On the Road with Bob Dylan (47 page)

“I said that he is elusive but what’s so extraordinary about him is when he’s pushed in a situation where it’s public and he has to transcend it, he’ll bridle for a while but eventually he will transcend it. That’s why he’s such a great artist. He is a genius. And we talked about the fact that maybe the way to get him pinned was to do it on camera where he wouldn’t back down and we both thought that that would be risky but a good idea and she wasn’t sure if she was gonna do it and we both said if the opportunity is ripe and by chance one of the scenes we were gonna shoot one day was with this terrific old lady who has a place near Arlo Guthrie’s land, a friend of Arlo’s, who everybody calls Momma. And she cooks Italian food and sings songs and is kinda a bawdy old lady in her eighties, wonderfully spirited. She saw Joan and just loved her. She took her through the house and sang songs with her and then she gave Joan a dress which was a white sequined wedding dress and told her to try it on and it fit Joan perfectly, it was like one of those
magic-charged moments. Everybody was hushed, this wedding dress for Joan, she was touched by it, everybody was high and happy.

“And then Dylan arrives late and somehow or other, all of the conversation that had taken place in the bus that day about pinning him, and Joan in a wedding dress, and Dylan coming up to shoot a scene, and Momma’s presence, it all kind of came together and Joan played a scene where she actually played herself, she played a character like herself and in effect, said, ‘What happened between us?’ and Dylan was stunned but was brilliant and on camera you see him go from … I mean, it’s this wonderful double-entendre where the two of them are actually having a conversation about their lives, the first one in eight or ten years but done with such wit and high style, it’s like a Howard Hawks movie. Dylan is funny and turns what could have been maudlin into something really inspired, a really great sequence, everyone was knocked out by that scene no matter what perspective they had on the movie. And it ended on such good spirits, there was another sequence of hijinks, of real jerkiness where people, including Allen Ginsberg, were climbing through windows. It was Marx Brothers slapstick, it was just great. By the end of the day, everybody who had differing opinions about how we should do the movie, everybody agreed this was clearly gonna be a heavy mythological movie and we weren’t just gonna make a documentary and of course with three, four hours of concert to supplement it, we thought it’s gotta be the greatest movie in the world.

“There were all these themes running through it. Ginsberg had the idea of Dylan as alchemist, rediscovering America, then the women, Sara is very much into Robert Graves and his notion of the muse, and it suddenly flashed on me, of course, that’s probably a big part of their relationship. He’s always singing about women that inspire him, because like many creative people his energy can sag unless there’s something to bring him out, and the thing about Sara is she always brings him out. I’m sure there have been more
beautiful women in his life, whatever, but Sara consistently fascinates him and constantly interests him and that’s what kept them together all these years.

“So there was this scene in Niagara Falls where Sara played this kind of witch goddess creature and she set tasks for him to fulfill, and nothing was ever good enough and that was the constant prod to keep him going. So we had a whole subplot, all of the women in the film, black magic and white magic, and the different powers of women and men and the focus of all of this was Dylan himself. Helena came and Harry Dean came and we started to use some of the songs as mythological characters, with horses in Quebec and escape scenes, all sorts of zany hijinks, but the thing that started to evolve as a general theme was Dylan, Sara, and Joan. And Sara and Joan as opposing forces, in different mythological guises, Joan as a certain kind of energy, Sara as a different kind of energy, and Dylan in between, being attracted to both. And Dylan is wise enough not to choose sides, he just lets it play off him, so what we did was devise scenes where those energies would just be revealed and let them play out as kind of psychodrama or improvisational humor.

“And I guess in the last two weeks or so, I guess the tour took hold enough so Dylan was sufficiently secure and the film just possessed him and it took him over, and where before we had to schlep him to come to a scene, he started to get really into it. He has such an incredible eye and an incredible sense of telling stories, something that when he’s really on he’s really superb. I think he’s a great actor, a great actor and when he is up, his smile and his energy, you understand why musicians love to play with him. Because whatever else may be difficult at times because of the entourage and the mystery surrounding him, just playing with him, working with him as a filmmaker and an actor is so inspiring, is so much fun that you just want to work thirty hours a day. If he’s displeased, if he’s like down or turns off, it’s really hard to get him up and it’s really hard to work with him, because he’s such a heavy
presence. But when he got into it, he was really inspired by the film and he started to take these ideas and really shape them.”

