In the north country, not far from the Canadian border, Timothée Chalamet steps out of his rented Toyota pickup truck. It's late January, the kind of day where even the air feels heavy with history. He parks at a quiet suburban intersection, the truck's tires crunching over packed ice. He wears a down jacket over a gray hoodie, the hood shielding his disheveled hair. Chalamet heads towards an ordinary, cream-colored house. Just past the bushes, he spots a new street sign: Bob Dylan Drive.

He had just spent over an hour traversing a treacherous Highway 53 from Duluth to Hibbing, Minnesota. There were enough icy patches along the way to unsettle any film producer with insurance on their star actor. But Chalamet is on a pilgrimage—one of the final ones in his five-year journey to portray Bob Dylan on screen.

Originally, the plan was to have four months of prep for his role as Dylan. But between a pandemic and industry strikes, that preparation extended to five years. And in those five years, Chalamet evolved from knowing very little about Dylan to becoming, in his own words, a "devoted disciple in the Church of Bob." He talks about obscure bootleg channels and outtakes like "Percy’s Song," a personal obsession. "I had to push the preparation, push the bounds," Chalamet reflects. "Almost to prove to myself that I’d done everything I could."

This preparation meant working with a team of experts—a vocal coach, a guitar instructor, a dialect coach, even someone to help with harmonica. There were pages of Dylan’s lyrics, handwritten by Chalamet and taped to his walls. During his lessons, he would bring along an acoustic guitar, sometimes slipping into Dylan's voice mid-conversation. In the upcoming film, A Complete Unknown, slated for release on December 25th, audiences will witness Chalamet performing entire songs—live, with no studio trickery. "You can’t recreate that in a studio," he argues. "If I’m miming to a prerecorded track, you’d hear it in the lack of authenticity—the missing arm movement, the absence of spontaneity."

Chalamet wasn’t always interested in the folk scene. Growing up, he idolized Kid Cudi and once had dreams of rapping. Though still a hip-hop enthusiast, the years spent preparing for Dylan have shifted his musical tastes. He even started listening to the Grateful Dead. During other film shoots, he stayed connected to Dylan’s music. On his phone, there’s a clip of him on the Dune set, singing "Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right" in Paul Atreides' costume, and another where he strums a guitar while dressed as Willy Wonka.

On this cold day in Hibbing, he meets Bill Pagel, an 82-year-old retired pharmacist and one of the most well-known Dylan collectors. Pagel bought the house in 2019—the same one Dylan lived in from ages six to eighteen. Now Pagel is meticulously transforming it into a museum, filled with Dylan’s personal effects. Chalamet spends an hour inside, sitting in the bedroom where a young Robert Zimmerman once dreamed of his future. He browses through old 45s—records by Little Richard, Johnny Cash, Gene Vincent, and Buddy Holly—that once belonged to Dylan.

Later, Chalamet visits the local high school. On the same stage where Dylan once performed with his high school band, a group of student actors are rehearsing. The teenagers, stunned at his presence, gather around as Chalamet shares advice and stories. Before he leaves Hibbing, he returns to Dylan's old house. This time, he's trailed by fans seeking autographs. Pagel ushers him inside to see a rare artifact hidden in the basement—a drawing Dylan made around 1960. The sketch shows a young Dylan, on a road to New York, with a "Bound for Glory" sign leading to an image of Woody Guthrie, Dylan's early hero.

Dylan was visualizing his path to the Greenwich Village folk scene—the same path that would become the subject of a major Hollywood biopic. In A Complete Unknown, a scene depicts Dylan visiting Guthrie at a New Jersey hospital in 1961, singing for his idol who was ailing from Huntington's disease. This marked the beginning of Dylan’s transformative four-year journey—a journey from folk music protege to cultural phenomenon.

