A Complete Unknown

I was nowhere close to voting age through the entirety of the sixties but even then it never struck me as a simple time. 

My earliest memory of politics was sitting on my Dad’s shoulders in a crowd so I could see about-to-be  Pres. John F. Kennedy when he campaigned in the Bronx, and later hearing about the issue of the “Negro.”  That was followed by the assassination of our youngest president, bloody images from the Vietnam War on TV, and the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy.  By the time the seventies rolled around I was anxious daily and secretly terrified on the worst of those days.

Imagine having anxiety and fear and wearing this? #darktimes

Until I grew up and went into therapy.

That’s why it’s been strange to lately look back on the sixties with such longing nostalgia.  This is likely because despite all the turmoil, the counter culture youth movement offered mantras of peace, love and hope if WE managed to bring the world together.  It never occurred to me in my late teens that things wouldn’t work out, especially after we, and many others, got Nixon to resign and the world to “sort of” move on.

Did we though?

At that time I didn’t realize history was, indeed, cyclical, and likely all those terrifying occurrences would occur again, albeit in different forms.

Given this perspective, it was still surprising for me to have found comfort in the new, “sort of” Bob Dylan biopic, A Complete Unknown, and how masterfully Timothee Chalamet captured not only the “original vagabond” (as his onetime girlfriend, Joan Baez, once referred to him in song), but the unflinching spirit and infinite possibilities of change the music of those times, led by Dylan, offered.

Not an extra from Newsies

Not only does he play Dylan but he offers an uncanny spiritual interpretation of the essence of Dylan and those times.  The film is wisely set over only five years (1960-1965), beginning at the moment a 20-year-old Dylan arrives as a committed, near obsessive singer-songwriter in Greenwich Village who can barely contain his expression of those times through the poetry of his words, guitar chords and embrace of multi-cultural musical history.  By the end of that period, it makes perfect sense that it was the unrelenting creative observations of an unknown kid in his early and now barely mid-twenties to not only move the music industry and the world towards evolution – but to take a cold look at reality and join everyone together for some sort of better tomorrow.

Religions have been started with more.  Or, so they like to say.

Quickly putting Timothee prayer candle on my Christmas list

But back to the sixties —

Perhaps in a world where you actually had to put a dime in some available phone booth to make a call, or better yet simply show up on someone’s stoop to hang out, it was a little easier for singer-songwriters to create an endless series of anthems that spirited a movement of social change.  Yet what saves A Complete Unknown from being some sort of Hollywood fairy tale of social revolution is that Dylan’s self-expression was merely that, something he never meant to shove him to the forefront of a “cause,” especially as a young guy.  In this telling, which seems close to the reality and not the elusive enigma of the Dylanesque legend, all he really seems interested in is music and girls. 

Chicks, man

Sure, he wanted to be recognized but not as the hot tip of the spear of societal transformation with so much of the controversy, politics and love/hate of power brokers and ardent, often crazy, admirers that came with it.  He had no idea how to handle it and retreated within.

Chalamet’s performance is reminiscent of what Joaquin Phoenix did on film with Johnny Cash in Walk the Line and how Sissy Spacek so uncannily brought to life Loretta Lynn in Coal Miner’s Daughter.  The closest to it I’ve ever seen onstage was how completely Hugh Jackman conjured up the spirit of gay cabaret, and later Broadway star-songwriter, Peter Allen in The Boy From Oz.  Not only did they all do their own singing but they didn’t get hamstrung by trying to be an exact carbon copy of the phenom they were portraying.  Instead, they found the essence of who they were and evoked their humanity.

How much we love these performances

What’s particularly great about Chalamet’s Dylan is it’s a guy with a lot of emotional flaws, someone who excels at expressing himself in words and music but is often inarticulate, withholding or simply, and even perhaps purposefully, falling short in person.  He feels like a lot of young guys in their twenties who exist too much inside their heads and are not sure exactly how to live.  Were it not for his talents and a desire to get laid that sometimes pushes him out of his comfort zone, you’d likely pass him by in the street. Which is exactly what you want from an actor taking on the task of playing a legend.

