Rolling Thunder Review: Bob Dylan and the Fever Dream
There’s already a ton of great writing out there about the new Bob Dylan film, Rolling Thunder Revue, directed by Martin Scorsese. (Pretty much all of it is good, and pretty much all of it is worthy of reading.) People many years older and wiser than me have discussed the merits of the film and how wonderfully it seems to align with who Dylan is as an artist and human being, and I thought to myself, rather self-deprecatingly, what more could I possibly add? It’s all here in black and white.
Then I decided to stop reading, shut up, and watch the damn film.
The first thing you need to know about Rolling Thunder Revue is that no, it’s not a documentary, not by a long shot. I currently work as an intern at the office of Ken Burns, King of the Traditional Documentary, and there’s nothing wrong with that style, but if it’s the usual talking heads you’re looking for, you won’t find them in Scorsese’s film.
What you’ll find instead is a straight up contact high meets fever dream.
I took the suggestion of known music critic, Bob Lefsetz, and turned the subtitles on, which turned out to be my best idea, as Dylan’s manner of speaking tends to sound a bit like a revving motorcycle. Besides that, you’ll catch every single last lyric.
Bob Dylan set out in 1975 to create a tour that would operate not unlike a traveling circus that would appear in small venues only across the country. And what a cast of characters he gathered along the way. Allen Ginsberg, who’s even weirder than I remember, sings and beats drums while sitting cross legged on the stage floor, though Dylan insists he is a poet, not a songwriter. Patti Smith is at her prime, she stands shoulder to shoulder with Dylan and talks while he stares at her face in a way that looks like he wants to tear her apart, like he wants to consume her. Sam Shepard appears to be the most calming presence in the entire group. Joni Mitchell refuses to play anything other than her new material on this tour, and there’s a captivating piece of footage in which she performs Coyote, which would become one of her best songs of all time. Mick Ronson is there, because Mick Ronson is apparently the go-to guitar guy when you’re a cultural icon like Dylan or Bowie. And Joan Baez is…well, gorgeous.
This is perhaps my favorite Bob Dylan era.
The entire film, as I mentioned, feels like a fever dream. It’s weird, messy, electrifying, unorganized. It screams “1975”. Dylan describes it as “ musical
commedia dell’arte”. Scorsese includes footage of full song performances, start to finish, so it almost feels like you’re at the concert yourself. Dylan is seen smiling in much of it, something you don’t see from him too much these days. Not one single song sounds the same as it does on the record — and he still does this today — Dylan reinvents his songs constantly, with every tour, and to hell what his fans might think.
I sometimes have a hard time believing that Bob Dylan is a real person. He seems so much like a troubadour from another time, an oracle or something, it’s almost impossible to believe that he would do anything a normal person would do. (Though the most humanizing interaction is caught on camera with Baez. He tells her how upset he was that she went off and got married. Baez retorts that he went off and got married first and didn’t tell her. Dylan stammers. “Yeah but I...uhh I…uhh.” Men, am I right? Even Nobel Prize winning men.) Is he a genius? That’s a tough word to throw around but there’s clearly something ticking in him that few others have. It sure was ticking in 1975, and it’s still ticking now.
I believe that Bob Dylan is the single greatest subject for a documentary-esque film such as this because he truly, unequivocally, does not give a fuck. About anything, and often times anyone. He doesn’t care about ticket sales, or profits. He doesn’t care about what music critics say, and he definitely doesn’t really care what his fans think. The wheels just go on churning in his head, and he keeps moving on to the next project or piece of work. He’s the perfect subject, because he will do and say whatever he wants, no matter what.
“I don’t even remember the Rolling Thunder tour, I wasn’t even born then” says modern day Dylan to the interviewer in the film. “Whadda ya want to know about it?” He rarely does sit-down interviews like this. It’s very clear why — Bob Dylan is not an interview man. When he talks he rocks a bit back and forth, and he doesn’t look at the camera. He starts to say something and then cuts himself off. “That’s all clumsy bullshit” he says.
He might not be an interview man, but he is a story telling man. I read up after watching the film about the significant portions of the film that are fictional. Some characters are made up, some memories are embellished. Ordinarily this would disappoint me, but not here. With Dylan, it seems…fitting.
“When somebody is wearing a mask, he’s gonna tell you the truth” he says. The Rolling Thunder tour featured many masks and white face paint.
I think Dylan was telling the truth on that tour. The film itself might be a blend of truth and myth, but then again, that’s the same blend that Dylan is made up of.
“Like a complete unknown, like a rolling stone.”