REVIEW. "Timothée Chalamet Goes Electric in A COMPLETE UNKNOWN."

Some of you know that movies about celebrities/artists who are still alive and/or who left lots of audio-visual documentation of their work are not my favorites. Even with Oscar-winning performances like Rami Malek's in 2018's Bohemian Rhapsody, I'd rather watch Freddie Mercury's original Live Aid performance than Malek's semi-lip-synced version in the mostly predictable (re: borderline boring) cradle-to-grave (or thereabouts) biopic.

More impressive for me were performances like Taron Egerton's Elton John in the lyrical fantasy Rocketman (2019) or Bradley Cooper's complex exploration of the impact of composer Leonard Bernstein's bisexuality on his musical reputation in last year's Maestro. In both films, the focus was less linear in terms of a standard biopic timeline and more centered on pivotal pieces of the respective artist's life. When it comes to films about people who are already well-known and whose work is amply documented, give me a new interpretation, a different perspective from which to consider the importance of their art.

Which brings us to the absolutely sensational A Complete Unknown, co-writer (with Jay Cocks and based on Elijah Wald's 2016 book, Dylan Goes Electric!) / director James Mangold's examination of an important turning point in American folk music: the 1965 Newport Folk Festival when Bob Dylan (Timothée Chalamet) first performed with electric instruments, an initial faux pas among folk purists, but also a revolutionary transformation in the evolution of American rock music. Rather than attempt to chronicle the many musical periods, concerts, albums, and accolades that underscored Bob Dylan's as yet unfinished personal and professional life that spans decades, Mangold instead centers on a very specific period early in Dylan's career: from 1961-1965, when a teenage Bob arrives in Greenwich Village, hoping to establish himself in the Village's already iconic folk scene, but foreshadowing what will become both a formative and transformative experience for him, contemporary music, and American (counter)culture.

Most immediate in young Bob's mind, though, is getting to meet his idol, folk legend Woody Guthrie (Scoot McNairy), who has recently been hospitalized with complications from Huntington's disease. "I want to meet Woody," Bob tells some fellow musicians he encounters at a Village coffee shop, "Maybe catch a spark." Clutching a newspaper clipping that identifies the facility where Guthrie has been taken, Bob takes what little money he has in his pocket and grabs a cab where, guitar and suitcase still in hand, he wanders into Guthrie's room where Pete Seeger (Edward Norton) keeps a constant vigil.

Impressing both Guthrie and Seeger with his songwriting skills, Dylan is taken under Seeger's wing (with Guthrie maintaining interest from the infirmary), and embarks on the path to what will be an extraordinary musical journey now in its seventh decade. It's in this early stage of his career we see Dylan at his most vulnerable and impressionable, impacted not only by Guthrie's encouragement and Seeger's gentle tutelage, but also the music (and later, physical attraction to) singer/songwriter Joan Baez (Monica Barbaro) and the political activism of Sylvia Russo (Elle Fanning) whose name was, at Dylan's request, renamed for the movie from Suze Rotolo, Dylan's real-life artist girlfriend at the time, and the woman famously pictured with him on 1963's Freewheelin' Bob Dylan album cover. Russo/Rotolo is often credited with being the muse who most inspired Dylan or, at least, awakened his political awareness.

Their relationship is depicted initially as awkward and sweet, but also infused with some inherent philosophical conflicts. After catching a retro-matinee of the 1942 romantic classic, Now Voyager, Bob and Sylvie discuss the metamorphosis of Charlotte (Bette Davis) who changes her life after years of abuse from her domineering mother. Sylvie sees Charlotte's transformation as changing for the better, but Bob sees it as merely "different, not necessarily better."

In that brief exchange, Mangold captures what will become an enduring theme for Dylan, his life and music. Born Robert Allen Zimmerman, Dylan has already begun his own personal transformation by changing his name and by making up tales about his background that may or may not be true. He is also a risk taker, an unconventional thinker who refuses to be pigeon-holed or boxed in by tradition, external expectations, or normative protocols. This pattern of behavior creates obvious personal and professional conflicts, which Dylan usually brushes off with a glib, sometimes cutting remark. When he first hears Baez sing, Bob (who is next on the playlist), quips, "“She’s pretty. Sings pretty. Maybe a little too pretty." Hmm. Is he complimenting her or cutting her down to size?

