I go to sleep, I’m certain I’m someone else. I don’t know who I am most of the time. It’s like you got yesterday, today, and tomorrow all in the same room. There’s no tellin’ what can happen.”

There’s no tellin’ how many times I’m going to watch this dense and diverse film, searching for new connections and gathering insight; watching a director and actors at the top of their game, doing justice for Bob. A