No Direction Home

I saw Martin Scorsese's film when it was originally screened on TV a while ago, but when it was recently released on DVD, one of my sons bought a copy, and he's lent it to me. I watched both the original film, and the extras and special features on Disc 2 - many of these I hadn't seen before. It included some complete performances, from 1964 to 1966 - early TV appearances in his earnest protest-singing days, through to 1966, when he was in full, semi-deranged 'Judas' mode.
As I've said before, I know practically every note of his music in this period, right up to Nashville Skyline, after which he began to lose me. It's hardwired into my DNA, but seeing all this footage brought home to me for the first time his extraordinary diction. Every word can be clearly heard, even in the middle of his drug-fuelled, Blonde on Blonde period. This is crucial, as his words are central to what he's all about. Another thing; hearing so much Dylan at one sitting, one is reminded that he really is like Shakespeare. So many lines of his lyrics have practically passed into the language, so that you almost forget he was responsible for them.
The early footage, from '61-'62 reminds us how young he was - 20-21 when he started out, yet he was already becoming well-known enough for his performances to be filmed.
The film traces his development from his earliest years in Hibbing, Minnesota, ending abruptly with his motporcycle crash in 1966. after which he disappeared from view for 3 years, interspersed with clips from a recent interview with Dylan, in which he talks openly about his life. This is often revelatory, as he's never been one for interviews or profiles and he's never bared his soul in public to anyone before, as far as I can remember - certainly not about his background or influences. He's a highly unusual interviewee - I read the first volume of his autobiography, Chronicles, recently, and felt as if reading it was like hearing him talk; random, stream-of-consciousness stuff, overlaid with a sharp, spiky intelligence. He really does talk like that. Yet he seems a little uncomfortable; he's a bit reticent and unpractised - he's not a media-created figure, pouring out his emotions, yet on another level he's extraordibarily eloquent; it's like hearing someone speak as if they're scripted by Cormac McCarthy.
He seems to have profoundly ambivalent feelings about his upbringing in Hibbing. In the '60s he frequently claimed that he grew up somewhere more glamorous - a clip from an early interview is played in the film in which he admits to having been born in Duluth, Minnesota, but goes on to state that he grew up in Mexico. The interviewer obviously believed him, as everyone did in those days.
What's clear is that the young Dylan was a sponge; soaking up everything around him. There was little stimulus in his environment, but he made the most of it. His recollection of the carnival that used to come to town - a strange relic of pioneer days that survived into post-war society before TV took hold is vivid, and sharply detailed, and makes sense of the scene in I'm Not There in which Richard Gere encounters a travelling carnival - the characters appear as if in a dream; like a childhood memory, and mirror those recalled by Dylan.
He remembers feeling completely disconnected from his surroundings from an early age, yet he seems to have been a normal teenager, listening to the radio, and forming a band, yet his experience, as he remembers it, is of feeling as if he belonged somewhere else, like a changeling, adopted by his parents, and belonging elsewhere; feelings which must have fuelled all those invented childhoods. His self-invention is very much a part of his career trajectory - he's always been something of a shapeshifter. I remember when I saw him at the famous Isle of Wight festival in 1969; his first appearance since his motorbike crash. I almost couldn't quite believe it was him; he wore a white suit, had a skimpy beard, and had obviously put on quite a bit of weight. My picture of him up until then was that of the skinny, nervy sunglassed fugure memorialised by Cate Blanchett. Throughout his career he's perpetually reinvented himself - he's now a deejay, a very good one, but he's been all sorts of people, which is why I'm Not There works so well.
No Direction Home ends in 1966, and its centrepiece is the famous British tour in which he played with The Band, triggering the infamous 'Judas' at the Manchester Free Trade Hall. I acquired a bootleg LP of that tour in the early '70s, so was familiar with the music and atmosphere. The concert footage was superb, with excellent sound quality - it must have been remastered as sound systems then were notoriously bad. Seeing the 'Judas' footage again brought home the crushing failure to portray this sequence adequately in I'm Not There. The blistering music, Dylan's ferocious energy, with the Band's thunderous accompaniment - none of this was even remotely suggested in the film. Fascinating though Blanchett's performance was, I now feel that it didn't come near to the reality of the wasted, yet coruscating figure he'd become by 1966. Dylan performed as if possessed - astonishing. I still admire Haynes' film, but now feel that the Blanchett sequence was, in some ways, the weakest - her portrayal, precise and acute though it was, merely scraped the surface.
Anyway - a fantastic achievement from Scorsese - they were extraordinary times. The world hadn't seen anything like Dylan before and such is the nature of fame now, we won't see anything like him again. This film brought home for me the extent to which he, and his music, are deeply embedded in US culture and history - a giant of the twentieth century.