The film covers Dylan's rise, his mentorship under Woody Guthrie’s friend Pete Seeger (played by Edward Norton in an impressively unrecognizable turn), his relationship with artist and activist Suze Rotolo (renamed Sylvie Russo in the film, played by Elle Fanning), and his partnership with Joan Baez (portrayed by Monica Barbaro), whose fame once overshadowed Dylan's. Dylan's influence stretched beyond music; his persistence and artistic evolution shaped how we think about popular music today—artists evolving across genres, personal expression through unconventional vocal styles, and the radical transformation of personas. Stevie Wonder, Nina Simone, and even Motown drew inspiration from his work during this period.

It’s been said that Dylan’s mystique makes him elusive, resistant to a traditional biopic format. Unlike I’m Not There(2007), which split Dylan among multiple actors to show his shifting persona, A Complete Unknown takes a linear approach. Director James Mangold, known for adding Hollywood flair to music biopics like Walk the Line, was undeterred by the complexity of depicting Dylan. "People say you can’t capture Dylan’s genius in a straightforward narrative," says Mangold, "but genius doesn’t mean you can’t show the human being behind it."

Mangold and Chalamet understood they were taking on an enormous task. "People are fiercely protective of Dylan," Chalamet acknowledges. "There’s a purity to his music that people don’t want mishandled." The role demanded Chalamet push beyond acting; he had to embody Dylan as a musician. Larry Saltzman, Chalamet’s guitar coach, recalls the actor’s dedication: "If I ever suggested a shortcut, Timothée would stop me—he never wanted the easy way out." Chalamet's commitment was such that he once sent Mangold a photo of a map Dylan had drawn—a young artist's dreamscape—as a reminder of the pure love behind Dylan's early ambitions.

Reflecting on his journey, Chalamet sees a parallel between himself and Dylan. "You feel like you’re connected to destiny, but it’s fragile," he says. The fragile connection to one’s artistic path, the vulnerability of trying to be more than where you started—that’s what Chalamet tapped into.

Here in New York, as August fades into autumn, Chalamet looks very little like Dylan. His hair is cut short, the scruff of a mustache and goatee reducing his boyish charm. He’s preparing for his next project, playing a 1950s ping-pong champion in Josh Safdie’s Marty Supreme. When we meet at the Chelsea Hotel, once a residence of Dylan himself, there’s little fanfare. Dressed casually, Chalamet looks like any New York college kid. He moves through the crowded streets without much notice. "This feels like home," he says with a smile, casually dodging bikes as we walk along 23rd Street.

He speaks openly about the pressures of the Dylan project, but insists they were the "right kind of pressures." The first significant scene he filmed was one of the most crucial—Dylan meeting Guthrie for the first time, introducing himself with hesitation and confidence, then playing "Song to Woody" in front of his idol. "I went home and cried that night," Chalamet admits. "Not because of any personal pride—but because I felt like we had honored something sacred, that we had brought a piece of history to life."

Chalamet discovered A Complete Unknown in an email list of potential projects before Mangold signed on. At the time, his impression of Dylan was vague—a figure who loomed large in music history but seemed somewhat distant. What first drew him in was Dylan’s look—the intensity in his eyes. Then, as he learned about Dylan’s journey—from aspiring rock artist to folk music prodigy—he saw a reflection of his own experiences. "Dylan wanted to be like Elvis, but he found Woody Guthrie and saw a way in," Chalamet says. "That hit me. He used folk music as an entry, and then completely revolutionized it."

Chalamet’s own career was built on indie films that exploded beyond their initial expectations. As a young actor, he was frustrated when he was rejected for action franchises like Maze Runner and Divergent, often told that he "didn’t have the right body" for those roles. "I tried putting on weight, but I couldn’t," he recalls. "I was banging on a door that wouldn’t open, so I went somewhere else—somewhere humbler—and it ended up changing everything." Playing Paul Atreides in Dune was, in a sense, his "going electric" moment—a pivot into a broader, grander form of expression.

For Elle Fanning, portraying Dylan’s first love was a surreal experience. She’d been a fan of Dylan since she was thirteen. "It was like I manifested this part," she says, recalling how she learned she’d be rehearsing with Mangold—and, as she thought at the time, with Dylan himself. "Turns out, it was just Timmy listed as ‘Bob Dylan’ on the call sheet," she laughs. "Probably the first person in history to be disappointed by that."

