A Complete Unknown (2024): A Love Letter to Music's Purpose

Scorch Score: 🔥🔥🔥🔥

One word: Wow.

A Complete Unknown (2024), written and directed by James Mangold and starring Timothy Chalamet, arrived in theaters on Christmas Day. And what a gift it was.

Rotten Tomatoes and IMDb found rare consensus, awarding the film 77/100 and 7.8/10 respectively. And incredibly, according to MSN, the film “amassed a domestic box office total of $44 million, earning it a spot among the top 40 highest-grossing movies of 2024 domestically” (Blevins, 2025).

I attended with my husband, a long-time Dylan fan, for an impromptu date night. The trailer revealed little, leaving us expecting your average musical biopic. Chalamet had expressed hope that the film would reach beyond Dylan’s existing fanbase, introducing new generations to his music over fifty years after his breakout album. As someone who knew little about Dylan’s rise to fame, I found myself becoming exactly the kind of new fan Chalamet had hoped to reach. The film’s emotional impact was profound, and I now find myself an avid listener of Dylan’s work, and I'm grateful that this project has brought his music to new listeners.

Throughout the film, Timothy Chalamet disappeared entirely, replaced by a young man named Bobby Dylan who loved to write but found the response to his gift frustrating, overwhelming, and challenging—especially for someone in his twenties. The theme of fame’s consequences permeates the film, highlighting Dylan’s wariness of hungry fans.

This culminates in one of the film’s final scenes at the 1965 Newport Folk Festival—as the crowd’s deafening cheers overwhelm any attempt at a proper introduction, the announcer can only shout over the roar, “Okay you want him? You can have him, Bob Dylan everybody!” The moment, though born from humor, inadvertently crystallizes Dylan’s growing sense of being a sacrifice to the masses, eager to consume both him and his art. The scene feels as though they had come to devour him and his music, and that he was no longer a person, but instead a vessel with one purpose. But even though he is given to them, they are not satisfied as they guard the definition of “folk music” fitfully, responding to Dylan’s new electric sound by hurling food and trash onto the stage.

Another poignant scene captures this same struggle with fame when Dylan performs with Joan Baez, who tells him onstage that the crowd merely wants to hear “Blowin’ in the Wind.” A request. A command. But Dylan maintains that he is not a jukebox that takes requests. Frustrated that his work had reduced him to a show pony—reminiscent of his carnival days as a kid—he exits the stage without care.

The women in Dylan’s life bear witness to fame’s additional toll on love. Multiple scenes capture the dawning realization on both Sylvie Russo (Elle Fanning) and Joan Baez’s (Monica Barbaro) faces that they can never truly have—or know—Bob Dylan. He emerges as a conduit for his art, working through nights to transfer melodies from his mind to paper or instrument. The film recontextualizes familiar songs like “Blowin’ in the Wind.” When Joan Baez discovers the lyrics and asks Dylan to perform it, her tears mirror my own as an audience member. Her expression poses the same questions we all share while watching: “Who is this young man?” and “Where do these songs come from within him?”

Dylan’s pointed observation that anyone asking the latter question is really asking, “Why didn’t the songs come to me?” reveals a heartbreaking truth about fame and fortune, as well as the burden of being “blessed” with talent. Perhaps Dylan felt his authentic relationships vanished once he transformed from Bobby into Bob Dylan.

His strongest connections seem to be with fellow artists who understood that the music, not the man, took precedence. This likely explains his gravitational pull toward Joan Baez, even while involved with Sylvie Russo. Joan represented a kindred spirit who felt music in her soul rather than merely hearing it. In the same scene where she requests, he play “Blowin’ in the Wind,” she makes a profound observation about musicianship versus songwriting. While playing an instrument can be taught, Joan suggests writing talent is something that someone is born with, like blue eyes or detached earlobes. Watching Dylan perform in the film supports this theory—his talent transcends mere practice, suggesting something present within him since childhood.

Initially, I felt disappointed when Chalamet revealed on Theo Von’s podcast that the film would span only six years of Dylan’s life. Traditional biopics like Ray (2004) and Walk the Line (2005) typically cover decades. However, this focused time frame proves intentional and effective. Like Dylan’s apparent disdain for pandering to crowds, the limited scope serves the story beautifully. While leaving audiences yearning to know more about him, it reinforces Dylan’s insistence—and Mangold’s artistic choice—that the music alone matters. When Sylvie asks him to share more of himself with her, his questioning response about why such details matter challenges conventional wisdom. While I initially sided with Sylvie’s belief that our experiences shape us, Dylan viewed himself differently—he was already a musician and needed only to nurture and refine that inherent truth about himself.

The film portrays Dylan as an impossible man to love, yet a profound gift to be loved by. Both female leads illustrate this duality. Sylvie, watching him perform on tour, weeps upon realizing that his unheard songs contain his heart’s contents, leaving no room for anything else. Even Baez, who gave him the middle finger during a performance in the film, later watches him sing “Like A Rolling Stone (A Complete Unknown)” with renewed recognition. Both women understand that this young man needs only to make music, and being with him would always leave them wanting. Yet the music brings him joy, compelling him to share his gift with the world despite the bittersweet unfairness to himself. He continues because he feels that he must.

