Im Not There

I’m Not There is more than a movie: It’s a mosaic of a man. The fact that that man is American music and cultural icon Bob Dylan—the notorious “Trickster” and reinventor of history and of himself—makes this barely-biopic that much more layered and multifarious. A true art film stuffed with substance and subtext, I’m Not There is a rare and refreshing cinematic experience indeed.

Unfolding in an elliptical manner, this completely unconventional and totally engrossing story envelops rather than alienates, because the poignancy resides in the music and the human experience. We all love music of some kind. We all have these emotions and thoughts to some degree.

You needn’t be a hardcore Dylan fan. I’m not, but when I’m Not There was released back in November, I was compelled to delve a bit deeper, and I discovered that my newfound knowledge neither enhanced nor diminished my enjoyment of the movie: it is great on its own.

You don’t have to be a black turtleneck-wearing, brown cigarette-smoking cineaste to get it (however, those familiar with The French New Wave, ’60s Westerns, or the cinéma vérité documentary will delight in picking out specifically mirrored moments).

Don’t know much about history? That’s okay. Knowledge of the impact of John F. Kennedy’s loss to America, a nod to Andy Warhol’s contribution to the LSD generation, or memorizing the political poetry of Allen Ginsberg is not de rigueur.

The only caveat is I’m Not There is an intelligent, thought-provoking work which requires the utmost concentration–a skill sorely lacking in the typical short attention-spanned, pabulum-fed, PG-13 moviegoer…which may explain why filmmaker Todd Haynes had so little money to make his dream project, or why the Weinstein Company only gave it a limited theatrical release (and even less of a helping hand in their Oscar campaigns). This movie pushes the already eclectic biopic genre to the extreme: it’s not for everyone, but if it is to your liking, you will no doubt love it for life.

Our man of mystery is never explained or tied up in a neat bow, but shades of him are portrayed by six different actors:

Marcus Carl Franklin: He plays Woody Guthrie, an 11-year-old rails-rider who, through a series of elaborate, enthusiastic falsehoods, insinuates himself into a kindly family wherein he’s adopted for a time. This is Dylan first building his mystique and learning the power of storytelling. Think: Huston.

Ben Wishaw: The ephemeral enfant terrible aspect—seen only in black and white and seated as he missiles angry answers to questions during an unexplained interrogation—Arthur Rimbaud is the disdainful Dylan going tete-a-tete with his critics. Think: Pennebaker.

Christian Bale: Jack Rollins is an unknown folksinger who surfaces in Greenwich Village, weathers the slings and arrow of outrageous fortune, then humbles himself before Jesus by knocking on heaven’s door as an evangelical minister. He represents Dylan’s two most unsure, questioning periods. Think: Haynes.

Cate Blanchett: [Note: her fearless performance garnered the one and only Academy Award nomination for I'm Not There.] Jude Quinn is a celebrated singer-songwriter whose evolution from folk to rock alienates his fans and friends. This is Dylan as the Rock Star. Think: Fellini.

Heath Ledger: Hollywood hotshot Robbie Clark (Heath Ledger), who’s playing Jack Rollins in a flowery biopic, falls in love with an exotic, exciting Mod artist (Charlotte Gainsbourg as a fragmentary amalgam of two of Dylan’s most important ladies, Suze Rotolo and Sara Lowndes) and represents the intellectual yet emotional core of Dylan’s psyche. Think: Godard.

Richard Gere: Billy the Kid is in a constant state of sorrowful dreams and avant-garde fantasy, living far out in a mythical American town where time means nothing but Halloween means everything. Billy symbolizes Dylan’s outlaw period and crystallizes his time of reflective seclusion following his life-altering motorcycle crash. Think: Altman.

Interwoven through this visual feast is, of course, the timeless music of Dylan. Many tracks are taken from era-specific bootlegs, studio albums, and the famed Basement Tapes, while others are spirited and imaginative covers by the likes of Cat Power, Eddie Vedder, Sonic Youth, and Willie Nelson (the double-disk soundtrack contains many tunes not in the film—it’s a must-have companion piece). Each song is carefully chosen to fit the action and to augment the dialogue.

Excluding the whys, the two-disk DVD set of I’m Not There adds much as a dissertation of who, what, and where: there is a multipart text featurette on disk one, along with a truly fascinating, absorbing solo commentary by the director and co-writer. (At least portions of it were recorded after actor Ledger’s untimely demise in January of this year—while Haynes touches upon it in a genuine manner, he thankfully does not dwell.)

The second disk contains the lion’s share of additional release material. There are a couple of audition tapes (Wishaw and Franklin), which are just okay. Personally, I prefer to see the auditions of those who didn’t get the job (as seen on the Gone With the Wind DVD or, more recently, Wicked). The 20-minute “Making the Soundtrack” featurette is pretty static, but it’s still interesting to find out how the acts came on board and what compelled them in their artistic visions in reimagining a living legend’s works. There are several interviewees, but Bob Dylan? In typical fashion, he’s not there. [Note: Dylan fully cooperated with the filmmakers behind the scenes and gives the film his blessing.]

The nearly 45-minute “A Conversation with Todd Haynes” is also highly recommended for those who may desire to delve deeper into his cinematic influences on the making of his masterpiece (my words, not his! He’s actually far too modest).

Also on the disk:

Dylanology
Deleted Scenes
Extended Scenes
Red Carpet Premiere
Unreleased Trailer – Behind the Scenes
Outtakes
Tribute to Heath Ledger