Monday, September 26, 2005
Scorsese and Dylan
I was looking forward to Dylan meeting Scorsese in a documentary. The first part aired tonight on PBS — it was worth it — I practically watched the whole thing even though it ran a little flat in places.
Scorsese is such a good director — famous as he is, he can immerse himself in a performer and let the performer speak. He didn't sugar coat, although he tread lightly in parts: the mention of Dylan's changing his name from Zimmerman because of the anti-Semitism in Minnesota at the time was glancing recognition of deeper travails than performing.
Dylan is a magnetic performer. His impassive, Buster Keaton mask of a face, with his eyes seeming to focus inside himself, as though he is listening for some internal echo, imbues his performances with the spell of the ancient minstrel.
The great characters of the time were perfectly interviewed — you felt their strength and personality as people. Liam Clancy with his riotous wonderful Irish presence, a storyteller and man of the street poet, generous of heart and word. Clancy hadn't lost an ounce of sputter from his present day interview to his appearances as a youth. Dave Van Ronk, a wonderful bearish derelict of a man — you could see why Dylan admired him so — nothing showbiz about that guy.
Scorsese performed a hat trick that no one else has been able to accomplish. He somehow was able to draw Dylan out from the distracted strangeness that is Dylan's version of old age; Dylan seemed coherent, he really looked at the interviewer — you sensed an underlying humor under the gruffness of manner.
Seeing the dramatic Odetta and the magical John Jacob Niles was like traveling to some other planet, where music mattered and eccentricity was genuine.
Looking forward to the second part of this documentary — even though, as I say, it already feels a little long.