Mangold peppers Dylan's dialogue with snide comments, often mumbled and not always completely coherent, but which nonetheless establish his discomfort with common social pleasantries or even civil discourse. His genius is evident but so is his narcissism, his arrogance, his disdain for doing what is expected of him. After comparing Baez's lyrics to "an oil painting at the dentist's office," she tells him, "You know, you're a bit of an asshole, Bob." He doesn't disagree.

Some early critics of the film have argued (or tried to) that Mangold has portrayed Dylan as a misogynist for whom women - and the film's female characters - are marginalized. But that wasn't my takeaway. It's clear that both Baez and Russo/Rotolo had huge impacts on Dylan's music and politics, encouraging him to take the musical risks he so clearly desired. Just because he doesn't wind up with either woman permanently does not diminish their impact or their importance on his life or his art. Both Barbaro and Fanning hold their own as strong women and as formidable actors against Chalamat's remarkable turn as Dylan, which deserves its own blog post for his richly layered, nuanced performance.

In a recent social media post, Dylan himself commented on Chalamet's portrayal: "Timmy's a brilliant actor so I'm sure he's going to be completely believable as me. Or a younger me. Or some other me." Such a Dylanesque comment: quick, cutting, wry, elusive.

Chalamet channels Dylan in ways that are deeply internal - he has also nailed Dylan's physical mannerisms and movement - without sliding into parody or superficial imitation. Admitting that he's been preparing for this role for five years (production was originally scheduled to begin right before the pandemic), Chalamet has done more than learn to sing and play the guitar and harmonica. He has managed to express the inherently contradictory nature of genius and celebrity, set against the broader political metamorphosis that began to occur in the early 1960s and was later shaped and refined by the assassinations of John F. Kennedy, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King, Jr., and Robert Kennedy, and fueled by the counterculture's protests against the Vietnam War. In 1964, when Dylan first appears at the Newport Folk Festival and introduces the audience to the now iconic anthem, "The Times They Are A-Changin'", we feel the spontaneity and significance of the moment.

Frame by frame, song by song, Mangold weaves a compelling narrative that never loses its focus, as if each note reveals another piece of evidence leading to his climactic appearance at Newport. We know that Dylan's going electric was a hot topic in its day, but we now get a glimpse of how it came to be and why it remains such a turning point in the history of rock and roll. Mangold is meticulous with details - big and small - to recreate the grungy look of Greenwich Village c1961, including such famous locations as the Hotel Chelsea, where everyone from Robert Mapplethorpe and Patti Smith to Baez herself stayed.

Besides Chalamet's phenomenal achievement which is sure to garner him an Oscar nomination, if not the gold statuette itself, there are several other performances of note. In addition to Fanning and Barbaro's strong supporting female roles, Edward Norton as folk singer/activist Pete Seeger and Boyd Holbrook as country star Johnny Cash are impressive as they, like Chalamet and Barbaro, play their own instruments and do all their own singing. Each one, in their own way, contributes to learning more about Dylan's enigmatic personality and to their individual relationships with him. In particular, Cash's support and encouragement of Dylan doing what he wants to musically, are not widely known, unless you (like me) keep up with various memoirs and chronicles of these backstage connections.

Though Dylan's tempestuous relationship with Baez has been documented in numerous venues, including her 1975 song, "Diamonds and Rust," some of the other interactions depicted in the film shed new light or added a layer of humanity previously not found in other sources. One of the most poignant moments between Dylan and Guthrie takes place after he has gone electric and, assuming his idol would disapprove, Bob visits Woody in hospital and tries to return the harmonica Guthrie gave him years earlier. Guthrie, who cannot speak, gently pushes the mouthpiece back toward Dylan, affirming his respect for Bob's talent, but also acknowledging that Dylan is now a new generation of folk/rock singer.

I'm a bit too young to have experienced the phenomenon that was Bob Dylan during his initial heydey in the early 1960s, as I would have been in elementary school. I used to think I was born too late because I missed all the excitement and relevance associated with the counterculture. Still, I've seen Bob Dylan in concert four times: the first, in the late 1980s at the Blossom Music Center outside Cleveland, OH, was a sort of revelation. After an opening act, Dylan wandered to the stage late, clad in a black leather jacket and accompanied by two guitar players and a drummer. They began playing a set of what was new music, and many of the audience, including the people who invited me to attend the concert, were waiting to hear more pre-1965 Newport Folk Festival music. They'd seen him in New York before he went electric, and were eager to hear some of his earlier songs.