The real Dylan was indeed involved with the project, providing notes and even adding lines to the screenplay. Fanning says she heard it was Dylan who requested that his first New York girlfriend, Suze Rotolo, not be named in the movie, as she had always valued her privacy. Though renamed in the film, the character is otherwise largely unchanged. Fanning describes one line that Dylan personally contributed—a harsh rebuttal during an argument—which seemed almost like a reflection of something from his past.

Their relationship serves as the emotional core of the film. The farewell scene, where Dylan lights two cigarettes before passing one to Russo, is a tribute to an iconic moment in Now, Voyager (1942). Both Chalamet and Fanning watched the classic film the night before shooting that scene. Fanning chuckles, remembering how Chalamet admitted he cried during the film. "I teased him about it—I mean, he’s such a softie."

The first time Fanning heard Chalamet sing on set, she was moved to tears. "We were in this big auditorium, and he just came out and started singing—songs like ‘Masters of War’ and ‘A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall’—and it wasn’t a caricature. It was him, but also Bob. It was surreal."

Monica Barbaro, who portrays Joan Baez, had a different experience with Chalamet’s Dylan. She only met him a week before filming, and he was already in costume. "We weren’t method about it, but on set he stayed in character," she says. Their relationship in the film is complex—Baez, a formidable artist in her own right, navigates her connection to Dylan with a mix of affection and frustration. “He was in his own world, and that really worked for our dynamic," Barbaro adds. "When we’d chat off-script, you’d sometimes notice his Dylan voice slipping, and that’s when we’d just stop talking until the cameras rolled again."

Edward Norton stepped in late to portray Pete Seeger, replacing Benedict Cumberbatch, who had to drop out. Norton had just two months to prepare for the role, which involved learning the banjo and transforming his appearance to fit Seeger's persona. "I’m not looking forward to talking about my process," Norton jokes. "It’s like explaining the trick before you’ve done it." He altered his teeth, shaved back his hairline, and adopted Seeger’s distinct voice—a commitment that made his transformation eerie. Norton also saw parallels between Seeger and Bruce Springsteen, a longtime friend of his. "They both had this mix of affability and conviction," Norton notes.

One of the film’s pivotal scenes is Dylan’s infamous “going electric” moment at the Newport Folk Festival. Though historically muddled, it’s portrayed as a definitive break between Dylan and Seeger, with Seeger’s frustration at Dylan’s use of electric instruments becoming a critical point. "It’s more myth than fact," says Norton, "but it’s a powerful story element."

Dylan himself is known for blurring the lines between myth and reality. His memoir, Chronicles, was more poetic meditation than factual autobiography. He even laced Scorsese’s Rolling Thunder Revue documentary with fictional elements. According to Norton, Mangold told him that Dylan insisted on adding at least one fictional moment to A Complete Unknown. When Mangold expressed concern, Dylan’s response was simple: "What do you care what other people think?"

Sitting beside the Hudson River, Chalamet reflects on his connection to Dylan. He recalls summers spent in a rural part of France, where his father grew up. "It felt similar to Minnesota—a place where you felt boxed in, but had so much to say," he explains. Chalamet speaks of feeling pointed towards a future, though that path could easily be disrupted. "If you want God to laugh at your plans, say them out loud," he says, smiling wryly. For him, portraying Dylan was about embodying someone who reshaped himself, someone who chose to become something more.

When asked why he seems drawn to these savior-like roles—whether Paul Atreides or Dylan—Chalamet simply laughs. "They’re finding me, not the other way around." He describes his teenage years, trying to avoid the pitfalls of drugs and alcohol, while holding onto what he calls a "nugget of potential." "I had something, a talent maybe, that I had to protect."

Dylan’s own trajectory wasn’t without hardship. After the events depicted in the film, he famously withdrew from the spotlight following a motorcycle crash, retreating to Woodstock. For Chalamet, the pandemic

Read the Full Cover Article from Rolling Stone