REVIEW BY Rebecca Slaman
The question of Dylan’s legacy burns in the minds of many Dylan scholars. With the wealth of art he’s created in various media, the question is not if his work will be preserved but if anyone will care. Getting people interested in Dylan is one of the goals of the Bob Dylan Center. As a physical institution, it attracts not only Dylan fans on a pilgrimage, but people who might happen to be in the area looking for something to do.
Being in Tulsa limits this reach. Sensibly, the Center has done some touring of its own. In August, I attended “An Evening with the Bob Dylan Center,” part of the 2023 “Sounds of Summer” series at Jacob Burns Film Center. The event screened footage from the Archives, followed by a conversation with Steven Jenkins, Director of the Bob Dylan Center, and Jacob Burns Film Center (JBFC) Board President Janet Maslin. During the presentation, I recognized some of the footage from the BDC, such as a demonstration of film restoration. It was only after that I realized all of it was all the exact footage that is shown on a loop in the Center. Luckily, I got a lot more out of this experience than solely getting to see the footage. Looking at the crowd around me, I wondered how the event would be received by those who weren’t as fanatical. In a dark room with no distractions, it was a communal, immersive experience. For that hour, there was nothing to do except think about Bob Dylan. Though there’s nothing I would rather do, I believe the event won over even casual Dylan listeners.
The screening consisted of the following: rare footage from Dylan’s first film soundtrack, for 1961’s Autopsy on Operation Abolition; a performance of “The Ballad of Hollis Brown” from the 1963 TV special Folk Songs and More Folk Songs; the full “Maggie’s Farm” from Newport ‘65; “Baby Let me Follow You Down” from the 1966 UK tour; “I Pity the Poor Immigrant” with Joan Baez from the 1976 Rolling Thunder Revue; “Blowin’ In the Wind” from the 1981 Shot of Love Tour, complete with gospel backing vocalists; “When the Night Comes Falling from the Sky” from 1986, with Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers backing Dylan; “Ring Them Bells” at The Supper Club in 1993; “Train of Love” from a tribute to Johnny Cash in 1999; “Cold Irons Bound” from 2003’s Masked and Anonymous; “Once Upon a Time” at Tony Bennett’s birthday in 2016; and finally, a glimpse into the Bob Dylan Center Archive’s film restoration project with before-and-after footage of “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue” from 1966.
Footage of Dylan’s performances, projected in a theater, is absolutely ethereal. Scholars have somewhat neglected the performance aspect of Bob Dylan’s art, which is understandable; capturing an artist’s presence in words is extraordinarily difficult. It also hasn’t been necessary. So far, scholarship has only existed in a time when a baseline knowledge of Dylan is a given, and seeing him live has been somewhat accessible. Recordings of his performances are even more so. Though only a select number of people can experience Dylan live, we’re lucky to have a wealth of performances on video. Because many people are currently working to preserve this art, the only thing left to do is get the public to care.
This is what the Bob Dylan Center is ostensibly trying to do in order to establish Dylan’s legacy and, in doing so, to justify the Center’s existence beyond his lifetime. People have to care enough about Dylan to visit the Center themselves. Once they do, the work is already done. Film screenings provide an excellent method for the Bob Dylan Center to introduce the artist to this new audience. Footage of Dylan is absolutely captivating. The camera loves him, just as live audiences do. The films are most impactful when Dylan is singing directly to a camera, rather than wide concert footage where he’s performing to the room. Like theater, concert performance is ephemeral and locked in time. It takes quality cinematography to capture the energy of those moments.
The selection of clips made for a holistic view of Dylan’s career. I found myself concentrating on how Dylan’s energy translated to the screen at each phase. Save for the first clip about Dylan’s film soundtrack contribution, there was no commentary or guide. There were only cards in between clips letting us know what was next, which worked perfectly; each clip spoke for itself and allowed us to draw our own conclusions. There were times Dylan pulled back from the spotlight, such as when accompanied by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. Other footage is completely arresting, such as the performance of “The Ballad of Hollis Brown” from the 1963 TV special Folk Songs and More Folk Songs. The image is so tight on Dylan, and the sound of his early, raw voice is immediate and clear. The film’s style had Dylan making direct eye contact with the camera. It is staggering how well the footage preserves the performance Dylan gave sixty years ago. It’s like a beam of energy being projected through time.
Dylan’s early screen presence was raw and impressive, especially for such a young performer. Following Newport ‘65, Dylan’s fatigue is palpable. Audiences’ negative response to Dylan outside of concerts is not seen, but Dylan wears its effect in performance. Even before the boos, that early fan base would have been a lot to deal with. I recognized my own emotional reaction to him, which was overwhelming. I could see that force, even a loving one, being scary to Dylan. In the footage of the UK ‘66 tour, as soon as he finishes singing at the microphone, he steps back to face the band. His eyes stay averted from the crowd. Though we see him through the camera, his energy is not directed outward. He remains in his head, not gracing us with his full power. Not that I blame him.
