Directed by D. A. Pennebaker
In this wildly entertaining vision of one of the twentieth century’s greatest artists, Bob Dylan is surrounded by teen fans, gets into heated philosophical jousts with journalists, and kicks back with fellow musicians Joan Baez, Donovan, and Alan Price.
Bob Dylan - Don't Look Back, Bob Dylan Dont Look Back, Боб Ділан - Не обертайся, Se dig inte om, 别回头, Dont Look Back, 돌아보지 마라, A Caminho do Leste, 別回頭, Neohlížej se, Neskaties atpakaļ
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Dylan smokes so much in this. Maybe I should start smoking
"I don't care who did it, I just want to KNOW who did it."
A mythical picture of Dylan, younger than anyone has ever been, a creature of smartass feminine beauty making it all look easy. Love the flashback to his vein-pounding Guthrie singing days that couldn't have been that long before the main action of the movie, but it could almost be footage of Bob's grandfather. But enough of that shit, I need to talk about something important:
This movie has the exact same ending as The Pink Panther. Clouseau is in the police car going to prison, having been falsely convicted of the crimes of the Phantom, which has earned him throngs of eager fans and an intoxicating…
If I knew Bob Dylan personally I would hate him so fucking much
"He is not singing so much as sermonizing. Colon. His tragedy, perhaps, is that the audience is preoccupied with song. Paragraph. So the bearded boys and lank-haired girls, all eyeshadow and undertaker makeup, applaud the song and miss the sermon..."
Immaturity is thinking that Bob Dylan is mean to the Time Magazine reporter. Maturity is understanding that everything he says is true.
You ever think about how Bob Dylan's ongoing bit is being Bob Dylan?
they're calling me an anarchist, huh? an anarchist. well, give the anarchist a cigarette, would you?
I want Bob Dylan to personally call me the fuck out on my bullshit just so I can finally learn my lesson.
Film was invented for this to be made.
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In this striking, mythic portrait of Bob Dylan in 1965, director D.A. Pennebaker captures the legend as he smokes 80 packs a day, goes on the offensive against a neverending stream of pull-quote journalists, and plays his sermons well into the night. Beautiful, wicked sharp, with every scene a radical development of the Dylan persona.
But who threw the glass?
aka bob dylan and his friends bully a bunch of uptight squares for an hour and a half
Curly haired man strums guitar and says things over it. He wears leather jackets and has that type of wavy hair that has its own gravitational pull. Unlit cigarettes appear in his mouth as if there was a cosmic law against their absence. People make deals with the devil for riches and women and fast cars, but bob dylan goes up to him and he says "if there is ever not a cigarette in my mouth, god damn it you put one there, alright? now here, have my soul." Fuzzy man and his fuzzy friends are filmed through a fuzzy haze, Bob Dylan seems to ambulate to a rhythm that wouldn't suit any other way of doing it, anyway. People…
