The recent Bob Dylan biopic provides a good example of how you can shape historical events into a compelling screen narrative. In this analysis, we take a closer look at how writers Jay Cocks and James Mangold (who also directed) did just that…

Director: James Mangold

Writers: James Mangold and Jay Cocks

Inspired by: The non-fiction book Dylan Goes Electric! Newport, Seeger, Dylan, and the Night That Split the Sixties by Elijah Wald (2015)

Script link: https://deadline.com/2025/01/a-complete-unknown-script-read-the-screenplay-bob-dylan-movie-1236245828/

How do writers develop a compelling dramatic screen narrative from historical events? That’s what we’re all about at The Fact-Based Screenplay. So, let’s take a deep dive into A Complete Unknown to see what we can learn about the process…

Before we start, a couple of things to keep in mind:

1. We’re focussing on the source material named above – Wald’s excellent and well-researched book. The filmmakers likely used other sources to complement this, including input from those actually involved.
2. Even though the script is referred to as the “release” version, there are some differences from the film. None of these changes impact the narrative, with the main change being *spoilers*… the final scene between Pete Seeger and Dylan. We’re focusing on the script linked to above.
3. There are spoilers throughout.

Check out our full review of A Complete Unknown (2024).

Brief synopsis

An unknown Bob Dylan arrives in New York in 1961 to sing for his hero, folk legend Woody Guthrie. Dylan is championed by folk patriarch Pete Seeger, who immediately sees his potential.

Dylan gets a foothold in the 60s folk scene and signs with Columbia Records. Along the way, he enters a relationship with Sylvie and gets romantically involved with Joan Baez, an established and high-profile folk musician.

Dylan’s star begins to rise. His early songs are adopted as protest anthems at a time when the social justice movement needs a voice. His position as an heir to Guthrie is cemented after his performance at the 1964 Newport Folk Festival.

But Dylan balks at the idea of being a folk singer who writes protest songs. His musical tastes move on. He puts together a rock ‘n roll band and switches to using an electric guitar. This causes conflict with the folk movement and with Seeger, who wants Dylan to use his talent and fame to take traditional folk music (and its positive, unifying message) to a wider audience.

The following year, Dylan returns to Newport. Seeger and the organisers want him to play an acoustic folk set but Dylan opts to play a defiant rock ‘n roll set instead, angering a large portion of the Newport audience and fracturing his friendship with Seeger.

Source material

Over 309 pages (plus extensive references), Wald recounts Dylan’s life and career leading up to the 1965 Newport Folk Festival, with one chapter reserved for the fallout from his electric set.

While Dylan forms the central thread, the book casts a wider net. It places Dylan into the context of the time and provides a comprehensive account of why his ‘65 set was so significant.

Within this, Wald spends much time on Seeger, going back to his beginnings to establish his place in the folk world. In addition, we get insights into Guthrie, as one of the many and diverse influences on Dylan’s work.

The book touches on Dylan’s relationships with Joan Baez and Suze Rotolo (fictionalized as Sylvie in the script), who were both actively engaged in the social justice and Civil Rights movements.

Overall, Wald’s book weaves a tapestry rich with colourful figures, societal change, and shifting musical trends, all which were influenced by and – in turn – influenced Bob Dylan.

What aspects of the book did the scriptwriters draw on when developing the screen narrative?

Let’s define some aspects of the book which provided a foundation for the screen story.

Dylan had multiple and diverse influences

In his account of Dylan’s early life (p48-53), Wald emphasises that he came across “hundreds of singers and songs”, citing all kinds of artists across genres (including blues and rock ‘n roll).

The book notes that Dylan: “…picked up anything that interested him, retained what he could use and moved on.” (p49)

It also quotes Dylan himself: “When you need somebody to latch onto, you find somebody to latch onto. I did it with so many people, that’s why I went through so many changes.” (p49)

Wald expands on this during Dylan’s time in New York in the early 1960s, noting how he rapidly “absorbed styles and shifted personas” (p59).

