I'm Not There (2007)

"I'm Not There" is a musical biopic of the legendary singer-songwriter Bob Dylan. But not really. In what has to be one of 2007's most original film, director/co-writer Todd Haynes ("Far From Heaven") ditches the well-worn historical re-creation path tread by 5,000 other biopics, and instead creates a truly head-spinning work of art.

"There" is a love letter, tribute and sly take on the persona of Dylan and world created in his folk, electric and religious library of songs. In a casting stunt that works marvels, six different actors play different variations on Dylan, and none of the characters actually are named "Bob Dylan." Trust me, it works.

The personas are Jack Rollins (Christian Bale), a meek folk singer turned star turned born-again Christian; Jude Quinn (Cate Blanchett), a superstar who seemingly hates the press and adoration; Woody Guthrie (Marcus Carl Franklin), an 11-year-old musical prodigy so apt at spinning tales, even his name is false; Billy the Kid (Richard Gere), a self-exiled outlaw living in a mash-up time period of early 1900s and 1960s America; Robbie Clark (Heath Ledger), an actor who played Rollins in a straight-forward biopic and has adopted some of the unsavory traits of the role; and Arthur Rimbaud (Ben Winshaw), a young singer-poet being interrogated by either the FBI or the meanest damn suit-wearing editors ever hired by Rolling Stone.

It's a lot, but as the Dylan-like characters' lives overlap and in the strangest scene -- the Billy the Kid period that carries echoes of David Lynch meets Robert Altman meats Terrance Malick -- literally crash into each other, a multi-layered, conflicted entity of Dylan develops. And I swear, this film isn't just about how Dylan has morphed as an artist and as a man, but it's also how America has evolved. Why else focus so much attention on the under currents of the simmering Civil Rights movement of the 1950s and the cultural explosion of the 1960s, among other areas? After all, as far as Americans go, Dylan sure is one of the most eclectic and original.

Some scenes, such as the concert where Dylan (here Quinn) went electric are created in true fashion, but whole chunks are mere whimsy and dreamlike. Franklin's character shows us how Dylan and many other artists such as 50 cent create false backgrounds as diligently and carefully as they create music, film or paintings. I'm still pondering what exactly the outlaw Gere scenes represent, but they are spectacular, haunting entertainment of an old America pushed beyond the breaking point. Ledger is the most scarred of the Dylan-like characters, watching his happy family life melt away because of his sexual escapades. It's a beautiful performance by Ledger, and another reminder of lost talent. Blanchett has to be the stand out, not because she is playing a he, or because she gets closest to Dylan's mannerisms. Her Quinn clearly is toying with journalists (one is played by Bruce Greenwood) and the audience (onscreen and us), maybe even himself, err, herself. You get what I mean.

In a brilliant move that further separates the idea of a "true" biopic, Haynes actually opens the film with one of his Dylans dead on the slab, ready for autopsy. He then closes with a Dylan death by motorcycle crash. Is it the same character stand-in on the slab? We don't know. "I'm Not There" lets us know that no matter how much we talk directly to or study, research, watch and obsess over a person, we can never get inside their head. Or body.

The film's not total manna from heaven -- a scene with Quinn goofing around with the Beatles, seems irrelevant and a goof, but maybe it's my ignorance of the History of Dylan. (And I am ignorant of music in general.) I don't need to understand every scene to "get" a film. "I'm Not There" is the death knell for the straight forward biopic. It has my head spinning not only on who was or is Dylan, but the endless possibilities of what was and is film. Now, that's movie-making magic. A

Far From Heaven (2002)

Ever see one of those 1950s melodramas where every thing and every person is impossibly perfect? Where mom, dad, son, daughter, house, clothes and mannerisms, even the streets, were scrubbed clean of any blemish? In 2002's "Far From Heaven," director/writer Todd Haynes takes that paradise-like blueprint used in so many WASP films and smashes the dream with notions that "didn't exist" in 1950s America as far as most good patriot consumers were concerned: homosexuality, race discrimination, racial violence and steep economic divides.

I won't give away any plot details except to say the film focuses on three people: WASPs Frank and Cathy Whitaker (Dennis Quaid and Julianne Moore) and African-American Raymond Deagan (Dennis Haysebert).

Haynes shows us a portrait of America that must be closer to the truth than what was presented in films of the era. We know the starched clean, perfect America never existed despite the lies (or false memories) of many of our parents and grandparents and a white, straight, Christian-led government. The dream -- or blatant lie -- was the byproduct of an America in love with itself and its potential, one that gladly ignored and denied anyone who spoke different.

It's an unsettling film for sure, and despite its somber ending, "Far From Heaven" celebrates freedom and the smashing of barriers that separate us. Now, that's an American value that can be celebrated. One of 2002's top five best films. Just awesome. A