With Arms Outstretched

When I first heard that among the handful of characters portraying Bob Dylan in the new Todd Haynes project I’m Not There both a woman and a young black boy would be in the mix, I immediately thought of a film by another Todd, the incredibly strange yet funny and compassionate Palindromes by Todd Solondz. In it an adolescent female character embarks on a peculiar journey, both literally and figuratively, her goal being to have a baby. As she moves from one bizarre place to another, she continually morphs personas, visually depicted through the use of six or so actors and actresses of all shapes, sizes, age, and color, to reflect where she is mentally and emotionally. But what makes for a compelling style in Palindromes is complicated beyond measure in I’m Not There, where the concept unnecessarily goes beyond the visual into the scriptural and structural elements resulting in a discombobulated, pretentious bore of a film, but I get ahead of myself.

The film opens with a wide shot of a barren highway in black and white; a motorcycle speeds from the left side of the wide screen to the right while the title letters pop onscreen to the sound of gunshots. Each letter appears independently and randomly, calling attention to the deliberate nature of creation, be it of language or history or self. Through a series of quickly presented mug shots of sort we are vaguely introduced to six versions of one man, though this isn’t exactly articulated. Of the six, only two, maybe three, resemble Dylan, and ironically one of those is a woman (a fantastic performance by Cate Blanchett as Dylan in all of his Don’t Look Back arrogance). But I guess that is Haynes’ point; who (or maybe more appropriately what, where, when, and how) exactly is Bob Dylan?

At 2 hours and 15 minutes, you’d think you would get a better picture of the man, but this is no biopic, at least not in the traditional sense. Instead we are served six jumbled stories that have almost no connection to one another and are denied context within which to place oneself. Even the use of Vietnam era television footage, seemingly there as a reference to a particular moment, seems misplaced in time and space, adding to the perplexities of the story (or lack thereof). What I don’t understand is whether Haynes expects the audience to know and recognize other real people “disguised” with fictional, unmemorable names (Is Julianne Moore supposed to be inspired by Joan Baez?) or are we supposed to assume these people are as equally conflicted in their persona as Dylan supposedly is? And why go to such great lengths to give everyone new names, including each and every “Dylan,” but during a quick, bewildering homage to A Hard Day’s Night refer to each member of the Beatles by their correct names? I guess even in Haynes’ fantasy world you don’t mess with the Beatles.

What works for the film are the exceptionally brilliant performances all-around. Each actor works through their Dylan with what they are given, no more no less, and presents a myriad of personalities and characterizations even within the same role (though I’d say Richard Gere got the short end of the stick with the most obscure and unnecessary incarnation, an underwritten character who is given an equally short platform on which to work). Ironically, a non-Dylan character, Charlotte Gainsbourg’s Charlotte, wife of Heath Ledger’s Dylan/Robbie Clark, provides the most captivating and genuine moments in the film; the camera seems to love her face with her illuminated expression and lingering gaze that brings a much needed sincerity and ethereality to the film.
But outstanding performances do not a masterpiece make. Cinematographer Edward Lachman works with a variety of film stocks and filters, creating a specific, beautiful world for each manifestation, though I found myself perturbed by some choices in style. Haynes recreates some scenes shot by shot from D.A. Pennebaker’s cinema vérité classic Don’t Look Back, with Lachlan replicating the lush London nights in spellbinding black and white, yet the camera is still, calm, positioned. If Don’t Look Back was the frenzied dress rehearsal, its segment in I’m Not There is the cast three weeks into their run, sure of their marks, calculated, never blocking another character or moving out of line.

Other critics have commented more on the history and real-life connections, wondering in the end if those unfamiliar with Dylan and his many faces would appreciate and understand like those in-the-know, but I’m thinking no history at all might be a better way to approach this beast. Even knowing that it is “about Dylan” is giving away too much, thus making it near impossible to watch a single moment without trying to figure out the “truth” of the matter. But what is true and how do you get at it? In Don’t Look Back, the “real” Dylan explains that he doesn’t read Time or Newsweek because they print facts, not truth. It’s hard to say if Haynes shows the truth in I’m Not There, but he definitely steers clear from the facts, and that’s the most ironic thing about the whole movie. There are many people who will love this film; they’ll view it as a puzzle to dissect and put together with their vast knowledge of Dylanology. But what Haynes has created is bigger than the story of one man, concerned instead with the truth that is both manifested and manufactured by us all. It’s just too bad he had to ruin this idea with such an iconoclastic cultural figure, no matter how good Cate Blanchett plays it.