Eat the Document

I consider myself a fan of Bob Dylan within moderation, and I thoroughly enjoyed the previous documentary about his earlier European tour, DON'T LOOK BACK. I'd always heard (don't know if it's true or not) that Dylan himself did not want EAT THE DOCUMENT released, and after finally getting to suffer through the entire thing, it's not hard for me to understand why. Smart move there Zimmy - much smarter than anything you put across in the film itself. There is practically no point to watching this film, as it's a mind-melting mishmash of sounds and images that never come together to allow the viewer to get a grip on them. We want to hear what Dylan is saying in his arrogant press conferences, and we'd like to be able to enjoy his song lyrics. But the inane editing of this mess (supposedly by Bob Dylan himself - no wonder -) leaves you completely disillusioned and unsatisfied. It's a distorted trip into the scattered brain of a drugged out poet/rock star, and although some try to rationalize that this in itself is some sort of achievement, it's a journey I could easily have done without.

The focal point of the film, as I've tried to surmise through all the dense fog, is Bob's disastrous 1966 tour of Europe, the one where he "went electric" and offended all the folk purists. In between all the haze we get to see a few angry faces in the crowds calling Dylan a "traitor", and those are only a few of the more coherent snippets scattered amongst all the debris. Songs are continually cut off midway, and even as early as now it seems Zimmy had begun altering the arrangement of some of them, thus making them too unlike their album counterparts to really get into.

Dylan makes a fool of himself throughout this film, and it's a good picture of how fame, money and a little power can go to someone's head and be wasted on them. Nowhere is this more in evidence than during a 15 minute "outtake" that's sometimes tagged onto copies of EAT THE DOCUMENT... it features two great legends, Dylan and then-Beatle John Lennon, riding in the back of a limousine. A terrific opportunity, right? Wrong. Because Mr. Dylan seems more interested in getting smashed out of his skull on something or other while Lennon - no stranger to drugs himself though much more composed on this occasion - comes across as cool, while his co-passenger Mr. Dylan is slurring his words, making little sense, and gradually becoming so ill to the point of needing to vomit into the camera. Through all of this, John Lennon attempts a little humor to snap Dylan out of it, but it's no use; Bob is just too zoned out to focus. A real shame. Here are two great legends together for the camera, but Dylan doesn't seem to be interested in putting this historic meeting to good use. THIS is drugs, kids -- this is your brain on drugs. This nauseated "limo ride" is not actually part of the "finished" film (it only includes several seconds of it), and that's too bad, as it's certainly the most fascinating thing shot, though for all the wrong reasons. * out of ****

As the saying goes, "If you remember the Sixties, you weren't really there." And that is the thesis, unbeknownst to Dylan, who ostensibly edited, creating a true, inebriated sense of film reality in this gem of a curio. The audience I saw this film with was captivated by the grainy 16mm and British denizens and landscapes, the disjointed editing, Dylan songs cut off. It's a fabulous mess, but so were the 1960s, wouldn't you say? And I think that's the very reason this film deserves credit for breaking new ground with Avant-garde Cinema Verité approach, not giving a damn about 'continuity' or editing cohesion. As the Sixties seem further and further away, it's a good reminder that they can't and won't happen again, not in the same way. The Counter Culture explosion is gone. It has been marketed to H&M, American Apparel and Urban Outfitters. In earnest, a musician offers to trade his coat for a young blonde woman, with swagger and a 16mm crew behind him. All of these Lads look fabulous in their tweeds and legitimate Carnaby Street fashion -- the Hawks AKA the Band no exception -- their churlish boyish love of drugs, cigarettes, joints, and desire for chicks with Sassoon haircuts -- you can imagine all that could not be filmed, and of course, therein is the magic of the Sixties sub-culture explosion. Sing it, Bob.

If you're a Dylan fan and can track down this hard to find movie, it's well worth the effort. The film is a documentary on Dylan's tumultuous and historic 1966 tour of Europe with the Band - the one where he was roundly booed and reviled for "going electric" (and from which the recently released "Royal Albert Hall" album was taken). The legendary nature of these shows alone makes it worth having a document of them.