Both Sylvie and Joan’s departures from Dylan’s life unfold amicably, delivering that tender and raw pain of necessary goodbyes. Sylvie contemplates staying with Dylan but ultimately leaves during a concert in the film, leading to their tearful farewell through a chain-link fence—a scene both devastating and peaceful all at once.

The film succeeds as a character study by focusing primarily on Dylan’s relationships rather than concerts or recordings (even though I loved every homage to famous photos of Dylan in the studio or on the stairs with Sylvie). Dylan’s artistic breakthrough can be seen in his strong relationships with musicians Pete Seeger (Edward Norton) and Woody Guthrie (Scoot McNairy).

The film opens with a 19-year-old Dylan visiting Guthrie in a New Jersey hospital, carrying only a backpack and guitar. After meeting both men and performing his original composition for Guthrie (Dylan’s folk hero), their stunned reactions lead Seeger to take Dylan under his wing. Their relationship evolves throughout the film, even as Dylan’s fame eclipses Seeger’s. Despite this, their friendship endures, perhaps because Seeger knew Dylan before stardom and could relate to him as a fellow artist. However, their bond is not without its challenges—when Dylan ventures into undefined musical territory in the mid-1960s, he abandons traditional folk styles, to Seeger’s disappointment. While Seeger initially resists this new sound, Dylan’s music argues that younger generations offer valuable perspectives deserving consideration. And according to Seeger himself, he never wanted to kill the sound at the 1965 New Port Folk Festival (as depicted in the film), but instead fix the feedback in order for the crowd to hear Bob’s lyrics (MacArthur, 2025).

The film also highlights Dylan’s relationship with the infamous Johnny Cash, showing both artists facing criticism for their non-traditional sound. Cash’s advice to Dylan to “track some mud on the carpet” represents the artistic wisdom passed between kindred spirits navigating changing musical landscapes. Again, Dylan’s deepest connections appear to form with fellow artists.

The director, James Mangold (Logan (2017), Ford v Ferrari (2019)), additionally weaves in the political context of the 1960s Cold War era in the film. Seeger and Baez confront rising tensions between the public and government, as revolutionary music addresses “anti-American” topics. Even Seeger’s “This Land is Your Land” faces investigation as potentially communist propaganda. Dylan follows Seeger’s path, pushing boundaries further in an atmosphere of considerable fear and paranoia. Songs featured like “Like A Rolling Stone (A Complete Unknown)” and “Masters of War” ignite Dylan’s fame while courting controversy.

The film invites comparisons between 1960s political climate and the 2020s. Though we don’t face a Cold War today, social changes progress through online dialogue and music. Artists continue using their craft to address societal issues and envision paths forward. Periods of significant political change often see artists emerge as modern-day bards, sharing perspectives through song and using concerts and festivals to spread messages while documenting their times.

One of the film’s final scenes concludes with Joan Baez’s acknowledgment that Dylan has achieved something significant after the 1965 Newport Folk Festival performance in social critique and music as a whole. She encourages him to pursue his happiness, specifically his freedom to “to get away from all of us.” This sentiment encapsulates Dylan’s relationship with fame and his talent—he simply wanted to write music and return home. He was a celebrity in name only; he sought simply a quiet room and a guitar. While Baez might not fully understand this desire, she respects it, recognizing she would never encounter anyone quite like him again.

The film’s closing credits offers final recognition of those depicted: Joan Baez continued championing social change through her music, Pete Seeger maintained support for Dylan’s career, and Dylan himself would release 55 albums throughout his career, as well as become the first musician to win the Nobel Prize in Literature (2016).

And true to his “it’s-about-the-music” philosophy, Bob Dylan did not attend the award ceremony.

At age 83, Dylan has recently released “Shadow Kingdom” (2023) and “Rough and Rowdy Ways” (2020). Something tells me he will continue to create music until his final breath.

A Complete Unknown (2024) continues to play in local theaters and should reach Hulu in February/March. I strongly recommend experiencing this remarkable biopic on the big screen, but bring tissues if you, like me, appreciate character studies celebrating humanity’s beauty, talent, and hope.

Resources

Blevins, A. (2025, January 10). Timothée Chalamet’s ‘A Complete Unknown’ Is Tangled Up on a New Elite Box Office List. MSN.com. https://www.msn.com/en-us/entertainment/movies/timoth%C3%A9e-chalamet-s-a-complete-unknown-is-tangled-up-on-a-new-elite-box-office-list/ar-BB1re1BJ?ocid=BingNewsSerp

MacArthur, G. (2025, January 9). A complete unknown Fact-Check: Bob Dylan’s 1965 Newport Folk Festival performance. ScreenRant. https://screenrant.com/a-complete-unknown-bob-dylan-newport-folk-festival-performance-fact-check/