I want to watch the second half of Martin Scorsese’s No Direction Home: Bob Dylan before making a full interpretation of it, but the documentary material Scorsese has compiled here, collecting interviews and culling from concert footage and amateur film, is pretty impressive. And until I watched this film, I’d forgotten how haunting and how powerful many of his songs actually are. Scorsese has long had a great ear for music, and that enthusiasm certainly shows in this film, which I certainly enjoyed watching, although I will acknowledge that some aspects of the film (the somewhat uncritical Dylan worship, in particular, left me feeling cold).
With that in mind, I want to reflect on some of the reviews I linked to earlier in the day. As I mentioned, David Greenberg, writing for Slate, criticizes the film for focusing almost entirely on Dylan’s early career, with the effect that Dylan’s later career, which features some fantastic music (“Hurricane” is a personal fave), is almost ignored. Greenberg acknowledges, of course, that what Scorsese offers is not a conventional biographical documentary, but wonders whether the film’s ’60s nostalgia inhibits critical thinking. It’s an interesting argument, and while I share some of Greenberg’s suspicions regarding nostalgia, even for the 1960s, I wonder if there isn’t a way to use the film’s nostalgia critically to think about the politics of cultural production.
Like Greenberg, I found myself somewhat frustrated by some of the ’60s clichés used as “background” for the film. As Dylan “arrives” in Greenwich Village, we hear the eloquent John F. Kennedy calling the youth of America to national service (“Ask not what your country can do for you…”). I’ve heard or seen that image thousands of times, and I’m no longer sure that it can be made “new” again, but the sights and sounds that were memorable for me were the street scenes and poetry readings in Greenwich Village, as Scorsese painted a portrait of a youthful artist who was busy absorbing everything he could from Beat poetry to folk, country, and Gospel music, to James Dean and Marlon Brando movies.
In portraying Dylan as the one person capable of Putting It All Together, the film does fall into the somewhat less interesting narrative of Dylan as Genius (which isn’t really news for most of us). In fact, my reading of the film should be seen as virtually antithetical to Roger Ebert’s account of learning to empathize with Dylan, a reading that derives, in part, from a serious misreading of D.A. Pennebaker’s Don’t Look Back, in which Ebert keys on Dylan’s verbal harangue against a young journalist, ignoring the film’s commentary on media and the production of celebrity. But in celebrating the artistic scene out of which Dylan emerged, No Direction Home, implicitly at the very least, does reflect on the conditions of possibility that allowed Dylan to emerge as an artist, whether a maturing teen culture, the collectivity of the Greenwich Village bohemian culture, or the institutional status of the music industry. The film also shows the role the budding Civil Rights movement had on Dylan’s music when he performs “Only a Pawn in the Game,” a scathing critique of institutional racism (although Dylan does resist the characterization of himself as political throughout the first half of the documentary).
I realize that by placing emphasis on Scorsese’s portrayal of the 1960s that I am reading the film somewhat against its intentions (or “against the grain” to use an old phrase), but I think there is some value in rethinking Dylan’s reputation as someone who absorbed the disparate pieces of a fragmented culture and translated them into something else. It’s a tempting reading, though a somewhat uncomfortable one, especially given David Yaffe’s more critical take, which takes the film to task for a variety of sins (no mention of the sex and drugs that went along with rock and roll; the implication that Dylan’s “people” carefully sanitized Dylan’s image). But, following from Yaffe’s criticism of the film and other forms of recent Dylan-worship, I think it’s worth asking why Dylan (again) now? What cultural need (beyond profit) is the return to Dylan answering? I’m not sure I have the answer to that question–check back with me after Part 2–but I think it’s a far more interesting question than merely dismissing the film for its whitewashed take on Dylan and far more satisfying than mere empathy with the genius.
Finally, welcome to all the readers who found their way here from Michael Bérubé’s blog. Judging by my statistics, a lot of you are dropping by, so I’d love to know what other people are thinking about No Direction Home.