Perceptions from a Pewboy

I have seen some good films in recent days. “American Gangster” is an epically broad piece of work, one that enables both Denzel Washington and Russell Crowe to flex their cinematic muscles. “Michael Clayton” is a contemporary morality play in which George Clooney offers a powerful performance as a weary attorney suddenly overwhelmed by circumstances that compel him to understand that he still has a conscience.

In the opinion of this humble moviegoer, however, the most creative and intriguing film in current release is “I’m Not There,” a relentlessly quirky and unapologetically challenging film, the content of which covers a significant portion of historical, emotional, and spiritual ground.

Directed by Todd Haynes (who also co-wrote the film), “I’m Not There” examines the ever-changing life and myth of Bob Dylan, the enigmatic troubadour whose music has always defied convenient analysis and whose life has proven even more difficult to scrutinize. My sense is that if the film had been nothing more than a straightforward biopic (starring Leonardo DiCaprio or Justin Timberlake or some other young star), something would have been lost in translation, since Dylan’s chameleonic transitions do not lend themselves to linear cinematic examination.

The reason that “I’m Not There” works, however, it that Haynes wisely refused to leave the task of portraying Dylan to just one actor. Instead, he employs six different actors, each of whom brings to life a different segment of Dylan’s odyssey. First up is Marcus Carl Franklin, a 14-year-old phenom who portrays Dylan as a vagabond black boy named Woody (as in Guthrie). In Franklin’s portrayal, we find a soul that stubbornly refuses to be defined or stifled by the circumstances that surround it—a soul that yearns for the poetic amidst stark prose. Next we meet British actor Ben Whishaw whose character (Arthur) stands as a tribute to Dylan’s fascination with French poetry (and, in particular, the French symbolist poet Arthur Rimbaud).

Christian Bale (that’s right, Batman gets in on the act!) portrays two characters in the film. One of those characters is an “artsy” prophet named Jack. Bale’s other character is Pastor John, a Christian convert who is passionate about a countercultural Jesus. Both characters manifest two sides of Dylan: First, his eagerness to be a prophetic voice in the wilderness of social upheaval; and, second, his much-debated journey into Christianity (a journey that produced three albums: “Slow Train Coming” in 1979; “Saved” in 1980; and “Shot of Love” in 1981).

Next in the film, we encounter Heath Ledger. (Interestingly, Ledger plays the Joker in the next Batman film. Coincidence? You be the judge!). Here’s where the film gets confusing. In “I’m Not There,” Ledger’s character is an actor named Robbie who is portraying Dylan in a film. (Are you with me?) Robbie’s relationship with the painter Claire illuminates Dylan’s marriage to Sarah Lownds and their eventual divorce.

Cate Blanchett, the enormously talented Australian actress, brings to us the character of Jude, an angst-ridden musician who converses philosophically with beat poet Allen Ginsberg (David Cross), who rails against prying reporters, and who develops a complex love/hate relationship with audiences. Blanchett’s performance is nothing short of mesmerizing.

In the final (and most peculiar) section of the film, Richard Gere offers to us the character of Billy (the Kid), who manifests the troubled Dylan who went into “hibernation” in Woodstock, New York following his 1966 motorcycle crash. Gere’s character makes more sense if it is remembered that Dylan was in Sam Peckinphah’s “Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid” back in 1973.

The film is not for those who like their cinema wrapped up in neat and tidy packages. At times, in fact, the film is a little bit too impressed with what it perceives to be its own cleverness and unconventionality. Nevertheless, the film makes for a rich and worthwhile journey into the life of a man whose voice cannot be ignored if we wish to understand the artistic and philosophical development of our nation.

As I drove home from the film, I found myself dissecting my own life. I wonder if there have been discernable phases and transitions in the development of my personhood. I wonder if there have been various manifestations of the identity that God has enabled me to form. “I’m Not There,” in other words, quickly became a lens through which to examine my own personal odyssey. It is not often that a film inspires within me such authentic introspection.

My life’s journey is not interesting enough to be the subject matter of a film, I suppose. But it has been a wondrous discovery of grace. Perhaps Dylan’s life has brought him to the same kind of discovery. I pray that it has.

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