A Complete Unknown film review

This is my first film review. It’s a long one with lots of contextual paraphernalia thrown in. If you’re not versed in Bob Dylan’s story, there are heavy spoilers.

The context

It's rare nowadays that a mainstream studio will touch a true maverick on screen. While Bob Dylan is one of the biggest selling and most culturally-significant artists of all time, his reputation as a contrarian and an enigma has never gone away. He's still a complete unknown, to everyone but himself. Even then, I wonder if he can even remember who the real Robert Zimmerman is or was.

This is my first film review. It’s a long one with lots of contextual paraphernalia thrown in. For the film itself skip ahead!

***Spoilers, obviously.***

Whether or not you like his music, his impact on popular culture was seismic. In America particularly. He arrived in New York as a scruffy, ambitious boy with an innate ability to absorb the influences around him - musical, literary, and political - and spit them back out in revelatory ways that represented a clear break from all that had come before. A barely concealed but impenetrable intellect masked with awkward swagger.

American folk music was gradually gaining momentum as a force for positivity and change through entertainment. Popularism and youth culture were new ideas. Emblematic of this was the arrival of Elvis, Buddy Holly, Little Richard and rock 'n' roll in general. The Beatles were just round the corner. Folk and rock 'n' roll butted heads. One represented a way of redefining tradition and using it as a force for positive change - Woody Guthrie graffitied his guitar with the immortal line "This machine kills fascists". More on him later. The other represented change by way of a split from all that came before. Electric music for the electric age, defined by rebellion, bacchanalia and the sexual revolution.

This was set against a backdrop of huge political upheaval. This included the Kennedy assassination, nuclear panic, and the burgeoning Civil Rights movement; three defining 20th century events from Walt Whitman's America.

When Dylan sang:

"Come mothers and fathers throughout the land

And don't criticize what you can't understand

Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command

Your old road is rapidly agin'

Please get out of the new one if you can't lend your hand

For the times, they are a-changin'"

I firmly believe he was aiming this not only at the establishment - calling for conservative minds and politicians to open their eyes to change - but also the very folk movement he came into and was already desperate to get free of. He was shedding skins fast, and they couldn't keep up. This was borne out during the crux of the period and this film; the move to electric music that would represent the end of "Dylan: Protest Singer".

The Film

Bob Dylan wanted artistic freedom. His true self was in his songs and almost nowhere else. They represented a facet of his personality. But to perform them he had to inhabit a character. A hillbilly gunslinger that drew on Woody Guthrie, Leadbelly, and the lesser known Johnnie Ray. As the film alludes: “You can be beautiful or you can be ugly but you can’t be plain.” Whether it comes from intellect, insecurity or a cocktail of both, the greatest artists know that to be remembered, you have to be distinct. It’s communicating who you are through an exaggerated filter; that very mask offering you protection from showing the true, unremarkable version of yourself. Dylan knew this, and the film nails this aspect of his character.

The film opens as the excellent autobiography Chronicles opens. He’s hitched a ride to the Big Apple and with a few grunted thanks, gets out and wanders into a cafe. He has a set of clothes, a duffle bag and a guitar. He also has newspaper cutting with him - the protest singer Woody Guthrie is in hospital. Young Bobby (Timothée Chalamet) wants to visit him.

Here we meet both Guthrie (Scott McNairy) and one of the two biggest influences on this era of Dylan’s life, well-mannered folk singer Pete Singer (Edward Norton). McNairy’s sensitive portrayal of a hero wounded by Huntington’s Disease is moving from the off. The unspoken respect between him and Chalamet’s Dylan is felt immediately. The balance between the three men is beautifully played, with Dylan feeling like the child against Seeger and Guthrie’s quiet maturity.

Edward Norton’s Pete Seeger represents the world opening up to the young songwriter, soon to be overtaken by his turbocharged creativity and need for forward motion. Seeger at first feels like a steady and welcoming - even progressive - father figure. But like all masters, the student outmaneuvers him and he comes to embody all that is old and out of touch.

The wheels are in motion. Chalamet begins to open up from the down-at-heel Minnesota boy into a regular face on the New York folk scene. His rising star is then dwarfed by the arrival of Joan Baez (Monica Barbaro), a scene favourite who would grace the covers of Time magazine. The mixed-race, socially-conscious Baez is played to perfection by Barbaro. She’s already a veteran and you feel it. She’s tough and doesn’t suffer fools, but her artistic leanings are thrown into frame by the supporting cast of suits. Management types who see dollar signs, and the old guard refusing to believe that music is changing.

A standout here is Dan Fogler as Dylan’s manager Albert Grossman. His arc is satisfying and well-presented; from money-grabbing, cigar-chomping buffoon to standing by Dylan’s need to change and the gradual acceptance from a wider audience.

