Cate Blanchett argued that Bob Dylan’s artistic freedom lies in his ability to “constantly escape physical definition”. Same goes for her mercurial instincts: she steals Todd Haynes’ movie in cameo time.
Like mid-’60s Bob, Blanchett is a stick-thin, nicotine-fed, pill-pooped, vowel-slurring, electric-riot hipster of a Dylan, from sleep-deprived hair past cliff-edge cheekbones down pipe-cleaner jeans to Carnaby-chic boots.
She walks a fine line between giving good Bob and conjuring a deliberate alienation effect from self-conscious performance, diving into Dylan’s core while sustaining his artful slipperiness. In short, smoking.
Greatest moment: “Look, here’s what I think…” Dodging questions in the cab.
Also see: Queen Elizabeth I (Elizabeth), Katharine Hepburn (The Aviator).