Movie Reviews for Writers: A Complete Unknown

There is Bob Dylan, and there is the legend or the mythology of Bob Dylan. Timothee Chalamet perfectly captures the mythology of Dylan in this awesome flick. Yes, A Complete Unknown is a biopic, but it's not really even trying to be historically accurate. Instead, and this is intentional since Dylan himself was involved in the making of the movie, this is a biography of the fictional version of Bob Dylan, the artiste, the troubadour who refused to be boxed in by the very industry he longed to become a part of. 

And to be fair, is that not the very essence of what it means to be a writer, an artist, a creator?

That said, since Dylan is far more a writer (poet, if you insist on precision) than a musician (even garnering the Nobel Prize in Literature for his poetry), it's fitting we cover what this drama has to say about our own writing. 

So, what can we learn about being a writer from this mythologizing of Saint Bob?

One caveat first -- because of the nature of Bob Dylan and the way he and his fans like to present his story, it is highly possible that some of this could be seen as a bit pretentious. But please suffer through it. Because it's not about the pretentiousness itself. It's about the truth behind the pretentiousness. 

"Kind of an Asshole"

Early in the film, Dylan and Joan Baez are hanging out after a night together, and they begin to discuss music (of course). That conversation quickly moves from when they learned to play guitar to the notion of songwriting, as Baez rummages through some of Dylan's notes scattered about his apartment. 

JOAN: I write too. But I’m not sure there’s a way to learn that.

BOB: Too hard.

JOAN: Excuse me.

BOB: You try too hard. To write.

JOAN: ...Really.

BOB: If you’re askin’.

JOAN: I wasn’t.

BOB: Sunsets and seagulls. Your songs are like an oil painting at the dentist’s office.

JOAN: You’re kind of an asshole, Bob.

I am regularly asked by fellow writers if I'd be willing to take a look at their stories for one of two reasons -- (1) to give them my overall opinion of their writing or (2) an edit of the work. I always, always, always follow that up with two questions of my own.

1. Do you really want my honest opinion or edit, because I'm striving to see you be your best as a writer?
2. What's your budget?

Disregarding the second question for the sake of this review, the first is worth looking at. Many folks only want you to validate that their view of themselves and their abilities is echoed by your view too. Even Joan Baez felt that twinge of stung pride by the honest critique by a master of the art form. (Granted, it's an unsolicited opinion, so there's that.) But supposing she had asked, his response and opinion would have been the same. And sometimes that means that friends who also write might be offended if you don't embrace their brilliance. 

"Fulfilling a Myth"

Remember that first sentence I wrote way up there? Well, it's not only true for Dylan. It's true for you too. I mean, have you read your own bio for convention copy and back cover author info? Dylan expresses this via a series of letters exchanged with another mythological performer, the man in black, Johnny Cash. 

Dear Johnny, thanks for that letter. Let me start by not beginning. Let me start not by startin'. By continuing. This whole thing has gotten hard. I am now famous. Like you. Famous by the rules of public famiousity. It snuck up on me. And pulverized me. It is hard for me to walk down the streets I did before, cause now I don’t know who is watching. Who is waiting. Wanting. I don’t mind giving an autograph, but my mind tells me it is not honest. I am fulfilling a myth. A lie. 

Remember this: You can talk all you want about the myth, but the true you will be the one that readers can learn about only by reading your work. Just like fully understanding Bob Dylan, you must take in the sum total of his decades of writing and not just pigeonhole him into any single era, you too will be seen truly over your full body of work. 

But don't forget that your readers also have the ability and sometimes intention to mythologize you. They can, based on your words, turn you from saint to devil and back again many times. For example, speaking of Dylan and how he is a major draw for the folk festivals, Harold Leventhal states, "He’s our Elvis" -- not that Dylan ever wanted to be anyone's Elvis, just his own Bob Dylan. 

Likewise, the comparisons will come for you, and while embracing them for marketing purposes can be helpful, they can also become a box in which to trap you as a creator. Become the "indie George R.R. Martin" and see how much love you get when you want to stretch your crime-writing muscles. Become known for your cozy mysteries and count on one hand the fans that follow you to your new vampire romance series.

"Where the Songs Come From"

If you've ever watched or listened to interviews with Dylan, you'll learn quickly that he and I are very different in regard to talking (or writing) about where the ideas and the words come from. I have a whole blog about that process. Dylan shrugged off such questions with vague or nonsensical responses. 

He enjoyed the act of creating but not the discussion about that act. The truth was the act itself to him. 

Not only that, he saved some of his harshest comments for those who liked to ask him about that process under the guise of jealousy or copying, as he tells Sylvie (so named in the movie although in reality her name was Suze):

..Everyone asks where the songs come from, Sylvie. But if you watch their faces, they’re not asking where the songs come from. They’re asking why the songs didn’t come to them.

Ironically, he had little place for aping another's style, even though he himself had begun as a sort of homage to Woody Guthrie. 