Of course, as the title suggests, the film attempts to undercut somewhat its status as a tour momento - as a matter of fact, in characteristically inscrutable fashion, ol' Bob himself re-edited this movie (it was originally a straightforward concert film intended to be shown on ABC-TV) into a bizarre mish-mash of music, surrealism and cinema verite vignettes of Dylan and his companions' offstage antics. Anyone hoping for a straightforward musical presentation will likely be disappointed, as there are no complete numbers here - Dylan cuts to and away from the concert stuff with no fanfare and little warning. In fact, he cuts to and away from *everything* in this fashion: the whole movie is a jittery and jerkily edited affair, plopping the viewer down in situations and, before you even know where you are (much less its significance), it's off to somewhere else. The places in the movie mostly consist of backstage scenes or hotel room jam sessions, as well as some traipsing around the local spots of interest in different towns - but all done without any narration, without any context, and with barely any intelligible dialogue. For anyone who liked Don't Look Back, the "officially" released documentary of Dylan's previous tour of England, know that this movie stands in relation to that one as does Magical Mystery Tour to A Hard Day's Night in the Beatles' canon. Which is to say, Eat the Document is the spaced out, incomprehensible, and amateurishly assembled cousin to that groundbreaking and more "respectable" first film.

And yet. . . This would all be pretentious garbage if it weren't for the fact that, awkwardness and all, Dylan *does* achieve something here - something which is perhaps more interesting than a "straightforward" documentary could ever be. He manages to capture something of the stoned and discombobulated feeling of being on the road, the alternate craziness and tedium, as well as the numbing isolation. It's all a whirlwind of activity and incident, but everything passes before your eyes in a trippy collage which soon loses all significance. The film, annoying and seemingly random at first, begins to grow on you after awhile and gets you into a very bizarre and hallucinatory state of mind - a state of mind probably not too dissimilar from the one Dylan was in as he went out night after night to hostile audiences and poured forth his songs, then spent day after day licking his wounds in an acid and pot-induced fog (and the depiction of Dylan here - with his slurred speech, glazed eyes, and generally punch-drunk manner - leaves no doubt as to the substances which were coursing through his body). That's why I say the movie achieves more than a conventional documentary would; sure, it gives us no "facts" and doesn't seek to "explain" anything, but it accomplishes something far more elusive - it allows us a glimpse inside the mind of its creator. Just like Dylan always does in the best of his music.

And just like that music, the film is hypnotic - and it achieves its effects precisely by refusing to follow proscribed rules and conventions. To be sure, it's no masterpiece (and is not to the world of film what, say, "Mr. Tambourine Man" or "A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall" are to music) but to anyone who's really interested in Dylan it is a fascinating and entirely successful presentation nonetheless. Of course, if you're really interested in Dylan, you're most likely the type of person who can appreciate the sheer oddness and experimentation of his approach here, and are willing to be patient and have no preconceived expectations about what a Bob Dylan "document" should look like. If you can't meet him halfway, this probably won't be for you. Me, I've watched it several times now, and it always takes me to a new place each time.

Oh and by the way, even though none of them are complete, the concert sequences here *are* powerful, and a great deal of fun besides - not least because Dylan himself seems to be enjoying them so much. He bounces and jostles around, grooving to the tune and absolutely ecstatic (in his own laid-back way, of course) at being a part of this colossal sound. His appearance here - with the full shock of frizzy hair, the mod-style sixties wardrobe, and that goofy yet sinister "I'm hipper than you'll ever be" grin (not to mention those cool Ray-Bans shades he wears whenever he's offstage) - is still the dominant image people have in their mind when the name "Bob Dylan" is spoken. It's nice and hugely gratifying, then, to have real life footage to correspond to that image. Imperfect though it might be, Eat the Document is nevertheless the only such video snapshot of that time period we have. That alone should make it sacred to Dylan freaks and scholars everywhere.

For the full effect, it's best to watch this one in the late night/early morning hours, when your mind's a little more loopy and your judgement a little less sharp. You know, the "jingle-jangle mornin'" Just give yourself over to it, and I guarantee Dylan will be leading you through the "smoke rings of your mind" and down "the foggy ruins of time" before you even know what hit you.

