If you were expecting to leave A Complete Unknown knowing anything more about Bob Dylan as a person than you did before; you’d be wrong. Instead of looking at the character of Bob Dylan, a man who has been portrayed as multiple times by multiple different people, even in the same movie, it looks at his musical journey, how he became established before switching to his move to become electric at the rejection of the old folk order, who just wanted him to play the hits over and over again. It shows a testament to Dylan’s character – a rare biopic about a still touring musician, who I saw on his last tour and it sums up his enigma as a stage performer: he required everyone to lock their phones away while he was in the arena, didn’t play the hits, and when he did play the hits, Desolation Row, It’s All Over Now Baby Blue, and It Ain’t Me Babe, he did them in a way that you’ve never heard of them before. Without knowing what to expect you’d be shellshocked. Even knowing what to expect, you’d be surprised.
There isn’t quite *that* about A Complete Unknown. It’s a largely formulaic biopic that’s held together by its great opening and its fantastic conclusion, set at – where else, the Newport folk festival where he goes electric and is labelled a Judas – say what you will about him and where he is now, he’s always an artist that stays true to who he is, even if that someone is unknown. We don’t know about where he came from and we know even less about what makes him tick; he arrives to see Woody Guthrie in hospital, hitching a lift – and as what marks the death of the old tradition of folk music, in comes the new – byegone is the age of old traditionalists, instead is the new age – an age of daring mavericks. Dylan fits that role nicely – it’s telling that he’s drifting, weaving through the world of his allies, unlike them all – his relationship with mentor Pete Seeger, folk traditionalist, is the heart and soul of the film, but Dylan – and I think Seeger also knows that as much as they try to steer him towards the respected folk fashion, Dylan is the inventor, refusing to be bogged down by traditional norms.
A Complete Unknown is ultimately, about music as power. Masters of War is played in a café on the eve of the expected detonation of nuclear bombs and the turning of the cold war hot; used as a power for Dylan to connect with Joan Baez, played superbly by Monica Barbaro. Opposite Timothee Chalamet, Barbaro is superb – the on-off again lovers and their clash on stage and off is rendered superbly, the chemistry irresistible. It’s heartbreaking to watch Slyvia, played superbly by Elle Fanning, watch as the two perform magnetically on stage, and it shows you how much of an unlikeable figure Dylan is – manipulating but free-spirited; known better for his music than his reputation. The harmonies between Barbaro and Chalamet, who sings all his own versions of the Dylan songs, superbly well – are toxic and yet magnetic at the same time, their rendition of It Ain’t Me Babe perfectly chosen.
After Walk Hard: A Dewey Cox story came out and parodied Mangold’s Walk the Line, a Johnny Cash biopic superbly, you’d think Mangold would try something different than what he has before and to an extent, he does – it’s a brave take that offers something more about Dylan’s influences and style than his personality, reflected so in Todd Haynes’ brilliant I’m Not There, where eight different actors played Dylan – including Cate Blanchett and Christian Bale, at various different points in his life. The soundtrack includes – in a notoriously un-Dylan like way, all the hits – Mangold has the power to resort to cliché when he wants to; Girl from the North Country for example is deployed in a familiar way, yet his installation of music as a power to change illustrates – Dylan captivating the audience with his rendition of The Times they are a-Changin’ into a crowd-pleasing singalong.
And then there’s Johnny Cash, and when he shows up, the film elevates a gear. Mangold uses Cash the way few other directors ever will; to build up Dylan’s legacy, their friendship and their eventual meeting is the high point of the film, and dare I say it, romantic tension? Perfectly illustrated by a brilliant Boyd Holbrook, having the time of his life – if there was ever a Walk the Line 2 – and there should be; there’s no need to bring back Phoenix, Holbrook has the role down to a T. Cash’s part exists purely than no other reason other than to call back to Walk the Line – one could argue, but as a counterpoint, Cash represents the bridge between the new way of folk, one more of a country rock – a distinct clash about the old order of Joan Baez and Pete Seeger. It’s a film that uses these iconic figures to bring to life the vivid 1960s folk scene of New York – boyant, vibrant and alive – Dylan got there before Llewlyn Davis did, and Dylan got there when the going was good.
The film may sag a bit at times and it’s remarkably long – it feels it, but as a biopic it’s one of the better ones, brilliant in its way in what it doesn’t tell you about Dylan but also in the way that it does. Remarkable – a rare triumph in an over-crowded genre, it may be predictable – but it’s certainly worth seeking out if you can.