The onscreen presence follows in this way after Rolling Thunder. The manic energy of the 1976 footage would wake the dead. But as he retreats from the spotlight, the distance between the audience and the performer grows wider. As someone who was not alive in the 80s, I found this footage valuable in teaching me why some concertgoers were disappointed at this point in his career. The clips show Dylan surrounding himself with more and more people. Was it to create a specific sound in concert or to draw attention away from himself? Either way, Dylan’s desire to be in a band comes through clearly.
In the 90s, the venues became more intimate, eventually arriving at that zoomed-in camera for “Cold Irons Bound.” When Dylan reclaims the spotlight, he is freer and more comfortable. His leg seemed to have a mind of its own at the Johnny Cash Tribute; the JBFC audience laughed as it danced around the mic stand.
What I appreciated the most was how the arrangement of clips exhibited different Bobs over time, and how the audience saw the same smile and stance through the eras. Through grainy, washed out video, and monochrome, he’s been performing. As culture and technology changed, he’s changed too. But he’s still Bob.
Thinking back to the footage in Tulsa, I remember being equally affected. But as I was there for the World of Bob Dylan conference, and had limited time (stay open through the conference next time, BDC!), I didn’t stay for the whole hour loop. Many of the clips are widely available on YouTube, such as that “Cold Irons Bound” scene from Masked and Anonymous. It made me think the clips were all things I’d seen before. In advertising this event, the Center promised to showcase “previously unseen footage,” which I took at their word. I was ready to move mountains to see it. And though I had already seen it, the theatrical experience allowed me to watch without distractions.
Despite being sold out for weeks ahead of time, there were plenty of empty seats. As a cinema house manager by day, I have an inkling about how these things go. Erudite high rollers who have endless money to throw around will buy tickets and not care enough to show up. During seating, the audience was pretty subdued. In situations like this one, it blows my mind that so many regular people are interested in Dylan. Let me rephrase: It’s hard for me to understand anyone having a casual interest in Dylan, such that you’ll go to an event like this without being a total fanatic. A more provocative thought I had was whether the Pleasantville boomers’ politics actually align with Dylan’s early songs. I had to wonder what brought them in. A nostalgia trip? The desire to connect with the past? I suppose Dylan can be interesting to people who aren’t as into his music as they are a time he represents.
In the discussion afterward, a disconnect arose between the speakers’ tones. Janet Maslin spoke freely and personally, while Steven Jenkins gave very brief, PR-approved answers. Maslin mentioned being at the Rolling Thunder tour and feeling a personal connection to the footage. Jenkins spoke in quotes from press releases. The most memorable and surprising part of the discussion involved legacy. After a safe series of questions about the Center, Maslin brought up the inevitable: Dylan’s death. She phrased it as “the day Dylan appears on page one of The New York Times.” She asked Jenkins if they had a protocol for when that happens. The question made me squirm. It’s unpleasant to talk about, but even more so, I correctly predicted that he was not going to divulge that kind of information. It seemed like asking the Secret Service what the assassination protocol is. Like, you know there’s an answer, but you have to know that you will never know as a civilian. The response he gave actually gagged me a bit. He said that he expects that the Center will be a place to accept any wayward mourners who want to be “close” to Bob.
Personally, it won’t be top of my mind to go to Tulsa when that happens. I’d more likely go to Greenwich Village, and to suggest otherwise sounded to me like twisted, wishful thinking on the Center’s part. Clearly, the brand hopes to be associated as Bob’s keeper. If I were answering the question, I would give a more personal statement rather than hawk for the Center. The passive distance Jenkins had with the crowd struck me as very businesslike and antithetical to the personal nature of Dylan fandom.
I think the Bob Dylan Center is doing a great job of sharing Dylan’s art with people who might not know him, but I doubt they’ll win over all die-hard fans. The exclusivity of the Archives creates a sense of gatekeeping, and the way they marketed this event wasn’t entirely transparent to us.
Following the discussion, there was a reception with food and alcohol. Standing around chatting, I was reminded of how few Dylan fans are online. This is probably what skews my idea of a “casual” Dylan fan; only the crazy ones like me have several social media accounts dedicated to him. During the introduction, Janet Maslin gave a shoutout to HarryHew (that’s Dylan Review contributor Harrison Hewitt for those not on Twitter/X), and I whooped in recognition, representing this contingent.
At the end of the evening, there was a surprising amount of schmoozing. While I was reeling from the experience, there wasn’t much discussion about the event. I first saw this kind of thing at the Dylan Retrospectrum in Florida, as the event was put on by rich art people. I felt similarly out of place here, with several people I’d never met before vampirically clinging to me and eventually shoving me at a disinterested Steven Jenkins. Frankly, it was weird. I’d much rather be fanning out with my online friends than rubbing elbows and gossiping about people I don’t know, and how many degrees they are from Dylan’s estate.
While being in the physical space of the theater made for a wonderful experience, the baggage that comes with events like this makes me long for a more diverse crowd to share it with. The trek I made to Pleasantville and the lengths I went to get tickets are not accessible to all. I’d love for the Bob Dylan Center to organize events in New York City in the future. If they won’t, they’ll go their way and I’ll go mine.
