The strangeness of Bob Dylan's "Eat The Document"
It sure ain't "A Hard Day's Night", that's for sure
EDITOR’S NOTE: While I wait for Amazon to get around to delivering my 27-Dylan and The Band CDs, I happened to spot a newer, crisper copy of Bob’s “Eat The Document” on Facebook the other day and thought I’d look at it again. The print was better but the film wasn’t. But as with all things Bob, there was always plenty to talk and think and write about.
Bob Dylan has never lacked for artistic courage/freedom/independence. From walking off the set of the prestigious “Ed Sullivan Show” for refusing to sing a Clancy Brothers’ song instead of his “Talkin’ John Birch Paranoid Blues” or toting a bunch of hard-scrabble Canadians and a thunderous California drummer across the globe with loud electric instruments to play the second half of his shows amid a hail of boos and cat-calls, he’s called the shots and never looked back.
But opening the film “Eat The Document” with a shot of him snorting something (amphetamines?) off the top of a piano to riotous, almost unhinged laughter all around him, well, how many ways can you extend the middle finger to network television?
Though you certainly could not tell it, especially from the opening scene, Bob Dylan’s “Eat The Document,” was commissioned for ABC Television program “Stage 67.” And once the suits at ABC actually got a look at it, you can only imagine their outrage. While Dylan and his co-conspirator Howard Alk, who helped him edit this, were somewhere in the projection room, stoned and laughing their butts off.
Of course, this would never be shown on network TV. And watching it again all these years later, you have to wonder what Bob was thinking. IF Bob was thinking. Or was he saying — in so many words — “Here’s what I was doing when we filmed all this stuff so don’t get too bent out of shape by what you see.”
The film is so radically different from the other two prominent music films that came out the two years previous, The Beatles’ “A Hard Day’s Night” and “Help” that it almost seems as if Dylan and The Beatles had completely different occupations.
One occupation was a gifted musical group finding a way to charm the world through a couple of cute, carefully scripted films (especially the first one), then go on and explore and expand their music.
The other occupation saw a road-tested, hard-scrabble bunch of Canadians and a thunderous drummer from Texas set out, it seemed, to piss the world off by playing Dylan’s new, revolutionary, stinging electric music as loud and as abrasively as they could. They concluded this world tour sending cultural shockwaves through a series of old English music halls that first, weren’t designed to handle such noise and second, Dylan understanding that much of his loyal, trusting audience was no more prepared for that than the halls were and, well, the hell with all of them.
As a result, “Eat The Document” is a cluttered, jittery, mess of a film but nonetheless a valuable — and perhaps painful — document of that difficult moment in Dylan’s career. He might want to eat that document but it sure would be hard to swallow. Some of the footage, of course, was resurrected for Martin Scorsese’s “No Direction Home,” which made much better use of it than Bob did here. But perhaps that was Dylan’s intent.
Bob and the Hawks sure aren’t cavorting about some field, carting one of their grandfather’s along with them, cracking wise with an uptight TV producer who’s afraid they won’t show up on time for the performance or the boys being stranded on some island somewhere with a goofy plot.
Well, actually, they ARE on an island, the British Isles and while to these ears, the music is extraordinary; Dylan has never been more animated, more committed to the delivery of every single word and the Hawks are razor sharp behind him, the idea that his audience was resisting, I think, excited and inspired Dylan to defy them in every concert, even if afterwards, he’d call out those who booed him.
Another way to look at “Eat The Document” is as the anti-”Don’t Look Back,” his answer to D.A. Pennebaker’s classic hand-held, in-the-room, on-the-scene depiction of Dylan’s farewell to acoustic concerts in his 1965 tour of England. Supposedly Dylan told Pennebaker at one point, “I helped you make your film, now I want you to help me make mine.”
When I happened to catch Pennebaker one afternoon in his office and asked him about this film and his own film of that tour -- “Something Is Happening” which has never been seen -- he said he was glad to help Dylan make a film. “If Lincoln made a movie,” he told me, “I’d dig it.”
So the film begins with the snort, then cuts to Dylan rubbing his nose. His opening line is, “Have you ever heard of me?” then there’s a quick cut to him, dark glasses on, playing ponderous chords on a piano somewhere, cigarette ever-present. “Are we ready to move on?” he asks.
In a bit, we find ourselves on a train, then onstage for a sound check and somebody says, '“How about some bagpipes?” We see a few shots of men loading equipment in, then we find ourselves at a parade where, yup, bagpipes are playing and a creepy looking guy wears a placard that says “It is appointed unto men once to die,” a quote from the Bible on one side and “After death, the judgment” on the other. Cheery-O.
