Walking out of A Complete Uknown and into the streets of New York City, not far from where Bob Dylan tramped about in his vagabond days of the 1960s, I felt empty and unsatisfied. Far from unlocking the secrets of the widely heralded singer-songwriter's heart, co-writer/director James Mangold's biographical drama keeps the man behind the legend and lyrics a mystery. But as I've gotten distance from that night, I've come to appreciate in reflection that this was precisely Mangold's purpose.
Dylan's lyrics in songs like "The Times They Are A-Changin'" and "Blowin' in the Wind" spoke to his generation and generations to follow. Now 83, he is still a massive influence, not just on folk music but also rock and American music as a whole. Because so many relate to his lyrics, we like to think we could relate to him. As we do with all celebrities whose work we admire or whose personas we envy, we yearn to confirm that they are who we imagine, and in some way are like us. And yet, they don't owe us this interiority. Dylan, even in his decades of fame, even as he chaotically tweets, is still — after 60 years in the spotlight — an unknown in many ways.
The title of this film, pulled from Dylan's lyrics for "Like a Rolling Stone," warns audiences at the outset. A Complete Unknown, despite its immersive and rigorous re-creation of the 1960s folk era and a star-studded cast committed to capturing the specifics of luminaries like Dylan, Woody Guthrie, Pete Seeger, Johnny Cash, and Joan Baez, refuses to play by the expectations of a standard Hollywood biopic by demystifying its subject. From the first scene to the finale, Dylan (as portrayed by Timothée Chalamet) is a man who is of the people and yet apart from them. He refuses to be held down by social norms, romantic obligations, genre conventions, or community pressures. Perhaps he is sincere. Perhaps his mystique is a pose. Perhaps we don’t really want to know.
A Complete Unknown travels from Dylan's beginnings in music to the jolt of him going electric.
Adapted from Elijah Wald's book Dylan Goes Electric! Newport, Seeger, Dylan, and the Night That Split the Sixties, Mangold's movie begins in 1961 New York City, where a scrawny, scraggly man struts through Manhattan's downtown streets, a newspaper clipping in his hand. Bob Dylan (Chalamet) is seeking out the hospice where his idol, Woody Guthrie (Scoot McNairy), idles, partially paralyzed and voiceless but not alone. Tracing him to Jersey, Dylan comes upon another folk star, Pete Seeger (Edward Norton), who not only walks the walk of singing political songs but also defends them against a government terrified of the voice of its people.
The three become fast friends, the thrumming of their connection as instant and enchanting as the song Dylan plays to impress his heroes. Soon, he'll find not only his place in the folk scene and Greenwich Village but also in the bed of a beautiful artist and activist called Sylvie Russo (Elle Fanning). (She is based on Dylan's ex Suze Rotolo, who is pictured along the musician on 1963's album cover for The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan.) But once Dylan hits his groove, the film launches forward several years to 1965, when he's an established megastar whose emerging interest in electric guitar threatens to outrage his fanbase at the Newport Folk Festival, and his early allies.
Timothée Chalamet is perfectly earnest yet irritating as Bob Dylan.
This, too, is the point. Whether flirting with Sylvie or playing for Woody, young Bob is devotedly constructing his own mythology. To his fellow male musicians, this is easily accepted; the construction of his stage persona is as valid as his scribbling lyrics or building his band. However, Dylan's female lovers suffer the friction where fiction meets real life.
While among his boys, he is cool and charmingly chaotic, to the women in his life he is a charismatic terror. His tales of carnival origins collide with personal mementos that lay bare his real name (Robert Zimmerman) and banal middle-class background. Though they live together, Sylvie demands to know the "real" Bob. Meanwhile, Dylan's sometimes-lover, sometimes-rival Joan Baez (Monica Barbaro) confronts the creative genius at his most desperate and selfish as he crashes into her hotel room to insult her craftsmanship while disturbing her peace, casually snatching her guitar.
Simply put, this Dylan is a fuckboy, thinking chiefly of himself with great esteem, despite the heavy reliance he has on others to house him, make the coffee, and give him the support his early career demands. Chalamet effortlessly flits about from stage to motorcycle ride to crummy hotel room, embracing the rogue poet and his indulgences at every turn. Chalamet's movie star charm smooths some of the rough edges, but his performance smartly allows Dylan's tenacious self-centeredness to sting.