He’s helped a ton by director/co-writer James Mangold, who does not fall into the “cutesy sixties” trap of filmmaking but simply presents the time period as he would any decade – blunt, historical accuracy (Note: Mostly) and without over-reverence.  There are a few stylized newspaper headlines and some edited television coverage but they’re minimal and don’t take over.  The atmosphere on the Manhattan streets, the clothes people are wearing and the stoops they sit on reminded me of the ones I experienced as a little boy.  I also appreciated that much of the New Yawk accents were kept in check.  (Note:  Seriously, so many of us did NOT TAWK like there was a “w” in every other word.  Not that there is anything wrong with that…).

Calm down, Linda

Three final points. 

  • At a talkback after the movie, Mangold related that despite recording all the music beforehand in a studio, he honored Chalamet’s request the first week of filming to try and do his own singing live on set in his first scene.  It was so good he allowed him to do so on every song, which led to all of the other actors in the film choosing to do the same.  It shows and far exceeds anything you’d get with pre-recorded tracks.
If he nails the harmonica, give him the Oscar
  • The project was originally at HBO with a different script, got put into turnaround and was picked up by Fox Searchlight.  At which point Mangold agreed to do it but only if he could rewrite the screenplay and include more of Dylan’s personal life.  They didn’t have those rights but like most savvy people in the industry Mangold did it anyway and hoped for the best.  The studio read it, liked it but was terrified of Dylan’s reaction. At which point, Covid happened, the world was put on hold, Dylan asked to read the script everyone was “afraid” of and wound up really liking it, when shooting was postponed once again due to almost a year of various Hollywood union strikes. Yet through the months and years, the many accomplished actors and department heads, working for far less than their usual salaries, agreed to stay on, supporting the notion that “if you build it well and build it properly they WILL come. ” And in some cases stay with you.  Even in 2023 and 2024. 
And hey Timmy got to make Wonka!
  • Finally: I imagine through the holidays and in awards season, there will be any number of showy, gritty, intense, timely, torturous and generally over-the-top meaningful films that will get written about, lauded and garner the lion’s share of the attention.  But none for me, and I bet any number of you, will be as evocative as A Complete Unknown.  It’s a reminder of a still troubled but very different America.  A time when lots of stuff was wrong, scary and hard but the music of people who cared was actually listened to en-masse and helped lead a thinking revolution that was not seen as corny, quaint or UN-American by most of us.  In fact, it was exactly the opposite.

“A Complete Unknown” – Timothee Chamalet and Co.

Wickedopolis


Decades ago, when I contemplated running away from what I perceived to be some awful reality, a dear friend turned to me and said:

Wherever you go, there you are.

Welp.

Oy vey, as the women in my family used to say.  So true and so to the point, especially if you’d been through a few years of therapy, which I had been at the time. 

And never mind that it wasn’t my friend’s original thought but a quote often attributed to the great Chinese philosopher Confucius, which means the urge to throw all your cards up in the air and flee has been going on for centuries.  

Still, it helps to be reminded that you can’t run away from yourself, your thoughts or REALITY.  

It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s… Chairy!

Fine Chairy, you watch the news, fight on and muddy yourself in the pigpen of 2024-2028.  We’ll meet up in four years and see who’s happier.

Well, of course you can block stuff out or live in a dream bubble of your own making, but that kind of defeats the purpose of real life, doesn’t it?  As one of my favorite movie therapists, Dr. Berger as played by Judd Hirsch, says to the troubled teen he’s trying to help dig out of the danger of self-harm in Ordinary PeopleIf you can’t feel pain kiddo, then you’re not gonna feel anything else either. 

