The fear, desperation and hope of Time Out of Mind is painfully, hauntingly human. Find a complete guide to TV and movie titles heading to Blu-ray and DVD... Film Friday (3/3): This Week's New Movie Trailers. Suddenly the man next to him reacts with alarm, then stands up and takes his plate and walks away as a mouse scampers across the table. Possibly for the first time in his career, Dylan was beginning to blend into the scenery. The guitars slash, and the organs roar, fighting the same urge to explode. November Preview: 19 TV Shows & New Movies to Watch at Home, Norman: The Moderate Rise and Tragic Fall of a New York Fixer. But even as Dylan plays tender piano above a pillow-top organ, he sounds absolutely broken, the cracks of his voice widening into chasms. I have seen some bad films in my life, but this one may top the chart. In one of the film's many, extraordinary one-take scenes, we watch through a window covered by a metal screen while George eats a meal at a long table in the shelter's mess hall. For most of the next 70 minutes, that’s where he stays: Dylan’s misery is so exhaustive that, during “Dirt Road Blues,” he turns the sight of a rainbow into an instance of pain. I have seen some bad films in my life, but this one may top the chart. Moverman, the director of the Iraq war drama "The Messenger" and the cop corruption thriller "Rampart," is three for three now. If you look long enough at the Rothko or listen closely to the Dylan, the most unexpected shapes will eventually stumble out of the dark. As with the transmuted blues of Loren Connors or Grouper, Lanois lets Dylan flicker at the threshold of existence here, giving his troubles a sense of mortal urgency. He had become a legacy act, accruing lifetime achievement laurels and touring his hits for Boomers in khakis. the song was immortalized in a Victoria’s Secret advertisement. Everything won’t be alright, but desolation can be its own unlikely source of triumph. In the five stages of grief, this is bargaining, and it’s a particularly nasty business here. But Time Out of Mind won three Grammys and kick-started Dylan’s true second coming—a string of self-produced, hyper-stylized albums that turned his love of the blues, standards, and literature into impressionistic, intricate Americana and helped him on his way to a Pulitzer. Dylan hits rock-bottom during a duo of creeping existential crises, mercifully separated here by a swaggering barroom prowl. By record’s end, though, it has morphed into real menace. Time Out of Mind review. “I know you haven’t made your mind up yet, but I would never do you wrong,” he pleads, the trace of guilt in his voice vanishing as quickly as it appeared. “It’s such a sad thing to see beauty decay,” he half-howls during “Cold Irons Bound,” an aired litany of grievances that finds him losing most everything he holds sacred. Time Out of Mind feels like the antithesis of our pervasive need to have an opinion about everything all the time. This is the moment where we get to the heart of Time Out of Mind, where Dylan crawls inside his own depression. Now, he doesn’t “even hear the murmur of a prayer.” How could he fall further? “When you think that you’ve lost everything/You find out you can always lose a little more,” he half-grunts toward the end, reaching the apogee of his sadness. Ganz schlimm sind Einstellungen in der Tiefe, die bisweilen sogar massiv verschwimmen (113’07). In your grimmest moments, just remember how near-death Dylan sounds here—and exactly how much life he actually had left. How many American movies can you say that about? But the sophistication and nuance of Time Out of Mind work only because Dylan had become a wunderkind, gone electric, faced backlash, crashed his motorcycle, wrecked his marriages, found his faith, faltered in it, fathered a family, seen his kid become a rock star, lost old friends, wavered in relevance, and wondered if he cared about any of it anymore at all. In this movie, he needs to show many emotions of a man. Really not good. Amid the sad, stately waltz of “Standing in the Doorway,” he tells his best lie: “I would be crazy if I took you back,” he sings, the slide guitars curling beneath him like confused question marks. Watch all of this week's new film trailers, including new looks at... Film Friday (1/22): This Week's New Movie Trailers. Strange as it may sound, “Trying to Get to Heaven” has long felt inspirational, given the subsequent arc of Dylan’s career. At the start of “Love Sick,” he shuffles through empty streets in the rain, a tangle of warped guitar, haunted organs, and faint drums aptly framing his bleak mood. Richard Gere goes slumming in the streets of Manhattan and emerges with one of his more remarkable performances in Time Out of Mind, a haunting piece of urban poetry that further confirms Oren Moverman as a socially conscious filmmaker … The film’s not entirely effective as drama. Gere is believable enough, and so are his costars (Steve Buscemi and Kyra Sedgwick turn up in small roles). Dylan sent Lanois home with a list of reference records to study—Charley Patton, Little Walter, Little Willie John, a mix of ragged blues and primordial rock. George says he's waiting on "her." Eventually he ends up at a bleak, racially tense homeless shelter where he's befriended by Dixon (Ben Vereen), a former jazz man who has a