About thirty minutes later, Dylan begrudgingly (at least, he appeared annoyed) launched into a three-minute medley of "The Times They Are A-Changin'," Blowin' in the Wind," and one other. That was it. He wrapped up the entire concert after less than an hour, and audience members were miffed. You could hear the moaning all the way to the parking lot.

About ten years later, I saw Dylan at Cleveland's Public Hall, and that night - he was on fire: he played almost two and a half-hours, interacted with the audience, and appeared to be having a great time. It was a treat to see an artist in his element, engaging with his fans, young and old, and is still one of my top four or five concert experiences ever. The next two times were not as memorable, as he was back to being disinterested Bob, turning away from the audience, mumbling lyrics and playing music that was almost unintelligible.

Go figure. Genius, especially unconventional creativity, is sometimes impenetrable, and getting inside an artist's head can be dicey, at best, as an interpretive result can be totally lost in film. Think Lou Diamond Phillips as Richie Valens in 1987's La Bamba or Dennis Quaid as Jerry Lee Lewis in 1989's Great Balls of Fire. I even found Renee Zellweger's Oscar turn as the legendary Judy Garland in 2019's Judy to be more of a nod to Zellweger's career comeback than to her portrayal of the troubled singer. Despite Zellweger's commitment to learn to sing like Garland for the role, she never really captures the essence of Judy, and the movie's vapid plot conveys little about Garland's talent or musical soul.

Not so with Chalamet & Company. Under Mangold's astute direction, A Complete Unknown embodies not only the importance of Dylan's music, it contextualizes the transformative significance of the 1965 Newport Folk Festival when Dylan went electric. No longer confined by the traditional structure of folk music, Dylan breaks artistically with mentors like Seeger and contemporaries like Baez by staying true to his own vision of his music. It is an exhilarating cinematic moment when the first few notes of "Like a Rolling Stone" are played (by studio musician Al Kooper) to a Newport crowd already expressing disapproval at the sight and sound of Dylan playing anything other than an acoustic guitar.

There are sure to be criticisms from those who don't get what Mangold is doing here (re: he omits any reference to Russo/Rotolo's abortion in 1963 after she became pregnant with Dylan's child, an event which apparently led to their split), but from what I've read so far, most of the fault-finding has been nitpicky details or minor inaccuracies that have little to do with the movie's purpose or with its authentic representation of the American folk music scene in the early 1960s.

A Complete Unknown is must-see awards season movie-making. Actually, it's a must-see movie. Period. For those who are not familiar with or interested in Bob Dylan or his music, it might be better to stay away. For me, the film - clearly one of 2024's best - was a very emotional experience. The music with which I not only grew up but have come to know and to study in deeper, more intellectual ways, is rooted firmly in my heart and soul and, in many ways, has become a kind of sacred treasure. Hearing Chalamet & Co. breathe new life into and invite fresh interpretations of the music - and watching how intricately Mangold uses the words and music to tell Dylan's story - was beautiful to behold.

In the end, It doesn't matter if there is only one agreed upon narrative of Bob Dylan's life, whether, as he tells Baez, he wrote a song using chords he learned from "a cowboy named Wigglefoot," if his inspiration came from elsewhere, or if he ever even encountered anyone named Wigglefoot. His backstory is, by his definition, irrelevant: anyone can invent/reinvent themselves. True enough.

I was riveted to every scene, every melody, every nuance in this historic, cultural transformation. I look forward to seeing it again soon, not only to catch what I might have missed the first time, but to delve a bit further into the mystery that is Bob Dylan. The thing about Chalamet's performance - and Mangold's film - is that, while it unravels certain riddles about Dylan's life, it doesn't unjumble the complexities of his mind or his heart.

Bob Dylan is the first (and still only) musician to receive the Nobel prize in literature "for having created new poetic expressions within the great American song tradition." He did not attend the ceremony. A Complete Unknown provides a glimpse into why Dylan repeatedly defied being categorized, compartmentalized. Nonetheless, he remains curiously quixotic, elusive...well, you know, "tangled up in blue."

A Complete Unknown is now playing in theaters.