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Posted by on Aug 11, 2020 in Blog, Essays | 0 comments

No Direction Home: Bob Dylan (Documentary Film Review)

 

 

He was a receiver. 

He was possessed. 

He articulated what the rest of us wanted to say, but couldn’t say.

 

Writer’s Note:  No Direction Home:  Bob Dylan — (Duration — 3 hours, 28 mins) is currently available on Netflix.  Allow me to sum up the film-music-biopic documentary in one sentence:

 

Bob Dylan is nostalgia unless you were there and remember, or you know someone who was there and remembers, or you’re related to someone who was there and remembers that time and place before the matrimony of music and poetry and message and purpose that was changed by the lad born “Zimmerman” who appeared to be the most unlikely of poets and prophets, a lyricist not known for the quality of his voice nor revered for his ability to strum the guitar nor blow into a harmonica but who nonetheless shattered all the previous expectations and conventions of celebrity and superstardom and became the incarnate of an entire generation, the relectant recipient of a passed torch, and the shatterer of stereotypes — and all of this, and the man, and the music, and the backstory of how this perfect storm of a miracle in time happened is told in a sprawling nearly 3.5 hour long documentary stoked with rare footage, candid recollections, and (shocker!) arguably the most self-revealing interview ever done with Bob Dylan, who despite hundreds of prior interviews dating back to the start always seemed aloof and hostile to the responsibilties and pressures thrust upon him, who realizes this film might be his cinematic epitaph, a comprehensive collection of untold stories and set-the-record straight pronouncements on many of the singer-songwriter’s most memorable compositions which includes some of the most memorizing stage performances ever on recorded, some drowned out by hecklers, and the gaps in between of pensive introspection and outter expression of the shaggy sage who seemed not so much the origin as the conduit of a new sound, a new voice, a new expression, a new vision, a new aspiration, a new consciousness, a new conviction, a new idea, and new possibilities that music and words and idealoism mattered and were capble of greatness and had the power to end wars and cure racism and end poverty and bring awareness and heal and give hope to the helpless and that music and those words in his genre came not from grand orchestras nor amoed rock bands nor the roar of choirs nor techno wizardry but rather from solitude and the twangy strings of a weathered guitar and the pitch of a voice slightly out of tine and the look of a man who seemed frail and might otherwise be perceived as uncertain but who spoke and sang with the force of a sledgehammer, splintering all that was before and pounding the mantel of a new way of looking at things and thinking about things and doing things and all that’s expressed in this film, which must not be viewed as a look back but a vision forward as something sure to entertain, arouse, and inspire.

No Direction Home: Bob Dylan is an absolute must-see.  I recommend it highly.

Note:  Okay, so that’s three sentences.

 

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