There is then a natural evolution to Dylan being drawn to the ‘new’ rock ‘n roll sound coming from bands like The Beatles and The Kinks – combining with his blues influences and folk inspiration.

This all paints a picture of an artist going through a continual evolution. It also defines the essence of Dylan’s character and his approach to life – rich fodder for developing the fictional character.

Dylan had a genuine devotion to Woody Guthrie

The book describes Guthrie as providing a “beacon” for Dylan in his early life (p53). His attachment even led him to adopt Guthrie’s voice, mannerisms and identity.

This connection forms a clear lineage between a young Dylan and an ailing Guthrie – a passing of the torch from one folk troubadour who gave a voice to the “common man” to a young “Okie bard” (p171) continuing that tradition.

This sets up a conflict when Dylan rejects the ‘folk’ label and takes his music in a different direction.

Dylan’s place in the Greenwich Village folk scene

Learning that Guthrie was in a hospital in New Jersey brought Dylan out east from Minnesota in 1961 (p53-55), with Wald noting that, “within the first week, [Dylan] visited Guthrie and sang for him”.

This brought Dylan into the heart of the New York City folk scene – centred on Greenwich Village and the area around MacDougal Street. Here, he got his start playing the clubs, in performances marked by “nervous mannerisms and gestures” (p69).

For the purposes of the fiction, this sets up a compelling story world.

A basic narrative structure

History rarely lends itself to a neat narrative structure. But in this case, there is a clear progression which starts with an unknown Dylan arriving in New York, covers his growing fame, and builds to the climax at the 1965 Newport Festival.

The writers were able to use the actual history as an effective framing device on which to build the fictional story.

Young people in the early-60s were searching for a ‘voice’

Dylan arrived on the scene during a turbulent time when people – especially the younger generation – were seeking a galvanising voice. This was the era of the Civil Rights Movement, as well as the assassinations of John F. Kennedy, Civil Rights activist Medgar Evers, and Dr Martin Luther King.

Wald notes that in the early-1960s, Dylan was writing about “whatever interested him”. His influences included the “protesty people” he was hanging out with, such as Suze (p89). This led to him writing Blowin’ in the Wind, which was quickly adopted as an anthem by the left.

This was heightened by Dylan’s connection with Baez, who was committed to using her fame and musical talent to promote social justice, in the same vein as Seeger. She championed him before he was widely known and they later toured together, as well as appearing at Civil Rights events.

Dylan’s status in the folk world was underlined at Newport in 1963, when he “exemplified the hopes and dreams of the folk revival”, arriving as an unknown and leaving as a star (p124/5). It also defined his folk persona – as an “heir” to Guthrie, standing “arm in arm” on stage with Seeger and Baez (p144).

For the fictional story, this sets up Dylan’s status in the folk world – which he would ‘betray’ in 1965.

Dylan rejected the ‘folk hero’ tag

The book provides ample evidence that Dylan hated being seen as the next Guthrie. For example, after a set at Folk City in April 1962, Dyan commented that Blowin’ in the Wind “ain’t a protest song… ‘cause I don’t write protest songs” (p90).

As such, Dylan’s later, equally anthemic The Times they are a Changin’ was as much a reflection of his own evolution as an artist as it was a statement of societal change (p145). As Wald comments, Dylan wanted to be a musician and writer; not a “spokesman for his generation” (p152).

The most telling example cited in the book is that on the reverse of a scribbled declaration stating that he’s not a folksinger, Dylan drafted out the lyrics to It Ain’t Me, Babe. As Wald notes – paraphrasing the song – “people were looking for a hero… it wasn’t him” (p173).

This formed part of his wider love-hate relationship with fame. He both craved the spotlight and shunned it, feeding into his life of contradiction and evolution. Dylan fought against being defined and boxed in. Wald notes that while Dylan loved Guthrie, he has plenty of James Dean in him as well, having “grown up in the conformist world of Rebel Without a Cause (1955)”.

The chaos and significance of Newport 1965

This all leads to the main event – the Newport Folk Festival of 1965. As recounted in the book (starting on p201), the festival descended into, if not total chaos, something close to it – all due to Dylan’s closing night set.