Preach

I’ve been wondering if that’s still true post-election as I try to wade through my raging, unforgiving anger, aspiring for a self-imposed four-year real world blackout that I know will never come. But deep down I know it is.  Every great thing that’s happened to me occurred because of my willingness to learn from a past mistake I chose, something unsavory I observed, or deep arbitrary pain inflicted by circumstances no one saw coming.

This is why some of the most popular and/or painstakingly personal artistic offerings choose to traffic in exactly this territory.  Creativity doesn’t happen because creators look for these dicey moments to dramatize but because these kind of moments force individuals to use their art to cope with all of the hopelessness and misfortunes they observe or experience in the world and serve it up in some sort of vague narrative logic in order to process, make sense and eventually truly understand the darkest of their times    So they, as well as you and I, may better continue on in the world.

Namaste to that

This sounds way too lofty and twee to be  true. On the other hand, that doesn’t make it any less true.

Witness two big budget movies I saw this weekend.  

Wicked and Megalopolis.

Is he…defying gravity? #hyuckhyuck

Together they represent the most popular and the least popular out there at the moment.  With seemingly nothing in common they are, in fact, quite similar in how they try to make sense of the charlatans of the world and their simplistically mean destructiveness and craven ambition and greed and lies to civilizations — and how precarious and unlikely it is in their stories that the truthtellers of the world will ever save society or, in the end, ever attain any form of personal happiness.

Which doesn’t mean its creators don’t try to give it to them.  

Whether they succeed or not depends on your point of view and what you define as happiness.  Just as who you resent, root for or turn your back on in each story depends on your personal definition of good and evil. (Note: No, there is no sound dictionary definition, as supported by the current state of our conflicting worlds).

Wait… it’s not as easy as green vs. pink?

The stage musical Wicked (2003) was about many things, but chief among them for me was its existence as a thinly veiled parable for the eighties Reagan era of greed and avarice and “othering” of much-hated, maligned and morally objectionable minority groups, most especially gay people in the age of AIDS.  Like the ailing animals onstage and their heroine Elphaba, we were scorned, hunted, disappearing and, in many cases dying, under a leader who knew all about those injustices but instead chose to blatantly ignore them and ride them to fame on the false myth of prosperity for anyone willing to work hard enough to make it so.

Americans have always loved a great myth, hence the American dream.  But the one around Ronald Reagan, widely known to his fans and the world as The Great Communicator, was openly mocked and laid threadbare by songwriter Stephen Schwartz in the lyrics of one of the shows’ most beloved songs, Popular.

…When I see depressing creatures, With unprepossessing features
I remind them on their own behalf, To think of
Celebrated heads of state
Or specially great communicators!
Did they have brains or knowledge?
Don’t make me laugh!

They were popular! Please!
It’s all about popular
It’s not about aptitude, It’s the way you’re viewed…

Wow it’s right there!

Children’s author Gregory Maguire, an American living in London in the early nineties, wrote the novel Wicked (1995) as a way to delve into the origins of evil and in particular was influenced by a local murder case where both the victim and murderers were young kids  He began to wonder what in their pasts could lead to such crimes and used his lifelong fascination with the film and books of The Wizard of Oz, along with his Catholic upbringing, to delve into what turned the Wicked Witch of the West, nee Elphaba, so awful.  Not unsurprisingly given his religious background and the rise of Christian fundamentalism at the time, he made Elphaba’s cheating mother the wife of a minster in a passionless, oppressive marriage, who bore the child of her secret lover after drinking a green elixir, condemning her offspring to a life of literal, albeit magical difference.  In other words, an undeniable “other.”

One could go back further to the 1939 film, based on the L. Frank Baum novels, but you get it.  Each era emphasizes its villains and those cast in the shadows because of some action taken, often out of desperation, greed or even love, wrongheaded or well-intentioned though they might be.  

