Tuesday, 31 December 2019

Rolling Thunder Revue: A Bob Dylan Story By Martin Scorsese (2019) - Movie Review



After looking at the Beyonce concert documentary, and thinking on and off this month about The Irishman, I feel like I need to give Martin Scorsese another look-over. With how much he’s dominated the larger conversation about where the cinema industry is going, and how vindicated his statements have grown in such a short time (the artistic quality of the MCU is still arguable, but its effect on the industry isn't), I don’t want my last thoughts about the man this decade to be filled with disappointment and a want to highlight what has made the man so enduringly fascinating as a storyteller. So let’s look at the other movie he made this year, a documentary about Bob Dylan’s legendary Rolling Thunder Revue.

The film’s structure and content plays into Dylan’s continually enigmatic presence as a musician in how, despite the aforementioned labelling, its status as a documentary is intentionally in question. In-between footage of Dylan and co. performing on stage, it features numerous bits of interview footage (both contemporaneous and new), philosophical detours, and a rather cheeky vein of fabrication throughout. Playing like a follow-up to I’m Not There, it embraces the slipperiness of its subject and takes hold of his many different personas to, while not adhering to historical truth, speaks some definite emotional truth.

As fun as it can get to see Sharon Stone recounting her ‘past’ with Dylan, centred around a KISS t-shirt, or hear Bob Dylan dismiss the notion that Beat poet Allen Ginsberg was a “father figure” (which given the man’s connections to NAMBLA makes for one of the most cutting lines put to screen all year), the film’s approach to its partly-real-life story is one that looks at the mythology placed on art by the observer and even by the artist themselves.

During the performance scene from Patti Smith, gracing the frame with her poetic punk styling, the film emphasises how the stories behind or even in front of songs can add to their lasting impact. To reiterate that point, we even get a scene with Dylan and Rubin ‘Hurricane’ Carter, the subject of one of Dylan’s most enduring pieces of music. The film doesn’t so much dispel the myth as much as it points out what creates that myth, the layers of context and artifice that generate further meaning beyond the notes.

Not that this film needed to try all that hard to highlight its own artistry as, both as a concert film and as a documentary, the production at large is exquisite. Aside from the newer interview footage, most of the film’s content is made up of pre-existing footage shot for Bob Dylan’s Renaldo And Clara, which he filmed alongside the tour itself. It’s basically the leftovers of another film entirely, and one that did not get a lot of love back in the day and even now, and Scorsese exposes his inner cinematic chef in how he turns those leftovers into a veritable feast.

The restoration of the audio and visual archives is frankly staggering in how crisp they turn out, letting the grainy film stock and intimate instrumentation ring through in equal clarity. To say nothing of Dylan’s performance all on its own, which was honestly a revelation for me because, for the longest time, my understanding of Bob Dylan as a musician was of someone who was far better equipped with writing lyrics than actually delivering them. One need only listen to his contribution to the original We Are The World for that impression to be understood.

But here, backed with his all-star band and smattered in white face paint, the production reason to highlight this specific moment of his career becomes clear: This is Dylan at peak performance, and even though no-one then or now knew the precise reasoning for this tour in the first place, there’s even less argument about the need for its existence and its remembrance.

It is a frenzied and blurred look at not just a crucial moment in Dylan’s career but a crucial moment in American history as a whole, with the Nixon administration looming large over the mood and tone of the original footage. It’s the kind of cinematic alchemy and re-contextualisation of the past that, quite frankly, I’ve come to expect from Scorsese after all this time. And as a figure who continues to play a key role in not only the continuation of cinema’s future but the preservation of its past, this is a feature that shouldn’t be overlooked, even in the face of Scorsese’s other work.

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