Tatsam Mukherjee 
The first time we meet Bob Dylan (Timothee Chalamet) in A Complete Unknown, he’s uncomplainingly laying in the back of a wagon amongst a pile of luggage. He’s just hitched a ride to New York City to see his hero, folk musician Woody Guthrie (Scoot McNairy), who has been hospitalised after being diagnosed with Huntington’s disease. Dylan overhears an impassioned discussion trying to determine if Guthrie is a folk or a country musician. “There’s no need to box him,” one of them says.
A still from ‘A Complete Unknown’.
It’s 1961 and a particularly tense period in America, as the House of Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) is summoning people for their alleged communist ties. The celebrities of Hollywood are understandably first in line, just like the musicians of the time like Pete Seeger (Edward Norton), who was critical of the American government. Social justice is becoming a street-side topic among many, as America is sinking deeper into the Vietnam War, the Civil Rights movement is picking up steam. Two years later, a president will be assassinated during a motorcade, fuelling the paranoia of the public and future governments alike.
Director James Mangold is considerate of the socio-political environment that shaped Dylan’s early work, but it never deludes itself by pretending to boil down the genius of the elusive icon. On the other hand, it combats this notion through Chalamet, a gifted young actor, who might understand a thing or two about being surrounded by envious stares day after day, month after month, year after year.
Written by Mangold and Jay Cocks – A Complete Unknown named after a line in the song “Like A Rolling Stone” — is based on the 2015 book Dylan Goes Electric! by Elijah Wald. Like Bradley Cooper’s Maestro, which examined the life of Leonard Bernstein through his marriage to Felicia, Mangold uses he vessel of a prestige Hollywood biopic to meditate on the legacy of one of the world’s most elusive icons, the shackles of fame, and the unrelenting tussle between artistic freedom and market forces. It examines a society on the cusp, and the price one has to pay for steering away from the prescribed path.
A still from ‘A Complete Unknown’.
One of the true-blue joys of Mangold’s film is its affection for the live instrument and singing. All actors – Norton as Seeger, Monica Barbaro playing Joan Baez, Boyd Holbrook as Johnny Cash or Chalamet as Dylan – sing their songs, and appear fluent with their style of guitar-playing. I’d imagine for anyone to enjoy this film, they would have to be initiated into live performance, or the sheer splendour of songwriting – because there’s a lot of it. For those hunting plot or ‘answers’ to why Dylan was great, Mangold’s film might seem uninteresting, probably even opaque. The plot summary of the film is rather simple: Dylan’s early fame as a folk musician, and the antagonism he faces for changing his sound, after being smitten by the burgeoning rock-and-roll aesthetic.
Chalamet is laser-focused on making Dylan as inscrutable as possible, imbibing the famous raspy voice, indulging a young celebrity’s waywardness. To his credit (and possibly a choice Dylan might approve of) Chalamet never tries to make his character likeable. He plays Dylan with a whiff of arrogance, cruelty, but also someone with a light touch. I, for instance, really enjoyed this sequence where Seeger corners Dylan to play in a gathering, which probably contributes to the early cracks in their relationship. “I’ve got another 1100 pounds on me, which don’t show up on a scale,” he complains to his date for the evening, as they leaving from the gathering. Monica Barbaro as Joan Baez, is what many might term as a ‘star-making’ turn. Baez and Dylan’s dynamic remains one of the most fascinating ones in the film – seduced by each other’s songwriting prowess, which is audible in their duets. But the unrelenting focus on work also means that professional jealousy poisons their relationship. They sound like soulmates on stage, and bitter adversaries in bed.
A still from ‘A Complete Unknown’.
It’s the supporting parts in Mangold’s film that are also performed with unerring sincerity. Elle Fanning as Sylvie – Dylan’s first serious relationship in New York – has the vulnerability and ache of a ‘normal’ person, completely out of her depth among these eccentric, gifted titans. Dylan’s manager, Albert (Dan Fogler) – who negotiates the star’s professional commitments – is a trope character in such films. But Fogler brings warmth to Albert. Norton has a remarkable elder-brother vibe, probably how Dylan saw Seeger through most of his life. Holbrook as Cash is relatively more reckless with his words, and his style of guitar – living it up as a country rockstar in the 1960s.
But it’s McNairy as Guthrie, who really touched me, using his big, round eyes to convey the hurt, joy and wonder during his fast-diminishing life. When Dylan meets him at the beginning of the film, Guthrie is already long forgotten. Even someone of his stature, has just one friend (Seeger) sitting beside his hospital bed. Just because the world loves your work, doesn’t mean they love you. It’s a distinction Dylan probably makes early on, while meeting Guthrie in his ward. It probably informs his reticence to keep anyone (the fans, the record companies or his colleagues) from ‘owning him’.
James Mangold’s A Complete Unknown revels in the ellipses of Dylan as a public persona, never trying to condense him into a tangible person. It treats him like an ephemeral consciousness which awakened now and then, put out iconic work, and then disappeared. It might be the only explanation for how he’s managed to hold on to his sanity despite a career spanning six decades. As for who Bob Dylan is in his personal life – what are his political beliefs, is he a morally righteous man, a faithful partner, a caring family member? The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind.