I'm Not There

There are about four great movies trapped inside “I’m Not There.” But I didn’t get to see any of them.

There is the lush, Crayola-hued swinging seventies of Heath Ledger’s unhappy movie star (irony is not lost in this film).

The stark black-and-white of Cate Blanchett and Ben Wishaw, both doing straight impressions of the elfin Bob Dylan in his prime, is too similar. Could not both actors have been condensed into one, praiseworthy and complex role? There seems to be a fear of range in this film. Each character has one note that they play over and over again.

Ledger slowly self-destructs. Blanchett is an addled contrarian. Wishaw dispenses slump-shouldered wisdom to critics. Christian Bale does next to nothing, but does reproduce a few of Dylan’s songs with his lip-synching (disappointing; he can sing). His character exists only within a sort of rock-mockumentary (until he doesn’t, and then he does again) that directly contrasts the straight narrative of the film’s other components. Marcus Carl Williams is a boy beyond his years, hitching rides on boxcars despite the fact that it’s already 1959. In one scene he races in dressed like Charlie Chaplin and carrying the Virgin Mary. Somehow, this image should serve as some sort of visual metaphor, but only encapsulates the convolution of this movie.

The final Dylan is Richard Gere, who looks as though he doesn’t know what he’s doing in the film. Honestly, neither do I.

Complexity is increasingly rare at the average multiplex, so it’s commendable to see such a strange and fragmented picture reach so many big names and big name-reviewers. But there is too much of a good thing, and a point where complexity becomes an excuse for a lack of breathing room. The production design alone is constantly fighting for attention. Franklin and Bale’s characters barely last the whole movie while Gere takes up valuable time in the third act. In fact, it is the supporting actors that manage to do some of the best work. Bruce Greenwood, Michelle Williams, Charlotte Gainsberg, and Julianne Moore all put aside self-indulgence for better performances.

What is disappointing is that there are many promising moments sprinkled throughout. Blanchett’s Dylan attends an art deco party held in rooms of solid white. It is like watching a particularly good actor overcome an overly pretentious stage play.

Many things could have been done to salvage “I’m Not There.” Splitting it into pieces, for one. A straight biography of Bob Dylan going electric would have been an engrossing film, especially aided by a complete performance by Blanchett. Ledger and Bale, who share a piece of storyline by no scenes, could have also fit together as the story of a folk hero who ultimately finds himself in the God his contemporaries have shunned, and the actor who portrays him, faced with ugly problems and opinions of his own. It may just be layman’s ignorance, but I don’t see the huge connect between Franklin’s character and Gere’s, which is pushed heavily, particularly at the close of the film.

“I’m Not There” owes too much to its title. Most of the characters seem vacant for the majority of the film. And while Dylan’s music is a constant background, he doesn’t feel there, either. Ambition is a wonderful thing, but Todd Hayes’ seems to ultimately be blind.