I particularly liked the reproduction of film techniques from the 1960′s — there is nary a steadycam shot to be found, and the quick zooms and Hitchcock-like use of reflection, glass, and black and white are really something. Cate Blanchett steals — just steals — the show. I should have, just for the fun of it, counted how many cigarettes the different incarnations of Dylan smoke.

Watching this flick left me with a profound sense of my own creative inferiority and a resurgence of my painful regret that I could not have been born in 1939. For all the pain and turmoil and drugs and angst, to have witnessed the 1960′s as a young person, to have heard those sounds and fought those battles . . .

Bob Dylan is the greatest poet it has ever been my privilege to hear. I would rip up every page of Keats and flush every last page of Shakespeare down the toilet in exchange for the power to make Bob Dylan immortal. This movie is so effing good. But unless you are a total and utter Bob Dylan worshipper like myself, you’re not likely to understand it at all. You’ll probably think it’s a pretentious piece of crap, or that it’s just nonsense that is only good to watch if you’re very, very high. I can’t convince you of that with any explanation. Like all good art, you just have to get something out of it for yourself.

I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
And just for that one moment
I could be you
Yes, I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
You’d know what a drag it is
To see you

Kapow. I can’t think of a better song to listen to while trying to exorcise memories of a former flame. The companion piece that you should listen to just before this song is “It Ain’t Me Babe,” because it makes dumping someone a true work of art. I know you want the hero, the unfailing support, the lighthouse, the lady on the pedestal. Aaaaand . . . that’s not me. Sorry. You should be looking elsewhere. This song, for good reason, was wildly popular and was covered in quick succession over the next few years. Although I’ve always been intrigued by the different versions that have been put out there.

Whenever Johnny Cash and June Carter performed this song, they omit the most powerful chunk of lyrics from the beginning of the third verse:

Go melt back into the night, babe,
Everything inside is made of stone.
There’s nothing in here moving
An’ anyway I’m not alone.

I’ve never been able to find a copy of this song where I got to hear Johnny and June snarl out those words, and that’s sad. The Rule of Three applies as much to music as it does to comedy, and removing that bit from the third verse saps the strength of the song. The first verse says, “Don’t show up at my house like this. I’m not going to shelter you.” The second verse continues, “Not trying to hurt you, but just so you know I can’t provide the permanence you want.” The third verse brings it home with a sucker punch: “Not only am I not what you want, but I’m kinda busy right now, if you know what I mean . . .” It’s the ultimate in rejection. I don’t want you, and I already have someone else.

Cash isn’t the only one to make this edit, which may presumably be because it sounds too racy. When The Turtles covered the song, they eliminated the third verse altogether. It’s a short song, so the omission can’t be in the interest of time – it had to have been deliberate. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the “anti-marriage” version by Joan Baez contained the full text. The Cash version had a ripple effect. It was replicated by Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon in the soundtrack for Walk the Line, which was very strong except for this number. Likewise when New Found Glory put out their album From the Screen to Your Stereo Part II, a compilation of punk covers of movie songs from 2007, they replicated not only the editing but also the female vocalist’s use of major instead of minor thirds.

Though it’s interesting listening to the baton being handed off — Dylan originally played the song solo. He later performed it as a duet, and Johnny and June picked that up. Their versions were well performed, with the exception of the regrettable lyrics omission. June wouldn’t quite slide up to a major third, and the minor chord gives the song just the right tiredness. Nobody likes rejecting someone with a crush, and the steady freight train pace of the Tennessee Three and Johnny’s growling baritone give this song just the right mixture of exhaustion and exasperation.

When Witherspoon and Phoenix covered the song, it was okay but the producer didn’t get it right. It’s too fast. It’s too clean sounding. It’s too peppy. It gets turned into a pop song, and Witherspoon sounds downright cheery. Her biggest mistake was singing her line in a major key, which is not only unfaithful to June Carter’s interpretation, but crosses the duet versions Dylan performed himself. But I guess that’s what happens when Hollywood gets ahold of a folk song. They’ve got to dress it up and make it fancy and sparkly. Bah humbug. The New Found Glory version recovers some of the angst. Part of the strength of Orange County style punk is that it can make anything sound pretty and angry at the same time, so although the female vocalist keeps it major, she doesn’t sound like a breakup cheerleader.

So few artists have had this kind of effect, and it’s one of the reasons I’m incredibly grateful for Bob Dylan. I wish more musicians would follow his example and promote this kind of folk heritage within commercial music.