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A Complete Unknown is an aptly titled film telling the rise of Bob Dylan in the early 1960s

Writer's picture: Denise BreenDenise Breen

3 out of 5


Set in the influential New York City music scene of the early 1960s, "A Complete Unknown" follows 19-year-old Minnesota musician Bob Dylan's meteoric rise as a folk singer to concert halls and the top of the charts as his songs and his mystique become a worldwide sensation that culminates in his groundbreaking electric rock-and-roll performance at the Newport Folk Festival in 1965.


It will be sacrilige for some to hear me say that I never liked Bob Dylan as a singer. Sure, he penned some good songs but his nasal twang evoked a visceral reaction in me that I've never been able to rise above. 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. After seeing the film I was infuriated but as I've gotten distance from that screening, I've come to appreciate in reflection, and understnad that this was precisely Mangold's purpose.

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.


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 (Scot 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.

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. I too felt frustrated. Who was Dylan? Where did he come from? This film answers none of those questions.


While among his boys, Dylan 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.


In essence, this Dylan is a self-absorbed individual, primarily focused on himself and holding himself in high regard, even though he heavily depends on others for accommodation, coffee, and the support his budding career requires. Chalamet seamlessly moves from stage to motorcycle ride to shabby hotel room, fully embodying the rebellious poet and his indulgences at every opportunity. Chalamet's movie star charisma softens some of the harsher aspects, but his portrayal cleverly lets Dylan's persistent self-centeredness and outrageous narcissism make an impact.


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 not express. Norton, Fanning, and Barbaro do so in a symphony of feelings, which carry the film.

For his part, Norton plays Pete Seeger as a warm father figure. 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. Fanning delivers a moving, emotional experience.

Last but not least, Monica 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 and I felt like cheering.


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 behaviour is effectively shrugged off as the cost of art.

In the end, A Complete Unknown will be praised for many of its elements. Chief among them will be Chalamet's performance.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.


What saved A Complete Unknown for me was 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. Having said all that, for me, Bob Dylan remains a complete unknown.

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