Here’s an idea I have for an ongoing series: Double Threats, in which I discuss the acting careers of people mostly known for other artistic endeavors.  Or conversely, the other artistic endeavors of people primarily known as actors.  Inspired by tonight’s debate between the quick-witted enigmatic younger man and the proverbial Mr. Jones who seemed unsure of what, exactly, was going on here, didn't he?...  OK, I’m stretching at this point, aren’t I?  Actually, I’ve just had Bob Dylan on the brain recently and thought he might be a good test subject for this idea.

The double-aughts have been pretty good for Dylan in the movies.  The man who made a household phrase out of “the sun’s not yellow, it’s chicken” managed to baffle critics and audiences alike with 2003’s Masked And Anonymous, which (this may surprise you, unless you saw it) he wrote himself.  Then Martin Scorsese made the epic 3+ hour documentary No Direction Home in 2005, which included footage that shocked and amazed rock fans, such as the famous “Judas” moment from the misnamed Royal Albert Hall Concert, Dylan at the March on Washington in 1963, or (and this blew my mind) contemporary gnomic-old-man Dylan cracking a smile.  And then 2007 saw Todd Haynes’ brilliant I’m Not There, which created an alternate universe where all of Dylan’s mythologies sprang to life.

Masked And Anonymous wasn’t Dylan’s first acting role, of course.  Prior to that movie, he appeared as a chauffeur in a 1999 movie called Paradise Cove.  I confess that I’ve never seen it, and his role was apparently miniscule, so let’s move on. In 1989, he had an uncredited role in the Alan Smithee-directed Backtrack.  The Smithee name is always a sign of quality -- and we’re all on the same page here, right?  (“Quality” is my clever code word for “utter crap.”)  Moving on.  Two years before that was 1987’s Hearts of Fire, which starred Dylan as a rock star with the supernatural ability to bore everyone senseless.  At least, that’s what my vague memory tells me.  I also seem to recall that he turned into The Hulk at one point, so I’m willing to concede that I might have fallen asleep somewhere in there. 

By now you’re wondering: has Dylan been in anything good?  Well, there’s the four-hour Renaldo and Clara from 1978.  I have a simple test to assess how much you’ll enjoy this movie: add up the number of Dylan albums you listen to regularly (and you’re free to define “regularly” as you and your maker see fit) and then divide that number by the total number of albums he’s released (32 studio albums, 13 live albums, 14 compilations, and a near-infinite number of bootlegs, but you don’t have to count them unless you feel so compelled).  Should you hit somewhere around 40 percent, then you might like Renaldo and Clara.  You’ve probably already seen it, though, so, uh, never mind.  Finally, before Renaldo and Clara, Dylan was in Sam Peckinpah’s 1973 great-on-the-square Pat Garrett and Billy The Kid.

Pat Garrett and Billy The Kid is a masterpiece, but it’s a messy one.  I guess you could say the same thing about some of Dylan’s 70s albums, too.  In the movie, Dylan plays Alias, a mostly wordless guy who hangs around Billy The Kid looking shockingly similar to a rock star named Bob Dylan.  It’s not a big stretch for the man.  But it is a pleasant, unassuming role that complements his sometimes-powerful, mostly-pleasant and unassuming soundtrack for the movie. 

According to movie lore (and, uh, Wikipedia), Peckinpah had never heard of Dylan before the movie and had to be talked into meeting him by Rudy Wurlitzer (who wrote it) and Kris Kristofferson (who played Billy).  Dylan was a fan of Peckinpah’s movies, especially the elegaic Ride The High Country.  So Dylan played Peckinpah a couple of songs he’d written after reading the script, and Peckinpah, sentimental cuss that he was, was blown away.  Peckinpah brought in Jerry Fielding to help Dylan score the movie.  Fielding despised Dylan and everything he stood for and was thoroughly unimpressed with the music Dylan wrote for the death scene of Sheriff Colin Baker (spoiler!).

Baker, who was played by Slim Pickens, has a quite moving death scene, one of the most poignant in any Peckinpah movie, and that’s saying something.  Fielding pushed and prodded Dylan to come up with something better, and Dylan responded with that obscure ditty “Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door.”  (Obscure?  I kid, I kid.)  Fielding, not exactly a man of the times, hated the song so much that he quit the production.  Dylan toiled on without him.  Later, as with so many Peckinpah movies, the studio took control away in editing, and the theatrical release chopped Dylan’s role down to not-much and cut his music into pieces.  The 2005 DVD release restores the movie to its director’s cut and adds a different version that combines elements of the theatrical cut, the director’s cut, and previously unreleased scenes.  None of these versions, however, expand Dylan’s role into anything major or even coherent, but they’re certainly worth a viewing.  Apparently, most of Dylan's role was shot using a camera with a defective lens, so there wasn't much left for the movie.  It’s a shame no one's brought his acting chops to cinema yet.  That Dylan guy would have killed as the lead in Don’t Look Back.