This portrayal sings that this is a man who dances to the beat of his own drum, whatever the costs. But what drives the beating of that drum is left undiscovered. Maybe the audience is invited to psychoanalyze Bob's motivations behind his sometimes impulsive, often reckless actions. But after 60 years, no one has been able to succinctly distill Dylan. (Coming close may have been Todd Haynes with I'm Not There, the surreal biopic that had a slate of actors play the singer through various guises in settings fictional, factual, and parable.)
Edward Norton, Elle Fanning, and Monica Barbaro are the heart of A Complete Unknown.
Because Mangold's script binds his audience to a protagonist who willfully distances himself from everyone, it's essential that the supporting players erupt with the emotions Bob could never dare express. Norton, Fanning, and Barbaro do so in a symphony of feelings, which carry the film.
For his part, Norton plays a warm father figure. The edge of the actor's early career, when he played harrowing killers in Primal Fear and American History X, has been softened by the gentle sag of middle age, as well as an elegant mellowing of spirit. As Pete stands before a scowling government official, playing Guthrie's "This Land is Your Land" sweetly but defiantly, the eloquence and wisdom of rebelling with a genuine smile is made clear. This enchanting scene also sets the stage for how drastically different Dylan's brand of raspy, mumbled, and disillusioned folk was from his icons.
Sunny, sophisticated, and street-smart, Sylvie is a dream girl for a starving artist new to the city. Far from some doting hanger-on, Fanning brings a sturdy intellect to Sylvie's every knowing stare, raised eyebrow, and patient reply. If anyone should have been easy to open yourself to, it should have been her. That Bob can't is his tragedy, not hers.
Last but not least, Barbaro is a revelation as Joan Baez. Her voice is pretty, where Bob's is rough. He is swift to mock her publicly and privately for her beauty, and for trying too hard. It's a critique that's distinctly misogynistic, ignoring the unforgiving double standards women face, and Joan doesn't let him get away with it. She calls him an asshole to his face, but — notably — after a night in bed together.
Baez famously wrote the heartbreaking song "Diamonds and Rust" about their rocky romance. ("My poetry is lousy, you said.") In A Complete Unknown, their chemistry is undeniable; the jealousy that cuts both ways, and the ache they share as artists and lovers is breathtaking, cutting to the core, even as she smiles sharply.
Each of these performances masterfully fleshes out these figures so they exist beyond their connection to Dylan. You can see how they tie together, how it hurts when he cuts that tie, but also that each is a tapestry even without him. This, above all else, makes A Complete Unknown remarkable, setting it apart from countless dramas about an abusive (and always male) creative genius whose bad behavior is effectively shrugged off as the cost of art.
Here, Mangold doesn't criticize Bob's behavior but lays it bare, showing how it isn't separate from why he was embraced. He was the creative nomad we admired and maybe at times wished to be. But this rolling stone's relentless motion has its costs, and this movie makes that clear too.
A Complete Unknown is a rare and wonderful musician biopic.
In the end, A Complete Unknown will be praised for many of its elements. Chief among them will be Chalamet's performance, which has already won public praise from filmmaker Paul Schrader and Bob Dylan himself. The 28-year-old actor deserves such accolades, simultaneously conveying a wisdom beyond his years and a waifish daring that muddles to make a distinct yet elusive portrait of Bob Dylan. Beyond that, he keenly imitates Dylan's signature singing style, allowing the performance to have a fluidity and urgency that might have been lost in lip-syncing to old tracks.
And yet, what awes me most about A Complete Unknown is the storytelling outside of its subject. By thoughtfully establishing Pete Seeger, Joan Baez, and Sylvie/Suze, Mangold shows subtly yet powerfully how an artist is shaped by their surroundings. Bob may not let us into his innermost workings, but we are witness to who he pretends to be, depending on who he's trying to impress, bewilder, or enrage. And yet, Mangold refuses to treat these supporting characters as if they are slim stakes meant to pin down his larger-than-life talent. Like the rigorous and immersive production design that ushers audiences into 1960s Greenwich Village, the character-building Mangold and his ensemble deliver allows us to walk into this defining era with ease, turning A Complete Unknown almost into a hangout movie. And that in itself is pretty outstanding.
A Complete Unknown opens only in theaters Dec. 25.
Topics Film