The character of Sylvie (Elle Fanning) is here to represent Dylan’s first New York girlfriend Susan Elizabeth Rotolo. He asked that her name be changed. I’ll call her Sylvie from now on. Their chemistry is very believable. Fanning and Chalamet play off of each very well. Sylvie is our eyes onto Dylan, right in the face of his frustrating impenetrability. Fanning portrays her as quietly confident, a little innocent, socially-aware and studious. She is the first person to ‘get’ young Bobby. In terms of a singular influence on who he would become, Sylvie’s importance can’t be overstated. She steadied him and forced him to grow up a bit. In turn, he channeled her cultural touchstones and social conscience. But their key differences - his aloofness and slobbery; her prudence and need to know him - drove a wedge between them.

She goes on a trip and soon Dylan’s thoughts turn to the enticing Baez. She represents a world he wants to be a part of. The build up to their affair is well-crafted. Subtle glances between Chalamet and Barbaro; his ambitious nobody to her established star. The setup is riveting. It’s made all the more maddening by Fanning’s inherent likeability - the Dylan/Baez coupling feels more natural, but we’re invested in Sylvie.

Throughout the first act, the TV is used as a framing device for the backdrop to Dylan’s writing. We learn about the Civil Rights movement and the folk singers’ crucial rolls in it; Joan Baez performing at a rally is shot almost like-for-like to the original. Her pure and classical voice exploding the black and white into passionate colour. In a powerful scene, we see the nuclear threat broadcast live to the nation. Outside, cab drivers are panicking and people are looting. Dylan is on the street. Where does he go? To a folk club. Baez appears. Here he performs his anthem “Masters of War” for the first time. Previously unimpressed by him, she is reeling from this. They come together as if it’s their last night. It’s an intensely charged moment.

Then Joan wakes up. Bob is in bed and the sun is shining. Everyone and everything is still here. I will say I found the tweeting birds a bit silly; it’s New York, you’re not hearing any birdsong. But the setup is lovely. Serene and dreamlike, as if we’re rubbing our eyes and coming round from a heavy night.

This is another wonderful scene. Baez is making coffee as a shirtless, mean spirited Dylan cuts into her songwriting. Coming out of nowhere, you realise that he can’t see why she’d be offended by this. She quickly reposts, asking him to “Play this one”, handing him a piece of paper. He plays “Blowin’ in the Wind” for the first time. She awkwardly starts to harmonise with him, jibing “You should let me sing this”.

Something this film succeeded in was showing the near obsession Dylan had for writing. In a rare interview on 60 Minutes, the man himself said: “I don’t know how I got to write those songs. Those early songs were almost magically written.” It put him at odds with the world around him, even when he was observing it so clearly. At that moment, nothing else was really there. This is typified by a scene where, in the middle of the night, Joan Baez is awoken to find him out of bed. The lamp is on and he’s writing, repeating the same line over and over, working on what would become “It’s Alright Ma (I’m Only Bleeding)”; perhaps his 60s lyrical peak. Chalamet nails these scenes, gracefully depicting the tension between elbow grease and knowing when to trust the muse and let it lead you.

But here is a criticism, and something that all biopics suffer from. As a Dylan fan, the many scenes of him performing the classics - sometimes in full - are exhilarating as they are frustrating. It’s a treat to see and hear them performed by Chalamet in high definition. They still feel important. But they also pad a runtime which would have been better served exploring his relationships more deeply. Dylan should always feel out of reach. That’s true to who he is. But the supporting cast - Pete, Sylvie and Joan in particular - needed more screen time. Their portrayals are riveting, but they’re not in it enough. Edward Norton’s Seeger gets the best airing. I came away feeling I knew him better than going in.

Timothée Chalamet is incredible as the public face of Bob Dylan. At times, I forgot who I was watching. It’s studied without feeling unnatural. Throughout the film, it’s made very clear that he doesn’t like to wear one face for too long. He does the infantile “Don’t pin me down” very well. But Robert Zimmerman he is not. I don't think anyone - perhaps even the man himself - knows who that is anymore.

A common criticism of A Complete Unknown is its failure to delve into his childhood and his pre-New York life. Hints are shown - a house party where his old scrapbooks are left on display to the amusement of guests - as is Sylvie’s realisation that she doesn’t know her partner at all. From a moviegoer’s point-of-view, yes, this is annoying. It’s dangled in front of your eyes but never given to you. But that’s who he was and is. He has taken great pains to leave his days in Hibbing, Minnesota out to pasture. Like his songs, his many faces are loaded. It’s up to you to decide what they mean. The clue is in the title. A Complete Unknown is deliberate.

In the 60 Minutes interview, he said:

“You know I never did [feel like Robert Zimmerman].”

In the magnificent Martin Scorsese documentary No Direction Home, he says my favourite line:

“I was born a long way from where I’m supposed to be. I’m on my way home.”

Bob continues to visit Woody Guthrie as his condition deteriorates. I love these scenes. Chamalee and McNairy feel comfortable in silence. Bob plays him a song or blows the harmonica, and Woody listens intently. Their relationship evolves throughout the film to one of quiet friendship and mutual respect. These scenes feel like interludes, allowing us to pause for breath before moving to the next major event.