Mel pauses and rubs his eyes wearily. Ratso sees the station looming up about a block away. “But I’m afraid how the film is gonna turn out. We have an incredible movie: it’s all there, if they choose to make it. I think it’s important to push Dylan in some way to make the film that’s there. That’s my real interest. But I don’t know how to do that.” Mel sighs and grabs his handbag as the bus pulls to a stop. “I’m glad to be going back to New York this Saturday, it’s perfect timing. I can’t wait to get back. But I’m sorry this thing is over, it’s been so intense. Not just fun, it’s like you’re on all the time, you’re on your toes ’cause you’re waiting for Dylan.” Mel shakes his head and chuckles. “It’s like waiting for Godot,” he smiles and they hop off the bus and walk into the station.

Even this entrance is being filmed, Goldsmith and a sound man doing the
Eyewitness News
shtick, panning over the Thunderers, as they make their way onto the train. Ratso mugs for the camera and is about to step onto the train when he hears his name called. It’s Louie Kemp, barreling down on him. “OK,” Louie lectures, “you can go on the train. But low profile. I don’t want you to talk to anybody, just relax and enjoy the ride. Otherwise, I’ll put you on the baggage car.” Ratso just smiles and files onto the car, plopping down next to Beattie. This is the crew train, so the kids are scrambling around, the film crew is ensconced, and seated in the back is Dylan, playing with one of his children.

After the train starts to roll out of the station, Ratso sneaks a look back, sees Dylan alone, and heads back to his seat. “You got a minute to see that song now?” the reporter asks.

“Sure,” Dylan grabs the proffered document and begins to read.

“Hey, this is good man,” he looks up. “I didn’t know you could write such a good song. It reminds me of ‘Tom Thumb’s Blues.’”

“Why, just ’cause of that first line ‘Rega just came in from the Coast’?” Ratso frowns.

“I’d like to hear the melody. You ought to listen to some old Leadbelly records. I kinda hear it as a march,” Dylan laughs, and heads for the other car. Ratso’s restless though, and walks on to the other car, spotting Sara who’s sitting next to Joan.

“Ratso,” she greets the reporter. “You know, they should do a cutout book of your outfits.” He looks down at his bowling shoes, jeans, Indian head warmup jacket, fur vest, and raccoon hat. “Next to my husband, you’re the best-dressed man on the tour, love.”

“Who would buy a book of my wardrobes?”

“Sell it to kids or do it underground.”

“Do it for underground kids,” Baez cracks.

“Yeah,” Sara smiles sweetly. “Nobody’s doing anything for the troll market.”

An hour later, they detrain to the inevitable camera, which records Sara hobbling along the platform missing one boot heel. In the station, Gary is routing everybody to a bus, but Dylan and a few others slip off to do some shooting in the station, and Ratso, two suitcases, a typewriter, and a tape recorder in tow, sneaks past Gary and follows the actor. Neuwirth and Helena start a scene in the middle of the station, attracting a huge, mostly French-speaking crowd who gape at the bizarrely dressed foreigners.

Meanwhile, Dylan, Alk, and Sara sneak down the hall a bit and set up next to a newsstand. Two minutes later, Ratso runs onto the set, carrying what looks to be all his possessions, sort of a highbrow shopping bag person.

“Jesus,” Dylan looks at Alk, “this guy could get in to see the Pope!” But then he’s down to serious business, prepping Sara on the upcoming scene, shooting some footage of her buying a magazine, checking out the angles for the next shot. Already a small crowd has formed, and a few people surge forward for autographs. Dylan starts to comply, and the crowd buzzes amongst itself. “Sounds like you got a cold,” one older fan, a Frenchman in his thirties, worries solicitously.

