‘I’m Not There’: Six Other Sides of Bob Dylan

I finally got a chance to get out and see the Bob Dylan biopic “I’m Not There” on Monday. Three days later, I’m still trying to articulate my thoughts about the film. One thing I know for sure: It’s an ambitious and accomplished piece of filmmaking, an impressionistic but worthy attempt at portraying Dylan’s multifaceted artistry.

In case you are unfamiliar with the film, “I’m Not There,” which is directed and co-written by Todd Haynes (“Velvet Goldmine”), uses six actors – Marcus Carl Franklin, Ben Whishaw, Heath Ledger, Christian Bale, Richard Gere and Cate Blanchett – to represent Dylan during seven stages of his life. Franklin plays Woody, the young Dylan out to make his way as a folk singer. Bale plays protest singer Jack Rollins and later the preacher Pastor John. Blanchett is Jude, a folkie-turned-rocker straight out of the famous Dylan doc “Don’t Look Back.” Ledger is Robbie, an actor who once played Jack Rollins in a movie. He represents the “Blood on the Tracks” period, and his marriage to Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg) is falling apart. Gere is Billy, as in “Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid.” Whishaw is Arthur Rimbaud. So named for Dylan’s interest in the poet, Arthur spends his scenes defending himself in court. On paper, it is a potential train wreck, particularly when you consider that Franklin is an African-American youth and Blanchett is not only just like a woman, she is in fact a woman. On screen, though, the unconventional plan works to perfection.

It actually makes perfect sense. What better way to portray an artist who has continually reinvented himself than by using multiple actors? So what if some of them don’t at all resemble Dylan? So what if none of the characters in the film are even named Bob Dylan? It doesn’t matter. Dylan has never wanted to be revealed, pigeonholed or appointed the voice of a generation. He was, and is, elusive. In fact, nearly the entire public persona of the former Robert Zimmerman is a creation, as much fiction as it is fact.

Much like the Dylan mystique, “I’m Not There” offers a lot to digest. The film is brimming with events from Dylan’s life, quotes, lyrics and episodes from his autobiography. They are woven together in the multiple storylines, making for a finished product that is often more fever dream than fact. It seems that viewing the film multiple times might have the same effect as listening to Dylan’s songs over and over – more would be revealed upon repeat plays, but they’d become more mysterious, too. I applaud film critics who were able to write cohesive reviews after only one viewing. I’m eager to see it again, if only so I can discover things that I missed.

Despite their physical differences with the real article, Franklin and Blanchett are possibly the most effective in portraying Dylan. Franklin’s youthful face and corduroy cap are evocative of the cover photo on Dylan’s debut album. In performance, Franklin captures the braggadocio of the young Dylan, who spent as much time copying his hero Woody Guthrie as he did fabricating a backstory that belied his true roots. He hops a train and proceeds to tell a couple of hobos about all the places he couldn’t possibly have yet been. Only America, a country of big dreams and tall tales, could have given birth to this larger-than-life character. And only in this country could he have lived up to such billing.

Blanchett is as great as advertised, portraying the amphetamine-fueled contrarian of 1965-66. This part of the movie borrows liberally from “Don’t Look Back,” D.A. Pennebaker’s documentary of Dylan’s 1965 tour of England. Though many of the scenes are recreations of Pennebaker’s, Blanchett’s work is nothing short of magnificent, oozing the nervous energy, sarcasm and even insecurity of the newly electric Dylan alternately seeking the spotlight and recoiling from it. Earlier today, Blanchett received a much-deserved Golden Globe nomination for her performance.

Many viewers will best relate to Blanchett’s character because that’s the Dylan they know. In many ways, the Dylan from “Don’t Look Back” is the last version of the artist who put his true self out on display. Then the audience and the press got too close. He was driven to distraction by fans and reporters who wanted to get to know the real Bob Dylan. And it drove him to the brink of self-destruction. Fittingly, even his 1966 motorcycle crash is a mysterious event. There always has been speculation it was staged so that Dylan could stop the breakneck pace of touring. During his convalescence in Woodstock, N.Y., he of course made the famous “Basement Tapes” with The Band. Among the outtakes from those informal sessions was “I’m Not There,” which was a frequently bootlegged item until its appearance on this film’s soundtrack. After he emerged from Woodstock, he was, naturally, reinvented. Haynes uses the crash twice (off camera) to frame a large section of the film.

As I said, I was impressed by the film. I had two distinct reactions to it. One was expected: I was affected by the power of the music, a combination of Dylan’s performances and cover versions from the soundtrack album. The other reaction was a total surprise: As I watched the scenes dealing with the breakup of Robbie and Claire’s marriage, I felt a little guilty. I felt a little bit voyeuristic, and it made me think twice about how much I enjoy “Blood on the Tracks,” an album that poured out of a painful period in Dylan’s life.

I’m not sure that Haynes was trying to make moviegoers ponder the artist-audience relationship. Regardless, he has done a tremendous job of painting an impressionistic portrait of a complicated artist. It’s definitely recommended for those with at least a working knowledge of the written version Dylan history. The uninitiated might see “I’m Not There” as a series of unconnected stories thrown together on the screen. My first impression is that it can work for non-Dylan fans, too, but I’d like to talk to a few to get their take.

The real Dylan appears at the end of the film, playing a harmonica solo in old concert footage. The focus is tight so you can study his face, but after two hours you’re no closer to knowing who that person really is. I had some time to think about it in the past few days, time to think about those final seconds in which Dylan’s face slowly faded to black. He’s kind of like the criminal mastermind Keyser Soze in the film “The Usual Suspects.” His exploits are legendary, but what lies behind the legend? It’s right in front of your face.

Then, just like that, he was gone.