Amazon.com Essentials:
Both a classic documentary and a vital pop-cultural artifact, D.A. Pennebaker's portrait of Bob Dylan captures the seminal singer-songwriter
on the cusp of his transformation from folk prophet to rock trendsetter.
Shot during Dylan's 1965 British concert tour, Don't Look Back
employs an edgy vérité style that was, and is, a snug fit with the
artist's own consciously rough-hewn persona. Its handheld black-and-white
images and often-gritty London backdrops suggest cinematic extensions of
the archetypal monochrome portraits that graced Dylan's career-making early-'60s album jackets.
Pennebaker's access to the legendarily private troubadour enables us to
witness Dylan's shifting moods as he performs, relaxes with his entourage
(including then lover Joan Baez, road manager Bob Neuwirth, and poker-faced
manager Albert Grossman), and jousts with other musicians (notably Animals
alumnus Alan Price and Scottish folksinger Donovan), fans, and press. It's
a measurement of the filmmaker's acuity that the conversations are often as
gripping as Dylan's solo performances. Grossman's machinations with
British promoters, Baez's hip serenity, a grizzled British journalist's
surrender to the fact of Dylan's artistry, and the artist's own taunting
dismissal of a clueless sycophant are all absorbing.
With the exception of the studio recording of "Subterranean Homesick
Blues," the live performances (including five newly restored, complete
audio tracks excised from the original film but included on the DVD
version) are constrained by crude audio gear. Their urgency, however, is
timeless, as is Pennebaker's film, a legitimate cornerstone for any serious
rock video collection. --Sam Sutherland
Amazon.com Essentials:
Both a classic documentary and a vital pop-cultural artifact, D.A. Pennebaker's portrait of Bob Dylan captures the seminal singer-songwriter
on the cusp of his transformation from folk prophet to rock trendsetter.
Shot during Dylan's 1965 British concert tour, Don't Look Back
employs an edgy vérité style that was, and is, a snug fit with the
artist's own consciously rough-hewn persona. Its handheld black-and-white
images and often-gritty London backdrops suggest cinematic extensions of
the archetypal monochrome portraits that graced Dylan's career-making early-'60s album jackets.
Pennebaker's access to the legendarily private troubadour enables us to
witness Dylan's shifting moods as he performs, relaxes with his entourage
(including then lover Joan Baez, road manager Bob Neuwirth, and poker-faced
manager Albert Grossman), and jousts with other musicians (notably Animals
alumnus Alan Price and Scottish folksinger Donovan), fans, and press. It's
a measurement of the filmmaker's acuity that the conversations are often as
gripping as Dylan's solo performances. Grossman's machinations with
British promoters, Baez's hip serenity, a grizzled British journalist's
surrender to the fact of Dylan's artistry, and the artist's own taunting
dismissal of a clueless sycophant are all absorbing.
With the exception of the studio recording of "Subterranean Homesick
Blues," the live performances (including five newly restored, complete
audio tracks excised from the original film but included on the DVD
version) are constrained by crude audio gear. Their urgency, however, is
timeless, as is Pennebaker's film, a legitimate cornerstone for any serious
rock video collection. --Sam Sutherland