“Yeah, it’s hard to get all them vitamin pills on the road,” Dylan
answers, then starts to stroll around the station, peeking at the
Playgirl
that Sara bought earlier. And of course, Ratso and about ten other curiosity-seekers follow his every footstep. They walk by Neuwirth’s scene and everyone pauses to look, giving Dylan a chance to slip away unnoticed, scampering into the bathroom through the Out door. Unnoticed by everyone except Ratso.

“Are you playing New York?” the older fan pesters the reporter, “Carnegie Hall or just Madison Square Garden?”

“I don’t know,” Ratso lies.

“Are you going to the concert now?” the fan is beginning to shriek. Ratso nods no.

“Can I have your autograph?” he pulls out a worn book, “I love the rock scene and the artists, that’s my life. I like that life, I like it more than just to go see the show. It’s my life too, my way of being.”

“Running around looking at them?” Ratso stares incredulously. “What do you learn?”

“I find it strange, very fast-paced, going from one place to the other. Especially Dylan, he’s so fast. Where did he go? Did you see him? Did he go to the bathroom or the bar?” The fan is nearly frantic.

“Sniff it out,” Ratso dismisses him and starts to walk away, “that’s your thing.”

The autograph hound divines for a moment and then goes scurrying into the bar. Ratso chuckles to himself and heads for a much-needed urination, pulling an alien piece of paper out of his back pocket on the way.

“What the fuck is this,” the reporter thinks as he unfolds the paper. It’s the note for Dylan from that kid in the Volkswagen outside the Gardens in Toronto. Ratso starts to read the immaculately printed missive.

Ratso stops in his tracks, pockets the letter, and heads back the other way, angling for the bar, deciding that he really didn’t have to go to the bathroom that badly after all.

I
n Montreal, Ratso never left the hotel restaurants, except for one night when he ventured out with Joni and Roger to have dinner at Leonard Cohen’s house. From Wednesday night till Saturday, he would wake up, rush down for breakfast in one of the coffee shops, hang out, check out the other coffee shop for lunch, hang out, go up to the bar for a drink, then head to the restaurant for dinner. Oh yes, on Thursday night he did manage to leave the hotel to go to see the concert. But it wasn’t easy.

The fireworks started when he spied Lisa, sitting like a lost child on one of the massive sofas. Ratso sneaks up.

“Hey, Lisa, did you hear the song Neuwirth and T-Bone wrote about you last night?”

Lisa wheels and a look of disgust crosses her face. “Why? Why do I want to fucking hear that shit?”

“What’s the matter?” Ratso’s shocked at the rage in the usually unflappable punching bag.

“You upset me so much,” Lisa fumes, “you’re always down on me at the wrong time.”

“I’m nice to you when Bob’s around,” Ratso smiles.

“What did you do when the guards were spitting on me last night? Nothing.”

The pair gets joined by Mike Evans, head of security.

“Neuwirth got down on me last night. He said, ‘What are you doing here?’ and …”

“Now she’s got her version and I got mine,” Evans interrupts, trying to set the record straight for the journalist. “I think that Neuwirth was more than cool to her. Neuwirth said we were coming
down too hard on her, so she ends up giving him the shit.” Evans scowls.

“That’s not true,” Lisa protests.

“He was defending you,” Evans glares. “All he wanted was the answer to a simple question: Why do you do what you do?”

“No, he said, ‘It’s bad enough you come to every show, don’t come around here,’ and stuff like that,” Lisa shouts.

“’Cause you wouldn’t tell him why you do it,” Ratso butts in.

“I said I was here because I love Bob,” Lisa suddenly goes soft and fuzzy, her huge doe eyes taking on that same familiar vacant stare. “I said, ‘I love Bob, I love the music,’” she continues. “He said, ‘Bob’s not here right now. What are you doing right now?’ I was only there because I didn’t leave. But I felt I was on trial. I couldn’t answer any questions and Ronee, that bitch, was staring at me.”