dozen synonyms for every noun and speaks in the relentlessly upbeat cadences of a scam artist even when he's being entirely sincere. Ian Bell—the late British journalist and exhaustive Dylan analyst—quipped that the song “should have been shipped off instantly, gratis, to Billy Joel, Garth Brooks, and the rest of the balladeers who would take the vapid things to their sentimental hearts.” It is a song worth reconsidering, though, not in Joel’s mawkish translation or even Adele’s austere one but instead in its original setting. With Gere’s character so lacking in memory and mental clarity, the film provides very little for an audience to latch on to. But the pervading murk of “Not Dark Yet” is exactly what these lyrics demand. When he croons “Don’t know if I saw you, if I’d kiss you or kill you” early in the album, it feels like a lonely abstraction, a what-if penned from a distance. He had grown disillusioned with the cycle of writing and recording, he later said, and simply wanted to play. Shuffled into the unforgiving bureaucracy of a men’s shelter, George seems destined to wind up as just another lost soul swallowed up by the system—until he meets a gregarious, down-and-out ex-jazzman (Ben Vereen) who inspires George to reconnect, George (Richard Gere) is a man struggling to find food and a place to sleep in New York City. He is mad at the world, judging its smiling people and castigating its illusion of happiness. Gere is one of them. He shines in movies where he just has to look good, from American Gigolo to Chicago. The difference is one of insight, of 55 years of life slowly distilled into wisdom. But Time Out of Mind is not merely about death, though its inevitability looms at the periphery of these songs with the certainty of the setting sun; sometimes, death even seems for Dylan like the easy, desirous exit. The stories and circumstances are vastly different but Gere seems the same. Those famous covers alternately sound triumphant or plaintive, suitable enough for a standalone single. November 2015. What's the commercial value of a film like this? Through the cobwebs of his beleaguered voice, Dylan musters all the feelings of losing love, full of pride and insanity and lust and violence and humor, implicitly navigating the five stages of grief. There are times when it gets close to turning into an American version of the sorts of stark yet tender dramas made by the Dardenne brothers in Belgium. What Dylan had left to say or whether he had any enthusiasm left for saying it had, for a while, been unclear. A lot of times they park the camera on Gere's face in closeup (sometimes head-on, sometimes in profile) as he tries not to let on that he's affected by a loud drama occurring adjacent to his silent one: a man having a meltdown while security guards try to escort him away from the scene of a fracas; a bunkmate at the shelter talking about the Bible and his job. Please enter your birth date to watch this video: You are not allowed to view this material at this time. Seven years had passed since he had released an original new tune, and that album, Under the Red Sky, was a near-catastrophe, scuttling what had seemed a comeback after Dylan crept through his polarizing ’80s evangelism. Veröffentlicht am 14. “I’d like to think I could control myself, but it isn’t true.” His sadness, at last, has beaten his civility. Shuffled into the unforgiving bureaucracy of a men’s shelter, George seems destined to wind up as just another lost soul swallowed up by the system—until he meets a gregarious, down-and-out ex-jazzman (Ben Vereen) who inspires George to reconnect with his estranged daughter (Jena Malone). Sometimes Moverman will pack the character into a door frame in the deep background of a shot, or look down on him from a third-story window as he crosses a street. “Feel like I'm driftin’, driftin’ from scene to scene,” Dylan mumbles in a monotone fit for someone who has simply resigned himself to exist. Absolutely nothing. Unschön sind die Randunschärfen, die sich sowohl am oberen als auch am unteren Rand offenbaren. How many American movies can you say that about? Richard Gere (Die Braut, die sich nicht traut) spielt zwar sehr gut, aber ansonsten ist der Film eher eintönig. It's the sort of scene that happens all the time in cities (though more often the request is, "Can you spare a quarter?") [IFC Films], Really not good. But such moments are notable because of their scarcity. The so-called small budget ($5 million) would have done a lot more good had it actually been used to help those poor people instead of inflicting pain and boredom on the moviegoing audience. Matt Zoller Seitz is the Editor at Large of RogerEbert.com, TV critic for New York Magazine and Vulture.com, and a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize in criticism. and A Most Beautiful Thing Among Nominees at Critics' Choice Documentary Awards. But what is there on Time Out of Mind to suggest that Dylan had suddenly turned soft for three minutes, that he would dip so smoothly into guileless piano ballads? During the ’90s, he issued two solo acoustic albums of earnest, sometimes poignant renditions of American standards, delighting those who had pined for the lost days of the folk kid from Greenwich Village. Vereen is best – he creates a full-bodied character using the sparest of means.