James Mangold’s A Complete Unknown isn’t without faults, but it’s a riveting account of craftsmanship, complexities, and the demand for growth. Bob Dylan isn’t an easy figure to produce a biopic on—his ego is a part of his charm, but for those unfamiliar with the artist, the film might not be the expected type of story.
Still, Timothée Chalamet is an indescribable force as the musician from the moment he steps into New York to the final frame after the Newport Folk Festival. It’s apparent right from the start that Chalamet has not only done his research, but he’s striding into impossible shoes with the mindset that he’ll bring the best of his abilities to the forefront. And that, he most certainly does, which I confidentially feel every filmgoer will agree on, even if the overall spectacle doesn’t please them.
However, Mangold’s A Complete Unknown isn’t just about how Chalamet shines, but every key player whose characters are integral to Dylan’s legacy and success. Edward Norton especially outdoes himself as Pete Seeger, providing nuance and range in a position that both garners sympathy and frustration. We also get a tremendous performance from Monica Barbaro, who brings Joan Baez’s role to life with significant understanding, followed by brilliant beats of scene-stealing from Elle Fanning as Sylvie Russo. Boyd Holbrook, Will Harrison, Scoot McNairy, and ultimately everyone involved in the short period of time are each incredibly compelling in what they convey, allowing viewers to gain an awareness of these people through a lens that highlights their crafts.
An immense appeal in biopics is the idea of celebrating an artist’s success. Yet, in Dylan’s case, Mangold’s A Complete Unknown tears him down a bit, too, choosing to focus on the importance of folk music to encompass what a specific type of legacy looks like. There are, right as we speak, people who are discovering Dylan for the first time, or people who’ve known his songs but nothing about the artist behind them.
Dylan isn’t like some of the legends who’ve come before him, yet that’s where a massive part of his allure and influence in folk music comes from. He’s just a man who stepped foot into a hospital and played a song—a man who loves music and chooses to be whoever he is and not who people want him to be.
This is where Chalamet’s strength as an actor comes in because even while some of the uglier sides of Dylan draw to the surface, Chalamet never once loses the humanity in his eyes. He paints a portrait of a man who isn’t a puppet but rather a human being, doing the best he can with the talents he’s been given and honed. There’s a lot of tenderness in him, a great deal of remorse, too—some of the frustration never leaves him, and yet, neither does his heart.
Chalamet brings to life the artistry of creating something and being proud of it, even when the rest of the world might not be. He underscores what it means to belong to the public and the importance of holding onto what’s strictly yours. He plays a complicated man with a grace that’s made him one of the best young performers of our time, deserving of every standing ovation possible.
All of its strongest facets aside, A Complete Unknown suffers from pacing and editing. If a viewer isn’t familiar with this timeline, then it’d be easy to feel irritated by the jumps and cuts that take us from point A to point B. It’d be easy to ask questions that the film itself should be answering. But I suppose this isn’t meant to be a recollection of that sort but rather a riveting character study that spotlights all kinds of wildly flawed figures whose roles in folk music are integral to where the genre is today. From the performances, lighting and set designs all the way to the costumes, the film features plenty to appreciate still.
A Complete Unknown is now playing in theaters.
First Featured Image Credit: ©Searchlight Pictures