I saw A Complete Unknown last night, and here’s my take (not that anyone asked). First off, Timothée Chalamet is extraordinary, he captures Dylan’s weird, wiry, idiosyncratic vibe perfectly. More astonishingly, his recreations of Dylan’s live performances are a feat of technical excellence that’s almost difficult to comprehend. Monica Barbaro as Joan Baez also does a remarkable job.
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I saw A Complete Unknown last night, and here’s my take (not that anyone asked). First off, Timothée Chalamet is extraordinary, he captures Dylan’s weird, wiry, idiosyncratic vibe perfectly. More astonishingly, his recreations of Dylan’s live performances are a feat of technical excellence that’s almost difficult to comprehend. Monica Barbaro as Joan Baez also does a remarkable job.
Sadly, the story and script fail to match them. Written by director James Mangold and Jay Cocks, the focus is on 1961–1965 and the folk versus electric controversy, which, unfortunately, is dramatically inert—there’s no real power in how this is presented. Additionally, in a bid to show Dylan in all his gritty, tortured-artist realness, he comes off as a bit of a pill, treating the women in his life appallingly (particularly Elle Fanning, lovely as Sylvie Russo, a fictional character based on Dylan's real-life girlfriend at the time, Suze Rotolo).
It’s fine for the protagonist to be unlikable, but the way he’s written here would drive you to tedium within half an hour. Chalamet does manage to inject charisma and the odd bit of humour into proceedings, but he’s hobbled by the slightly pretentious dialogue.
Overall, it’s a handsome film (the 1960s New York backdrop is beautifully designed), but ultimately, it’s just a series of very impressive recreations of live and studio performances—without much else.
Sadly, the story and script fail to match them. Written by director James Mangold and Jay Cocks, the focus is on 1961–1965 and the folk versus electric controversy, which, unfortunately, is dramatically inert—there’s no real power in how this is presented. Additionally, in a bid to show Dylan in all his gritty, tortured-artist realness, he comes off as a bit of a pill, treating the women in his life appallingly (particularly Elle Fanning, lovely as Sylvie Russo, a fictional character based on Dylan's real-life girlfriend at the time, Suze Rotolo).
It’s fine for the protagonist to be unlikable, but the way he’s written here would drive you to tedium within half an hour. Chalamet does manage to inject charisma and the odd bit of humour into proceedings, but he’s hobbled by the slightly pretentious dialogue.
Overall, it’s a handsome film (the 1960s New York backdrop is beautifully designed), but ultimately, it’s just a series of very impressive recreations of live and studio performances—without much else.
