We needed a reset after the disappointing biopic "A Complete Unknown," so we went back to the archives for the two definitive documentaries about Bob Dylan.
DON'T LOOK BACK (1967) (A) - In retrospect, it seems like D.A. Pennebaker, in following Bob Dylan on his London tour in 1965, was capturing a seismic pop culture moment in groundbreaking fly-on-the-wall fashion. The opening scene alone -- Dylan stands in the street shuffling through cheeky cue-cards while his current hit "Subterranean Homesick Blues" plays in full -- could be considered one of the first music videos.
Otherwise, a year after Beatlemania overwhelmed the United States, Dylan returns the favor as the pop-folk darling who is inscrutable to the stuffy, traditional British press. Dylan appears to be stoned or on speed (or both) most of the time as he toys with anyone who crosses his path, clearly chafing at the ideas that he was a folk savior or the voice of a generation of emerging war protesters. He is cocky, annoying and deliberately provocative, a chain-smoking egomaniacal punk. His verbal jujitsu with an older Time magazine reporter is particularly rude and vicious in its psychodelic Socratic faux philosophy. (When the reporter asks whether Dylan actually cares about what he's saying, Dylan takes high umbrage: "How could I answer that if you've got the nerve to ask me that?!" -- before absurdly comparing his singing talent to that of Enrico Caruso.) He is also whimsical and mischievous at times.
Dylan also is toweringly talented and bursting with ideas; Pennebaker's camera watches patiently as Dylan pounds away at his typewriter (while Joan Baez strums and sings in his hotel room), obsessed with corralling the words firehosing through and out of him at the time. He seems genuinely miffed that a new bloke on the scene, Donovan, is also getting ink in the local British papers during Dylan's visit. A bit like Muhammad Ali at the time, Dylan relishes the idea of toying with a foe, a pretender, and when they meet on Dylan's turf and Donovan plays a perfectly bland "To Sing for You," Dylan observes, oozing calculation and judgment. With unmasked condescension, Dylan says, "Hey, that's a good song, man" -- and then grabs the guitar and unleashes "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue," leering knowingly at his audience, and if there had been a referee in the room he would have stepped in and escorted a bloodied Donovan back to his corner. You could half-expect the black-and-white footage to explode into color, such is the contrast.
Elsewhere, Pennebaker simply tags along, sitting in the back of cars with the pop idol as fans clamor for his attention. He sits in as manager Albert Grossman wheedles with an agent as they finagle a well-paying TV gig over the phone. The climax that Pennebaker builds to is Dylan performing -- solo, acoustic -- at Royal Albert Hall, a medley of iconic numbers that seem second-nature now but which were groundbreaking back then. (A reporter marvels at the moment when "a poet and not a pop singer fills a hall.") Every scene in the movie feels like essential footage documenting a tipping point in Sixties culture.
NO DIRECTION HOME (2005) (A-minus) - Martin Scorsese curates this extended "American Masters" master-class, which gets Dylan, then in his early 60s, to sit down for a straight interview without gimmicks or fictions. And so Scorsese assembles a vast amount of footage and curates a fascinating 3.5-hour deep dive into Dylan's formative years.
Dylan's manager, Jeff Rosen, a producer here, conducted the interviews with Dylan and others, including Joan Baez, poet Allen Ginsberg, fellow Greenwich Village folkies Dave Van Ronk and Maria Muldaur (particularly insightful), and former girlfriend Suze Rotolo. Rosen and Scorsese dig out recordings from Minnesota, before Robert Zimmerman set out for New York City to conquer the world.
It's all a fascinating collage. The through-line narratively is Dylan's epic 1966 appearance in England when he went electric (also shot, a year after "Don't Look Back," by D.A. Pennebaker), including restored footage (and audio) of the moment a fan called Dylan Judas for going electric and playing with The Band. Never-before-seen nuggets include Dylan's screen test for an Andy Warhol film.
Incredibly, Dylan, around age 60, is cogent and coherent during his interview and doesn't seem to be playing games -- unlike just about every other interview with him you've ever seen. It's a quaint contrast with the brash young provocateur from 40 years earlier. During the first five years of his career, the man was prolific, and his growth was exponential. There was a swirl of energy around him, and this retrospective captures that half decade and chips away at the enigma that took hold then.
BONUS TRACKS
Dylan and Baez jamming and harmonizing together in an outtake from "Don't Look Back":
A highlight of "Don't Look Back" is an urgent version of "The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll." Here is the full studio version:
Dylan later used some of Pennebaker's footage as visual elements in the haunting 1991 bootleg release "A Series of Dreams":
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