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Within the multitude of conflicting types of Bob Dylan fans, most would label me a casual admirer. I respect his music for its poetry and far-reaching influence, but my introduction to it took place in reverse, from the lips and strings of those that imbibed his style long ago. Thus, I spent my musical adolescence listening to a result rather than its source, and now Dylan's music rings anachronistically in my ears.

But I'm only confessing this to establish trust; now that you know I'm not some slavering Dylan devotee, we can discuss I’m Not There sans impediments. In fact, one's personal adoration, hatred, or indifference toward the man is irrelevant when gazing down the slope of Todd Haynes' cinematic ride into Dylan's roller coaster life, which is, in style and as well as substance, nearly as defiant as Dylan himself.

First we're struck by Haynes’ audacity in attempting to distill I’m Not There’s focal life through not one but six filters. This protean casting approach, which is clearly the film’s big draw, enlists Marcus Carl Franklin, Ben Whishaw, Heath Ledger, Christian Bale, Richard Gere, and Cate Blanchett to portray different sides of Dylan's technicolor personality at varying points in his timeline.

Of course, a risk such as this is bound to elicit accusations of gimmickry, but Haynes opts for integrity over comfort by disregarding these allegations altogether, designing scenes like the bombastic introduction to Dylan's "Innovator" personality, Jude, played by Cate Blanchett, which feels a bit like a circus ringleader announcing the main attraction. But moments before moviegoers can recoil from this slightly overcooked scene, a wonderful thing occurs: acting. Great acting! And suddenly these performers don't exist – perhaps they never did, at least not as anything more or less than this mumbling, twitching, understated mess of creativity and fury. Their words and Haynes’ imagery provide a contrast to the bluntness of bare facts presented by most biopics, allowing us to follow them behind the silver screen and lose ourselves to a movie that’s already lost in the mind of another.

Now, I've seen quite a few of these so-called "movin' pitchurs," so I'll share a little secret with you: this dynamic between art and audience is not commonplace. Most films strive for it, but end up dozing on a great actor’s coattails or rounding up some easy clichés to mask the absence of fresh insight. I'm Not There breaks this trend by relying equally on performances and style. Haynes and his crew, like skilled musicians backing up their vocalist(s), strike a precarious harmony between clever mis en scene, lengthy dialogues, and subtle reinvention of familiar music, and glue it all together using cuts that are as schizophrenic as they are seamless.

Ambition makes a clumsy perch, but even the film's flaws emphasize its likability, similar to how a crippled hound’s three-legged hop earns affection and respect because I'll be damned, he can run as fast as any other dog. Like that lovable pup, I’m Not There shines by using its medium’s innate limitations in tandem with its strengths. It breaches boundaries imposed by capital and genre, and depicts flashes from a kinetic life in ways that only reel and camera can.

-Scott Miller