| Overall Grade: |
C- |
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| Story: |
D+ |
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| Acting: |
B- |
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| Direction: |
C |
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| Visuals: |
B |
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THE HUNGER ARTIST EATING CAVIAR
by (movies profile)
Jun 17, 2008
28
of
39 people found this review helpful
Of course, you're not there. You're HERE. (So much for the title.)
The central, unrelenting and overbearing theme is the conflict between Dylan as artist and Dylan as mass-media entertainer. Dylan wanted it
both ways: On the one hand, he wanted to be the outlaw charlatan, outcast poseur, his creative imagination unfettered, free to assume whatever persona struck his fancy, immune to social restriction and category, an Underground Man, a surreal Kafkaesque interloper and court jester. This is his creative wellspring, for instance, his appropriating whole Woody Guthrie's populist troubadour identity by slavishly imitating Rambling Jack Elliot, lick for lick, mannerism for mannerism (c.f., the biopic "Ballad of Rambin Jack"). The poetic license he aspired to is inherently apolitical, asocial, anarchistic,
and amoral. The modern anti-hero artist is a thief and liar.
On the other hand, Dylan wasn't a literary guru slaving away in some obscure garret by flickering candlelight. No, he threw himself into the glaring limelight. Unlike his namesake, Dylan Thomas, whose stage was rather small, Bob Dylan's was huge, global; his medium was Columbia records, FM radio, and international tours. Dylan didn't hide, didn't choose to walk away from fame. Far from it. He had a huge ego and an even bigger ambition. Like a missile, he honed in on influential people, cornered those who he thought could advance his career, and promoted himself shamelessly, advertising his talent, insisting anyone and everyone pay attention to him. From the start, even by his own admission, he set out to be a "star."
This is the fundamental dishonesty of the film. It glorifies Dylan in exactly the same way he glorified himself: The Hunger Artist eating caviar.
Thus, it's a bit hard to sympathize with his struggle, his conflict. He fully enjoyed the money, the limo's, the groupies. He toyed with the press, pretended to be above it, but was in fact, just like the Beatles, who did exactly the same thing, completely dependent on it. Who bought his records? Peaceniks, sandaled long-haired hippies for whom "Blowin' in the Wind" was a protest-rally anthem. He may have scoffed at the crowds and political movements, but would have been a penniless unknown without them. It was Albert Grossman, a savvy promoter and hard-nosed businessman, who made Dylan's fame possible.
Critics tend to go gaga over movies like this that screw around with, manipulate, the film medium, for example, rearranging time, changing perspectives, such as "Before the Devil Knows You're Dead," "Memento," or "Run Lola Run." They're making a big deal about the impressionistic, nonlinear, creative license of this movie. Some are even saying the biopic will never be the same. Bleuy! This ain't no Fellini. If you can follow TV commercials, you can understand "I'm Not There." The leaps of narrative are no more imaginative than your standard car ad. And your average car ad is a whole lot more professionally made than this rather rambling, undisciplined film (e.g., Dylan's paramour, Claire, who's supposed to be French, unaccountably lapses into a British accent.)
The movie lacks a strong connection between song and story. Even "Across the Universe" does a better job of integrating the music into the film. Too often the lyrics are barely intelligible (subtitles would have helped).
Why bother with Cate Blanchette impersonating Dylan (as goofy, imo, as her Katherine Hepburn in "The Aviator")? Go for the real thing: See "Don't Look Back" (1967), the documentary by D.A. Pennebaker of Dylan's first British tour, which captures his being at once fragile and indestructible, silly and wise, otherworldly and banal. |
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