I don’t think I’ve ever quoted Joanna Langfield before, but her A Complete Unknown blurb says it straight and plain:

A Complete Unknown can’t dramatically land or even touch bottom because Timothee Chalamet’s Bob Dylan is such a ghost…such a deflector and artful dodger and sardonic shape-shifter that he can’t experience any kind of dramatic catharsis because his whole game has been “something is happening here but it ain’t me because I’m not there…are you?”

And yet, as I’ve written a couple of times, “so much of Unknown is spot–on, the real thing, a bell ringer. I was sorta kinda emotionally melting during the first half hour or so — literally on the verge of tears. Yes, I’ve been deeply invested in Dylan my entire life so I’m especially susceptible but still…”

A Complete Unknown totally ignores the nuts-and-bolts anxieties that Dylan faced as a jobless artist.

He arrived in Greenwich Village on January 24, 1961, and 11 months later he and Suze Rotolo moved into his first apartment at 161 West Fourth Street (right off Sixth Avenue, right around the corner from the present location of the IFC Center). So for 11 months he couch-flopped around like Llewyn Davis but who were his gracious hosts? I’d like to know — who literally told him “okay, sure, you can crash here for a while?” How many benefactors altogether?