I'm Not There: 2007's movie of the year?

Is this an image from the best movie of 2007, a year as impressive as any in the last decade?














Erudite NYC film critics think so. But this was a year, might I remind you, of No Country for Old Men, There Will Be Blood, Once, Ratatouille, 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days, Persepolis, Eastern Promises, The King of Kong, Knocked Up, and The Bourne Ultimatum. That's some serious competition.

I'm Not There just hit DVD this week, and so I finally got a chance to have a much-needed second viewing. When I first saw the film in theaters a few months back, I had two immediate thoughts:

1) That was fucking sweet.
2) What the hell?

I was wrestling with one main question: Would I like this film -- at all -- if every tiny inter-textual reference wasn't about a musician whose work I already loved? If I'm Not There were a Richard Marx biopic, would I have even sat through it? If the director made constant nods to Marx's albums, his interviews, and his love life, could I have actually managed to sit and stare at the screen for 135 minutes? Could I take two dozen music montages set to Marx's adult contempo classics?

Probably not.

So why does I'm Not There work so well? After a second viewing, I think I have the answer: Because it's so damn fun. In the tradition '60s art films, Haynes' movie stretches the limits of narrative cinema but entertains the hell out of you in the process. From its playful opening titles, obviously lip-synched musical numbers, and Brechtian over-the-top acting, I'm Not There screams French New Wave. But who cares? You could write a small book pinpointing the film's references to Godard, Fellini, and, of course, Dylan lyrics. But why? If you get the references, good for you. But you don't need to be in on the joke to appreciate its infectiousness. I'm Not There invites you into its world, rewards the already converted, but goes out of its way to entice those with minimal interest in or experience with Dylan.

To me, this sets the film apart from the postmodern pack. Other postmodern films tend to shove inter-textual references in your face, mocking you for every one you miss. They're like two hours at a hipster party.

Personally, I don't like being mocked. I'm Not There is one of the few postmodern films of the last decade I can really back; it challenges you to view cinema differently, but it's never condescending or self-important. The film deconstructs the Hollywood narrative without assuming the viewer is a passive dupe who needs to be taught a lesson on how movies distort reality.

As I write this post, I'm listening to Time Out Of Mind for the first time. Geez Louise. It seems no film -- not even one of the best films in a year of amazing films -- can compare to the real thing.