James Mangold’s A Complete Unknown attempts to bottle the lightning of Bob Dylan’s early years, giving us a portrait of the artist as a young enigma. With Timothée Chalamet donning the signature curls and cryptic smirk, the film is as much a love letter to the 1960s folk revival as it is a study of an artist’s resistance to being understood. While Timothée’s commitment—complete with live musical performances—is commendable, the film struggles to strike a balance between myth and man. It dazzles with musical sequences and nostalgia-driven set pieces but ultimately leaves us with a portrait of Dylan as distant as ever. If you’re here for the music, it’s a feast. If you’re looking for insight into Dylan the man—well, the title warned you.
Set against the smoky, poetic chaos of early ’60s New York, the film follows a young Dylan’s rise from an unknown folk singer to a musical force who’d forever alter the industry. We see his arrival in Greenwich Village, his encounters with folk royalty, and, of course, the moment that shook the purists—the Newport Folk Festival performance where he dared to go electric. Along the way, the film introduces a host of figures who played significant roles in Dylan’s life, from Joan Baez (Monica Barbaro, quietly brilliant) to the ever-supportive yet increasingly wary Pete Seeger (Edward Norton, armed with a banjo and fatherly disappointment). The film captures the highs, the betrayals, and the making of an icon—though whether we understand him any better by the end is up for debate.
The good
Timothée delivers a performance that is as dedicated as it is divisive. His Dylan moves with a wiry unpredictability, equal parts charming and unnerving—though at times, his intensity teeters on something closer to a character in a psychological thriller rather than a folk legend. His live performances add an undeniable energy, and he nails Dylan’s distinctive voice with surprising accuracy. But beyond the music, the film struggles to find a human core in its protagonist. Dylan remains, as ever, unknowable—something that might be thematically appropriate but ultimately makes for an emotionally distant watch.
The bad
Mangold, no stranger to the music biopic (Walk the Line), brings a polished yet conventional approach to the story. The cinematography captures the grit and romance of the era beautifully, making Greenwich Village feel like a time capsule of revolution and possibility. The script, however, leans heavily on familiar tropes—conversations laden with meaning, foreshadowing so on-the-nose it could tune a guitar, and the requisite scene where a legendary song is born in a moment of effortless genius. The moment Dylan casually strums Girl from the North Country while Seeger watches, toothbrush dangling in awe, is peak biopic cheesiness.
The verdict
Where A Complete Unknown truly shines is in its music. The film wisely lets full performances drive the narrative, allowing Timothée to channel Dylan’s raw energy on stage. The Newport scene is electric—literally and figuratively—capturing the sheer audacity and backlash of Dylan’s transition to rock. The duets with Barbaro’s Baez bring both nostalgia and bite, particularly It Ain’t Me Babe, which plays less like a performance and more like an unresolved argument set to melody. Ultimately, the film is as reverent as it is frustrating. It celebrates Dylan’s artistry but struggles to illuminate the man behind the myth. Fans of Dylan’s music will find much to admire, while those seeking a deeper dive into his psyche may find themselves left out in the cold.