It was fine.

I'm not a huge fan of music biopics, despite watching two in the in the last two weeks, because they typically tell the same story. And as I noted in my Better Man reflection, they pretty much ran their course with Dewey Cox. Oddly, I kept expecting drugs and the "You don't want none of this" line to show up here.

It didn't.

This film didn't have much to say. Sure, Dylan has some minor issues - trouble with fame, trouble with women, trouble figuring out what he wanted to be - but they were troubles, not struggles. His character seemed to just constantly bounce upwards. Sure he didn't sleep, but he didn't sleep because he was writing Bob Dylan songs. And he didn't open up about himself, but that's because he was too busy making up Bob Dylan.

If anything, the movie's message seemed to be that refusing to form bonds will result in great art, and it's okay to burn down anything (including your friends and the culture they hold dear, even if - or especially if - they forced you into that mold) if it results in great art. It's an advertisement for loneliness that never really touches on the bitterness. But it didn't have the guts to say that.

Oh, and when he wasn't speaking, the acting was fine. But every time Chamalet opened his mouth it felt like an impression. I don't know how else he could have played it, but that word bothered me the entire time. Impression.

There were some pluses. The set design and costuming was top notch and Ed Norton might have done his career best, to the point where I stopped seeing Norton and only saw Pete Seeger