While driving across the country a few years ago, filmmaker Todd Haynes decided to get reacquainted with an old friend. The man’s music had always meant something to him, but he never really made the link between the breadth of what he accomplished (and continued to do so) vs. the scope of how he changed the cultural landscape. The name Bob Dylan still demands respect worthy of a major historical icon, and he continues to make meaningful contributions to the craft of songwriting.
But once Haynes began to dig into his four-decade-long catalog, he realized that there was more to this man than just his art. For his entire career, Dylan was a shapeshifting chameleon who used his place and position to explore many facets of the American experience. As a result, any biography would have to examine him from as many perspectives as possible.
Thus, I’m Not There was born, a sinfully rich reduction of everything Dylan meant to music since his folk revisionism hit New York’s Village in the late ’50s. Breaking down the man’s personality into his roots (played by the adolescent Marcus Carl Franklin), his workingman blues (a fierce Christian Bale), his poetic side (Ben Whishaw), his superstar sizzle (the magnificent Cate Blanchett), his personal life struggles (Heath Ledger), his conversion to Christianity (Bale again) and his old age iconography (Richard Gere), we get biography as ballyhoo. Dylan’s biographical truth is tempered by the surrounding myths, folklore, rumors, and innuendos that make up this legend’s ample aura. Using nods to films and filmmakers of the specific era, Haynes wraps everything up in a visual grace that is astounding and then populates it with impressive performances.
For Haynes, perhaps best known as the idiosyncratic mind behind the deconstructionist dramas Safe and Far from Heaven, tackling the life and times of one Bob “Zimmerman” Dylan was not really a stretch. This was a man who had previously unraveled the days and death of Karen Carpenter and a fairytale view of Iggy/Bowie glam rock. So making a film about a musician wasn’t out of the question, even one of this importance. Yet Hayes’ decision to use several different actors to portray Dylan, including a young black boy and a woman, raised a few eyebrows. Then again, few should have twitched. After all, this man used Barbie dolls to tell the tragic story of an anorexic star in 1987’s Superstar: The Story of Karen Carpenter. A little invention should have been anticipated with I’m Not There. Yet many questioned the multilayered motivation. Luckily, we now have a medium that allows Haynes to provide some backstory.
As with many of his films, I’m Not There takes a bit of getting used to. While Haynes tosses in all these asides, in-jokes, and visual cues to keep us connected, seeing a small boy of color mimic Dylan’s earliest poses is still visually puzzling. As he travels from locale to locale, hoping trains and trading war stories with his fellow hobos, we can see the dream forming in the child’s impressionable head. But that doesn’t explain the weird, almost off-kilter design of Haynes’ film.
Dylan’s youth wasn’t factually similar to the events portrayed in I’m Not There. Instead, Haynes appears to be reaching across a more metaphysical interpretation of the man’s make-up. Thanks to the commentary, everything is made clear. I’m Not There becomes the Gravity’s Rainbow of rock star bio-pics thanks to this DVD overview from Lionsgate.
Once we get to Bale’s performance, the cinematic stars align. Frankly, had Haynes decided to make a straightforward biopic with the superb UK young gun as his muse, no one would have complained. Bale has the Greenwich glower of the coffee house-era Dylan down pat, and when he lip-syncs to versions of the bard’s best songs, he captures the subject’s stern determinism. Granted, Bale is a little too hunky to play the whisper-thin folkie (all that Batman bulk just can’t be hidden), but from an inner angst standpoint, his performance as Dylan is amazing.
So is the late, great Heath Ledger, as long as we’re talking about enigmatic men. His chapter in I’m Not There is a tough one to deliver. He’s the private Dylan – married man, cheat, father, deadbeat – and it’s often not a pretty picture. The emotions are so raw that Haynes chokes up during interviews when revisiting the actor’s work.
Then Cate Blanchett arrives in her incarnation of Dylan. To call her turn here magnificent is an undeserving understatement. She is regal, almost unrecognizable. She masterfully morphs into the pot-scented genius who ruled his world with a typewriter and a six-string. She is I’m Not There’s trump card, its piecemeal paradigm of fame, disillusion, influence, and flaws. During a fictional recreation of Dylan’s disastrous Newport Jazz Festival plug-in, Blanchett is so callous and cool we can feel the vibe resonating from the screen.
The second disc’s deleted/ extended/ alternative scenes show how her performance grew. The auditions and interview material also provide insight into how this glamorous beauty turned into an androgynous ’60s stalwart.
This leaves Whishaw and Gere’s performences. Of the two, Ben Wishaw, the Perfume: Story of a Murderer star, comes off best. He’s not given much to do. He stares at the camera and reads off a list of inspired Dylan via Arthur Rambeau witticisms. He definitely looks the part – naïve wordsmith playing with his philosophies – but his purpose would be much harder to define without the commentary. Things are even worse for Gere – until the Lionsgate DVD set helps him out. In theaters, Gere was the weakest link in this material, his Dylan as a resident of the aforementioned surreal turn-of-the-century backwater burg. The carnival Wild West inferences seem especially odd, particularly when the midsection of his career is so intriguing (we see Bale momentarily reprising his role during Dylan’s conversion to Christianity). Luckily, Haynes is there to uncover the many mysteries.
One must remember that I’m Not There is not meant to be a realistic, fact-based overview of the seminal pop culture figure’s life. I’m Not There is not Walk the Line or even Ray. It’s more like Lisztomania, and other outrageous biographical freak shows created by that cinematic savant Ken Russell. In fact, with a few more bloody crucifixes and a rasher of naked girls, I’m Not There could be a hidden gem from the now 80-year-old English oddball.
With I’m Not There, Haynes treats his creative canvas like a slightly less sloppy Jackson Pollack, infusing his images with a contrasting color/black and white visual friction that breeds both contemplation and contempt. Even more confusing, we get actual Dylan recordings juxtaposed against obvious imitators. It’s as if Haynes decided to throw out the motion picture playbook this time and go on instinct. Luckily, most of his impulses are dead on.
If you want a realistic recreation of Dylan’s cultural impact, of how he turned his love of Woody Guthrie and traditional music into a significant social stance, watch Martin Scorsese’s magnificent documentary No Direction Home. If, on the other hand, you don’t mind a wonderful, if slightly uneven, look at how one man becomes many, figuratively redefining his art along the way, stick with I’m Not There.