So, just about five minutes into the film, we can see the only attempt at a narrative is sort of an impressionistic series of clips of Bob and a scattershot look at the things you might see on a world tour.
The camera zooms in close, catching just Bob’s dark sunglasses and we get the rarest of things; a Dylan apology. “I’m sorry for everything I’ve done and I hope to remedy it soon,” he says. (We don’t think he was talking about the film).
Then finally, music! We see the curtains open on the stage at L’Olympia in Paris, it’s Bob’s 25th birthday, and up on the wall behind the band is an enormous American flag, which, of course, draws a dramatic reaction from the Paris crowd.
The band then swings into the tour opener, “Tell Me, Momma” an unreleased rocker that Dylan played just on this tour. They sound fantastic, there are several imaginative camera angles of Bob on stage and as the second verse begins, we see the end of the show, Dylan putting on his dark glasses, the crowd raucously clapping, the curtain closing. So no, this won’t be a concert film.
Then, we’re on a bus, Bob checks his astrological forecast, Mickey Jones doffs a German helmet, then Bob’s at a press conference where an old journalist suggests Bob no longer sings protest songs.
“Who said that,” Dylan challenges. “All my songs are protest songs. Every single one of them. All I do is protest.”
Then we’re in a hotel room, Bob, using a capo, plays a bluesy, unreleased song “What Kind Of Friend Is This” with the nifty accompaniment of Robbie Robertson, also on acoustic guitar, then a flash cut to Bob on a bus, playing a snippet of the Everly Brothers’ “When Will I Be Loved” before returning to the hotel room and the rest of “Friend.” Hmmm.
What would a road movie be without women? There’s a pretty blonde woman at that press conference, a quick shot of her, then we’re in a hotel room, a short-haired brunette is wrestling with Bob at the window. She has a beauty mark smack between her eyebrows.
“You’re not the type to be hypnotized,” Dylan drawls. “You must be the type to do something else,” he says. After a lot of quick cuts, we see Bob, dressed in an immaculate white suit with a thin black mustache inked on his lip while he wanders near the balcony.
“I’m very tired,” he tells the woman. “I just have to be entertained before lunch time,” he says. “Get outa here,” he says, at one point, but we can’t tell to whom. Probably, neither can he.
Then, here’s another hotel song with Robbie in shades, Bob’s in mid-song, a sweet, gentle “I Can’t Leave Her Behind” another song that won’t be played again outside this room.
More train. Quick cuts of people milling about outside, shots of young English lads, shirts and ties, his audience, then a quick close-up shot of Bob on stage. Then Bob Neuwirth, enjoying every minute, asking for what he eagerly expects will be negative reactions to the show. “He’s a bit overamplified…” one says.
Bob and the boys swing into his greatest song, a majestic “Like A Rolling Stone” that just sounds spectacular and we get a tease, “you thought they were all kiddin’ you…” before it cuts off, barely into the song. And we get the angry crowd but as viewers, we’re ticked off, too. Likely Bob’s point.
You’ve seen the comments before. “It was a bloody disgrace,” one says, “He’s worth shooting. He’s a traitor” Then Bob — “I didn’t see nobody say ‘Good show’ but.” And someone says “Fantastic show, Bob.”
Yet another show. A quick shot of Garth Hudson, playing a few notes for a couple of ladies, then Bob, amped up after a show, in the back of a limousine, “I heard you booing out there,” he says, pointing out the window. “Let’s go. This guy here, he booed.” Another camera angle “Naw, you booed.” Dylan says.
A quick shot of the hotel, a brief clip of some reporter asking how many people were in the group (Deep, these reporters), a quick shot of Neuwirth then back on the faces of the audience as they wrap up “Rolling Stone.” As brief as it is, the band sounds amazing. One skeptic seems to nod, as if to say “Not bad.” Then another chimes in “I wish he’d left that group in America. Quite a lot of people, do, too.”
There’s a bit more. A brief chat with the Manfred Mann group, a critical fan who can’t count, “These seven people, they made such a din, there was 20 minutes in the middle when you couldn’t hear one single word.” Seven? Bob, Garth, Robbie, Rick, Mickey…Maybe it SOUNDED like seven, a brief backstage duet with Johnny Cash, Bob on piano doing “I Still Miss Someone,” then a jump cut into a very animated Bob singing and playing some wild harp on “I Don’t Believe You,” gesturing wildly as he alternates between singing and blowing on his harmonica, he looks like a man possessed and it’s wonderful.
Another critic: “He may think it’s gimmicky but I think it’s rubbish. I’m not going to another one of his.”
