26/01/2025
I saw the Bob Dylan movie last night, and right now I’m just lost for words, it was that great. At the time, I’m 76, I followed all these events that are described in “A Complete Unknown” as they happened. The same moment as when I got the first album by Bob back in 1963, from my older cousin David. I didn’t know what I was listening to at first, but one song on it (the only original composition) about Woody Guthrie really struck me, with it’s simple direct lyrics and message to his hero, clear as a spotlight. I knew then I’d found something special. That ‘Song to Woody’ is featured early in the movie, and for me it could not help but strike a chord. Now I was walking with Bob and his first girlfriend (confusingly not named Suze Rotolo) through Greenwich Village in those extraordinary early sixties days, when life was suspended in coffee bars on a fragile thread by the Cuban missile crisis and the murders of John F Kennedy and Martin Luther King. I was back there too, when Dylan picked up a Fender Stratocaster and shocked the Newport Folk Festival and followed that up with those loud gigs in England with The Hawks (later named The Band), one of these shows at the Royal Albert Hall I attended, duly stunned to my seat by his audacity. Yes I followed all these developments closely at the time, deciding this wild poet and arbiter of change and transition was the only guide I could possibly trust. Then came ‘Hey Mr. Tambourine Man’, ‘Subterranean Homesick Blues’ and ‘Highway 61 Revisited’ in short order, finally topped by my vote for the greatest song of all time (and maybe yours too) - ‘Like A Rolling Stone’. My faith in my hero firmly in place, I sought to follow him so closely I morphed myself into him - copied his rebel pout, his crazy hair, his anti-establishment clothes, his belligerent attitude, followed so closely I almost lost myself. Here in celluloid was everything I’d experienced while chasing my guide - right there up on the screen, the fear of nuclear war, the beauty of Joan Baez, the blinded power of youth, the scary manager character of Albert Grossman, the streets he walked and the musical hoodlums he hung with. In the movie I saw Dylan exactly as he has haunted my life, an enigma of sorts, like a feather blowing in the wind, one you’ll try to, but you never can catch. In that little picture house last night I had tears in my eyes and a fire was back in my soul. I’m happy I stuck with you Bob, and I thank God, the actors and the film-makers for this movie.