I'm Not There

Finally, finally saw I’m Not There (directed by Todd Haynes). For some reason, I kept away from it, my enthusiasm for all things Dylan, once ravishing and unable to be satisfied, having been diminished by the last concert I saw (Beacon Theater, NY, a few years ago) where I enjoyed exactly one song. That song, Shelter From The Storm, a real beauty, but with everything else so not enjoyable, it made for a disappointing experience, his voice now ragged and torn but not in a poetic way. Still, Dylan is Dylan: enigmatic prophet to some; obviously a poet; creator of a body of music that will absolutely (Sweet Marie) live on.

I’ve always been drawn mostly to the mid-70’s Dylan period. Blood On The Tracks through Street Legal. OK, throw in New Morning. So I found myself connecting mostly with the Heath Ledger, Richard Gere and post-80s Christian Bale segments, when Dylan entered into a period of Born Again Christianity, curious to many but indisputably full of great tunes (Man Gave Names To All The Animals, Every Grain of Sand). Heath Ledger, of course, now tinged with sadness, having died shortly after the movie’s release and now appearing headed for a post-humus Oscar nom for the role of The Joker in The Dark Knight. But putting that aside, he did a great job of inhabiting a particular side of Bob Dylan, that may be only partly true, that is certainly not pretty, and that is simply part of the fabric that makes up the many faces of Bob Dylan. The faces given to the public; the faces turned away from the audience; the glimpses, real and fabricated. Was Dylan always re-inventing himself, or just saving himself from his adoring audience? He ridiculed Mr. Jones, but he is, after all, a performer. But a performer who is a true artist faces a difficult audience of his own making, with its own expectations, desires, demands. Miles Davis was famous for playing with his back to the audience, but as he explained, that was so he could hear his band better. Would you rather hear the sweetest melody possible, or pretend to share an intimate moment with a musician you only know as an image?

Cate Blanchett does an impressive turn as the infamous Dylan of the mid-60’s; the sneering wordsmith in the snug suit who came across a bit too smug, but who knew/knows what was an act and what wasn’t? Dylan and those around him, but we who were only being born at the time, or later, can only shrug, read, watch, and try and guess. Certainly, a little Dylan of this period goes a long way and can becomes tiresome, and unfortunately, Todd Haynes chose to concentrate much too much on this time period and the whole Mr. Jones thing. Yes, he makes good points about the era, and Vietnam, and our society at the time, but he hits us over the head with it like a lamp he wants to flood our vision with, and after a bit, it’s enough, then too much, we get the point, can’t we move on? But then, isn’t that the role of the artist at times: to push and push, into annoyance, until the point they are striving for gets under our skin, and stays there?

See a nice “Shelter From The Storm” at:

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=sEhwvn5_wEM