"Good for Somebody"

Art outs itself. Even though companies spend fortunes on marketing, art often manages to find the audience it needs. And that's a good lesson for us. It may not be a huge audience. It may not be a profitable audience that lets you live only to write, but it is an audience nonetheless. 

You may have heard the idea of writing the story only you can tell. Or writing the stories you want to see out in the world. This is the flip side of that same idea. 

Dylan agrees, as he tells the crowd before beginning a new song (an audience that sadly wants to hear another of the old songs): "Here’s a new one. Hope you think it’s good. It’s gotta be good for somebody."

And he's right. Write that story. It's gotta be good for somebody. 

"They Change Keys"

Perhaps the biggest irony between the written work of Bob Dylan and the written or spoken words of Bob Dylan is this -- he changed the world, not just the world of music, but the world of well, the world, and yet he consistently either denied or downplayed any role he might have had in those changes. Nowhere is this seen better in the film than when he attends a party and overhears folks talking about him and his music. 

PARTY GUEST 1: Read Herbert Marcuse. No song can change the world. It’s too fucked up.

PARTY GUEST 2: (looks at Bob) That’d be news to him.

PARTY GUEST 3: Hey! Bob, can songs really change things?!

BOB: They change keys.

Now, he knew his songs changed a lot more than mere keys. He knew they were changing the world. But in spite of his own acceptance of his pretension when it came to songwriting and musical poetry, he refused to accept any pretension when it came to be a driving, dominant, cultural force. 

Yet it's impossible to look back on his work and not see how much impact his poetry has had on the world. Whether it's his protest songs of the '60s, his religious upheaval in the '70s, his seeming abandonment of both in his more rock and pop '80s, or his focus on more traditional sounds in the '90s and beyond, his music has been a driving force in all of it. 

So, yeah, sure, songs changed keys, at least on the music side, but the words he wrote, they changed the world. 

"Track Some Mud on the Carpet"

My biggest takeaway from A Complete Unknown, even with all the stuff I wrote above this, is that writers will always be wanted for what they have written, not what they want to write. 

What do I mean? 

Write a successful series, and the next book your publisher wants is More of the Same Vol. 2. Write a great romance novel and the audience who loves you wants another one that gives them all the same warm fuzzies. It matters not that you feel the urge to write a hard military Science Fiction thriller or a Literary Fantasy. 

All artists learn the lesson. It's easy to get put in a box and labeled. 

While performing at the Newport Folk Festival with Joan Baez, the audience requests "Blowing in the Wind" and other popular songs they've heard a million times before. Bob wants to play something new. 

BOB (CONT’D): No, no, no. Don’t do that. They all have that on records at home.

JOAN: (to crowd) You want to hear “Blowin’ in the Wind”, right? That’s why they came here, Bob.

In a similar vein, while being talked down to by Pete Seeger (who wants him to continue in the folk hero box they've put him in), he argues that as an artist, he can't be limited to what other people want from him. 

...More in this world to sing about than justice, Pete. And there’s more than one way to play a song. (then to Albert) they just want me singing the same songs, Albert. For the rest of my fucking life.

It's a constant thorn in his side throughout his career. His folk comrades wanted to box him into protest songs with "pure" instruments. His religious comrades wanted to box him in with Bible messages only. And so on. 

Sometimes his "biggest fans" opposed him with vehemence, as when Alan Lomax derides Dylan (to Pete Seegerz) for wanting to bring electric music to the Folk Festival.

ALAN LOMAX: No, Pete. We can’t. Fuck the Butterfingers. And fuck Dylan if he thinks he’s gonna play electric on our stage. And don’t bring up ticket sales, Harold. I don’t give a shit. Rock and roll is a cash-powered alien invasion crushing all authentic human possibility.

Meanwhile, what he wanted to do was write what was inside him. It was Johnny Cash who was able to put this into words for him. 

JOHNNY CASH (V.O. via letter): I’ll see you in Newport come Spring. Till then, track mud on somebody’s carpet.

JOHNNY CASH (after the electric show) Make some noise, B-D. Track some mud on the carpet.

I think that's maybe the most important lesson we writers can learn from this film -- track some mud on the carpet of the expectations that markets, publishers, and fans have of you. 

But we're not done yet. There's still one last message this amazing film has for us as writers.

"You Brought a Shovel"

While trying to talk Dylan out of performing with an electric rock band, Pete Seeger tells him a story about folk music, about how Pete and his cronies were trying to achieve a balance between pop music and folk music and how they kept trying to fill up the folk side of the scale with teaspoons of sand. Then he says the following:

PETE: Then you came along, Bobby.. and you brought a shovel. We just had teaspoons. But you brought a shovel. And now, thanks to you, we’re almost there. You’re the closing act, Bobby, and if you could just use that shovel the right way--

BOB: The right way... 

But Dylan isn't deterred. He goes out and rocks an electric set that changes music forever. 

Afterward, he gives this message to his old friend Pete: "The only reason I have a shovel, Pete, is because I picked it up. It was just lying there and I picked it up."

You're a writer. If there's something you want to write, do it. The shovel is just lying there. Pick it up.