… and then sometimes a house falls on you

In Wicked Part I (2024), now destined to be the highest grossing movie musical of all-time (Note: It’s hit almost $360 million worldwide box-office in just 10 days), Elphaba is played by a woman of color painted green, and her obvious smarts and extreme talents tower far above the male and female “mean girls” who relentlessly bully her at school.  The smartest professors at school are animal eggheads with glasses whose intellect is rejected and marginalized. And the one minority in pseudo power, an Asian sorceress, is eventually exposed as a tool of the institutional status quo, a soulless toady willfully deceiving those she is meant to mentor in order to remain part of the elite ruling class under the great Wizard.  

OK but she looks fabulous doing it!

As for the Wizard himself, he doesn’t even  bother to lie about his massive deceptions and the cruel intentions of his big scheme against those “othered” when Elphaba finds him out.  He literally tells her: The best way to get people together is to find them a real good enemy.

If any of this sounds familiar to 2024 politics, it is VERY intentional.  But only if one chooses to see it.  Let’s not even get into setting aside the feel good fun and frivolity and fighting against it.

Which side of history we wind up on  – the aspirational good or the ugliness of evil order in exchange for a few crumbs of pseudo security – is the primary question legendary writer-director Francis Coppola is choosing to leave us with in Megalopolis. 

Speaking of serving looks…

(Full disclosure:  Coppola is one of my favorite filmmakers in the history of movies and the scale of his vision, overstuffed with ideas and always filmically compelling, is to me a worthy vehicle for him to go out on).  

Yes, it’s a profound mess but in the best way possible because it takes for granted that movies are more than a stack of index cards shuffled together that use variations of a paint-by-the-numbers narrative paradigm to suture its audience into their seats by employing merely tried and true tools to elicit dramatic and comedic pleasures.

yeah we know you are

Coppola’s done that, reinvented that and stepped away from it, only to return and reinvent it again.  I kept cheering to myself during all 139 minutes of him spending the capital he’s earned with us over the years in order to challenge us one last time about our futures by being both on-the-nose and hopefully obtuse.

The villains are diabolically 2024 and are meant to be so.  Scions of a rich white family who are bloated, entitled and lazy – doing the minimal amount of work for the biggest reward.   Trying to lead an ultra-right movement against the status quo, one of them screams to a cheering crowd of the economically oppressed:  We Are Here, We are powerful and We are taking our country back!!!  

 If it weren’t so obvious, it wouldn’t be true. 

Eat the rich?

The many more are distillations straight out of the fall of the Roman Empire.  Literally.  The costumes, the men’s haircuts, even the lead anti-hero, whose name is Caesar and is played Adam Driver, known for portraying any number of compelling/repelling movie leading men and villains with equal aplomb.  Here he’s clearly a surrogate for Coppola himself, a visionary artist (Note: In this case an architect and discoverer of magical compounds) with manic tendencies, who is in one moment heralded as a genius and in the next met with bile-dripping disdain as a dishonest, poser has-been.

Caesar drinks, does drugs, hurts the people he loves and fantasizes about people and places that aren’t there but that he determines can remake our world and progress it for the betterment of everyone.  Though, maybe they are there?  Or, perhaps, it’s both, a worthy imagination that can ALSO further his own ambitions?  Always the sentimentalist, Coppola leaves us not with the first or the third but with the possibility of the dream itself if we choose to act on it.

OK but we can all agree this haircut is bad

In his world, there is utopia if we are willing to come together and believe.  Just because people look or think differently, doesn’t mean they can’t be the heroes in our one, common, human story.

Well, if anyone’s earned the right to cast himself as the godly movie oracle of humankind, of who and what we can be, it’s an 85-year-old American filmmaker who directed and co-wrote The Godfather and The Godfather Part II – two of the greatest films ever made.  A guy who wants to leave us screaming into the void this message for future generations to come, recited by the children of what he imagines as a mythically better but still very attainable world he’s begging us to make good on.

I pledge allegiance to our human family, and to all the species that we protect. One Earth, indivisible, with long life, education and justice for all. 

It may not play right now. But for right now, it’s certainly worth thinking about.

Cynthia Erivo – “Defying Gravity”