This was originally shot by celebrated cine-verite' film-maker D.A. Pennebaker as a follow-up to his earlier classic Bob Dylan documentary about his UK tour of 1965, DON'T LOOK BACK (1967); for the record, Pennebaker later also made other notable rockumentaries, namely the all-star MONTEREY POP (1968) and David Bowie's ZIGGY STARDUST AND THE SPIDERS FROM MARS (1973). This new film was meant to be a visual record of Dylan's European tour of 1966 where he was unveiling in public his highly controversial, rockier new image; during his live performances, he was being supported by The Hawks (the same musicians who later found fame as The Band). In the middle of shooting, Dylan suffered his notorious motorcycle accident and, once he recovered, decided to take over the footage and, with the help of an associate Howard Alk, re-edit it himself; the end result was summarily rejected as "incomprehensible" by the ABC TV channel, which had commissioned it as part of their "Stage '66" show, and was never officially released.

What should have been a precious document of an extraordinary time in musical history and in the evolution of one of the 20th century's most influential artists, became a uniquely intimate (and embarrassing) portrayal of the jazzed-up images going through a brilliant mind overtaken by substance abuse! Sure, Dylan does get to perform some of his best songs of the period ("Ballad Of A Thin Man", "Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues", "Like A Rolling Stone", etc.) on camera but, as dictated by the wholly jumbled structure of the movie, no complete rendition is ever heard. Likewise, the supremely arrogant figure that Dylan cut during his press conferences comes through as well – as do the feelings of the disgruntled fans horrified by the new-fangled "rubbish" that their treacherous former idol has been heaping on them. Thankfully, there are also glimpses of Dylan in his quieter moments: reading on the tour bus or composing songs with Robbie Robertson in his hotel room.

Still, at the end of the day, this is one big missed opportunity: although footage of the infamous Manchester Free Trade Hall concert (later issued in its entirety on CD) is shown – and was subsequently to reappear in Martin Scorsese's 2005 documentary, NO DIRECTION HOME – the tell-tale "Judas!" cry is not heard! Similarly, Dylan is shown separately rehearsing with Johnny Cash in the studio and 'partying' in a taxi with John Lennon but, truly, asking for context here would have been, as The Beatles would say it, "all too much". Actually, I later found some excruciating 20 minutes of footage of the latter ride on "You Tube" and, for all of Lennon's nervous clowning, the sight of a whacked-out-of-his-skull Dylan and his consequent ramblings were hard to take. I do not mind knowing that Dylan was aided by illicit substances in creating his first landmark rock albums (it goes with the territory, after all)…but I do take exception at the fact that there exists this wretched-looking and worse-sounding artefact that quite literally (and from the very first shot!) rubs our noses in that fact!!

P.S. Two fellow film-buff friends – Michael Elliott (a Dylanologist) and Joe Karlosi (a Beatlemaniac) – had totally opposite views on this one; my own rating lies somewhere in between but, knowing that even Elliott hated Dylan's 4-hour RENALDO AND CLARA (1978) has made me postpone that planned viewing of it…at least until Dylan's 75th birthday! The lengthy Scorsese documentary also had to go due to time constrictions, as well as the latest cut of Sam Peckinpah's PAT GARRETT AND BILLY THE KID (1973)…but I still intend paying tribute to Dylan (who turns 70 on in two days' time) with three more films before the month is out!

Absolutely for fans only, this is a documentary of a Dylan tour made by a camera held in a very shaky hand. Eat the Document would make a good, but probably unwatchable, triple feature with Neil Young's Journey Through the Past and The Stones' Cocksucker Blues, a sixties triptych painted on broken windowpanes after a night of very bad drugs. Dylan's attempt at deconstructing or subverting or whatever he was trying to do to his own myth here says a lot about the era and leaves the artist as enigmatic as he ever has been, with the usual alternation between sublime poetry and clunking misfires. Still, there are some fine moments -- the droning duet with Johnny Cash, as two generations of bad boys create an otherworldly disharmony, the glimpses of the Band at the peak of their magic, the faces of the young Brits waiting in line for the shows, desperate to be at a scene they were determined not to dig. The tape I saw was followed by a harrowing ten minute outtake of Dylan and John Lennon riding in the back of a limo, the camera focused unflinching (and often unfocused) on them as they mumble their way through a thick purple haze -- sure proof that no one is as clever as he thinks he is on drugs.