A bit later, Bob is shussing the rowdy fans as he begins a haunted “Ballad Of A Thin Man” seated at the piano, Garth Hudson providing some eerie organ accompaniment. “Something is happening and you don’t know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones?” Snip.
Quick cut to an interview, Dylan, dark glasses on, listening to a reporter’s unhinged question: “The thing is, you people, an image is projected, I’m talking, which is particularly serious, and if you become cynical about it then one begins to doubt sincerity.”
Bob has the perfect response. “I’m not sincere at all. I’m not any more sincere than you are.”
“Are you?” the questioner asks.
“Not any more sincere than you,” Dylan says, puffing on the constant cigarette.
“Are you ever yourself at any time?” the interviewer asks.
The camera cuts to a shot of Dylan, gesturing with his hand as if to say, “Whattya you think?”
Then back to “Ballad,” Garth’s blasts on the organ are so evocative, just perfect and Bob is so into delivering the song and yes, he’s right. Something IS happening and these people DON’T HAVE A CLUE.
One more critic: “He’s all pretending this for the person in the gutter. If that’s how he walks in the gutter, I’d walk with my head up than crawling through the bloody gutter, he’s making a pile out of it. Yeah, he’s making a pile out of it. The people he pretends he’s for. Yeah, that’s how I feel.”
After a few more comments, back to “Ballad.” Bob’s intense at the microphone. A few cutaways as he finishes the song, which we can see is compiled from different shows on the tour as he’s wearing different outfits, various camera angles show his wild hair and intensity every single time.
You get the idea now. Fans are upset, Dylan doesn’t care, Neuwirth is loving every critical comment from them and is sure to film it.
There’s a brief comical scene where Richard Manuel tries to buy the pretty Swedish girlfriend of a Pete Townshend-lookalike (It’s not him.) Doesn’t work. “Swedish girls don’t have any business sense,” he concludes. The boyfriend says he wants “Two thousand crowns” And Manuel asks him if he’ll take Australian money.
A little more music. Some clips of a rocking “Baby Let Me Follow You Down” with some great shots of the band, all from different angles. Closeups of Bob and the band. Then an arty moment. As we’re looking at the crowd milling outside a concert hall, we hear the unmistakable sound of Dylan’s harmonica, playing “Mr. Tambourine Man.” The harp solo goes on for a bit as the camera swoops in on Dylan’s cheek, blowing away. The solo goes on for two, almost three minutes, then he takes his guitar off, nods and leaves the stage.
One more brief music clip, Bob and Rick Danko harmonizing on “One Too Many Mornings,” then it’s Bob and Robbie back in the hotel room, playing acoustic guitars, Bob singing softly to “I Can’t Leave Her Behind.” Dylan spots the camera and offers some direction.
“Why don’t you move around, man, unless you’re comfortable in that chair” and the film freezes the frame and ends.
There is a “Watchdog” version on YouTube that’s a bit longer. It includes a terrific version of “Ballad Of A Thin Man” and the famed limo ride with John Lennon where the two chat about Barry McGuire (“Eve Of Destruction”), Johnny Cash and George Harrison spending time in the states. And let’s just say it’s a good thing neither one was driving.
What can we say about “Eat The Document?” Well, even though they screwed around with the concert footage, at least we have some clips of Dylan and The Hawks on that controversial tour, much of which made it into “No Direction Home.” And the music is incredible, you just wish there was more of it. Bob’s point, I’m sure.
Since there has been so much archival work done on Bob’s career, you wonder why nobody at Columbia has thought to put together a filmed complete concert from that 1966 tour — Dylan’s acoustic set, then the electric set with the Hawks. It’d be a package that any Dylan fan would love.
Scorsese may have already salvaged all he could. Dylan’s edits as a film maker and editor certainly didn’t do justice to the mesmerizing performances he and the Hawks put on world stages in that 1966 tour. We have the recordings, a 36-CD set came out a few years ago and I can testify that having listened to them all, there’s not a bad show in the bunch.
Whether commissioned by ABC or not, you knew Bob Dylan wasn’t going to go and do a concert film. That’s not how he rolls, then or now. But it sure wasn’t because they didn’t have enough dynamic footage. Bob Dylan was never more alive on stage.
Robbie once said Dylan told him he loved playing with The Hawks, later The Band, “because it was like he could drill these songs into people.” And the drilling, may I say, was exquisite.
John Nogowski is the author of three volumes of “Bob Dylan: A Descriptive, Critical Discography and Filmography 1961-2022,” 322 pages long and available for you on Amazon.
Here is “EAT THE DOCUMENT”