Pen pal and soon to be friend Johnny Cash (Boyd Holbrook) is a worthy addition. With limited screen time, Holbrook carves out a stellar and distinctive performance of the Man in Black. This is doubly impressive considering director James Mangold also did Walk the Line, with a career-high performance by Joaquin Phoenix. At times, Holbrook threatens to upstage Chalamet. All their scenes together a cinema magic. The messy mid-60s Cash - more than a little oiled, fueled by his impulsive, idealistic personality - is a great foil to the considered, cogs-whirring Dylan. He is the only person other than Sylvie to ‘get’ Dylan and encourage him to pursue his own path.

Peppered throughout the film, we see managers and Newport staff like Alan Lomax (Norbert Leo ButzI) condemn the burgeoning electric rock ‘n’ roll and blues scenes. He sees them as ‘fake’, inauthentic. This is A Complete Unknown telling us how set in their ways and soon to be out of touch these people were. Lomax’s portrayal is a little ridiculous, coming off as a ‘get off my lawn’ boomer with zero sympathy for anything new. It’s true that he didn’t like electric folk music, but Butzl overcooks it here.

The crux of the film comes at Newport ‘65. It’s here we see old Dylan shed his skin. To ride off into the sunset a new version of himself. For all this means, A Complete Unknown balances it beautifully. Reuniting with Sylvie and riding with him to the festival, it’s immediately clear why their relationship can never work. She watches from stage-left as he performs again with Joan Baez. The adoring thousands effectively take him away from her in favour of this idealised artistic pairing. Despite the tumult at the root of the Dylan/Baez coupling, their image is burned into the mid-60s revolution, and Sylvie feels like a spare part. Depending on your reading of the scene, it casts Baez as ‘the other woman’. This is to seriously undermine are importance in the story of both Dylan and the 60s youth movement.

History is tweaked for the sake of dramatic licence. Sylvie wasn’t at Newport in 1965. He was already with Sara Lowndes by then. This is the difficulty in balancing fact with engrossing character development - when the supporting cast is revolving, it’s difficult to get invested. To a Dylan devotee it’s irritating, but we get more Elle Fanning, which can only be a good thing.

She runs for the ferry and in a decidedly un-Bob moment, he chases after her one last time. We get a touching finale with Sylvie realising she cannot continue this journey with him. Separating the characters with a wire fence is a little on the nose, but Chamalee and Fanning’s chemistry pulls you in. It’s a work of fiction, but feels true to who they were to each other. It’s an acknowledgement of her importance in the Dylan story; would he give such respect to anyone else?

Dylan Goes Electric

After several dynamite recording studio scenes hinting at his new direction, it’s the moment everyone is waiting for. Dylan goes electric in front of an audience crying “Judas”, hurling abuse and detritus at the band. To those who weren’t there, it’s probably hard to understand how important this moment was. It marked the tipping point between the Dylan of old and new. The backlash, though by no means universal, was real.

It’s played for drama in A Complete Unknown, and it annoyed me. The abuse happened at Newport, yes, but the cries of “Judas” happened in Manchester, England. This subtle change for the sake of good cinema felt unnecessary. It’s compounded when Pete Seeger looks to take an axe to the cables feeding into the PA system. He’s stopped by his wife Toshi (Eriko Hatsune), but then fights with the sound team. It feels at odds with the likeable if bland character we’ve come to know. In reality, Seeger said later: “If I’d had an axe, I’d have probably cut the power”.

Audience members revolt and leave. Dylan returns solo to perform “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue” acoustically, to rapturous applause. But the times, they are a’changing.

Newport ‘65 ends with audience members partying as Pete Seeger retires to his room. Edward Norton’s charisma is in full force here. Seeger’s steadiness now feels old, and the youthful exuberance of the scene is undercut by his sombre, silent performance.

The end

Fittingly, we get one last scene between Bob and Woody. He would die two years later. We watch through Woody’s eyes as Dylan rides off on his motorcycle, accelerating before the cut to black.

So, A Complete Unknown has its problems. But I think it’s a damn good attempt to know someone unknowable. It’s evocative without really teaching us anything. For a more successful depiction of his complexities, I’m Not There is the way to go. It’s an arty and offbeat affair that is a non-linear Dylan biopic in all but name. Six actors portraying six characters representing the sides of an influential and challenging artist. It’s like watching his thoughts spill out in widescreen. But that film too has its problems, getting hung up on caricature and ignoring the fact that a real human exists at the centre of it all.

Timothée Chalamet was excellent and embodying 'the character of Dylan'. His seemingly possessed drive to move forward at the expense of all else was well-depicted, I thought. I agree that the characters of Sylvie and Pete - probably his two biggest influences in New York - could have been explored further, but the portrayals were excellent. I think for Dylan fans who want a respectful and well-made - if a little safe - film, it will do the job.

***½