Over around 100 pages, the book does a great job of capturing the various strands – the anecdotes of people who were there and either loved or hated the set; the press response; and the myths and legends which have overtaken the truth.

It goes on to place Dylan’s brief, defiant set into the wider context of a shifting world, where rock was taking over as the “sound of a new generation” (p299). Wald goes on to note that Dylan’s set marked a “declaration of independence” of the future counterculture movement (p300), which peaked in the late-60s.

Newport in ‘65 marked the end of ‘something’ – the purity of Newport; the folk revival, the protests movement of the early-60s; Seeger’s ideal of folk music as a cohesive and powerful force for change. It also ended Seeger’s dream of Dylan as champion of folk music. Indeed, as if Dylan plugging in wasn’t enough of a statement, he came back on to perform an acoustic number – It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue.

Central conflict

Wald crystalises Dylan’s choice to play an electric set at Newport around what he calls a “timeless” central conflict. This is defined as the “twin ideals” of a democratic, communitarian society working together and the romantic, libertarian ideal of free individuals unburdened by rules and customs” (p306/7).

This provides a coherent argument around which to build a narrative – as personified by ‘man of the people’ Seeger (committed to music as a universal and unifying force) and Dylan, the ultimate individualist guided solely by his influences and creativity.

What challenges does the source material present?

The themes, events and characterisations covered in the book provide compelling background for a screen story. However, there is plenty that runs counter to the development of an effective, dramatic narrative. A few examples include:

Lack of personalisation

As we noted above, Dylan going electric at Newport was seen by many as a betrayal of the traditional folk movement. However, for the purposes of drama, it’s much stronger if there is also a personal betrayal. The book does not offer up an obvious candidate, other than maybe Baez.

Guthrie’s health was failing and while the book provides evidence that Pete Seeger had been following Dylan’s development from the beginning, with Seeger describing him as a “a young poet, a true poet” (p92), he doesn’t play a pivotal role in his career.

The complexity of the events

Running to over 300 pages, the book brings in multiple characters, historical developments, events, and trends. This makes mining out a narrative similar to adapting a novel.

Dylan’s eclectic career

One thing the book emphasizes is the sheer breadth of influences and styles on Dylan, all of which filtered into his music. This all complicates the simplistic version of the Dylan story that he started writing and singing traditional folk music then picked up an electric guitar and betrayed his roots.

The adaptation process

Reading the script and the book, the words which spring to mind when looking at how the writers worked with the source material are simplification, personalization, and strengthening. Here are some of the ways in which the screenwriters worked with the history set out in the book…

Placing the Dylan-Seeger relationship at the heart of the story

Seeger was around during Dylan’s formative years in New York and saw his potential to “reach the world with folk music”, which was the older man’s dream (p54 of the book).

The writers push this further, making Seeger a mentor and father figure. This forms an important emotional connection and heightens the Newport ‘betrayal’. In the script, Seeger is present almost from the moment that Dylan arrives in New York. Dylan even stays in Seeger’s house.

The book speculates that Robert Shelton of the New York Times may have been instrumental in getting Dylan a gig at one of the leading venues, Folk City (p77/8). In the book, it’s Seeger who uses his place in the folk world to champion Dylan and is a constant presence as he evolves away from his folk roots.

1. The sequence on p5-7 of the script where Dylan arrives at the hospital to see Guthrie. Seeger is there, too. This immediately cements the folk lineage and seeds the relationship.

2. A scene on p89-91 just before Newport ’65, when Seeger sees Dylan’s motorbike parked outside a fashionable clothing store. At this point, it’s clear Dylan has moved on – both musically and in his personal style. The interaction is strained as Seeger tries in vain to get Dylan to reveal what he plans to play at Newport.

3. The speech Seeger gives at Newport on p103-105 when he comes to Dylan’s room. At this point, Dylan’s Newport set hasn’t been defined and Seeger is sent in to nail down what he plans to sing. Seeger makes his pitch to Dylan of his importance to the folk movement and the change it can inspire. He wraps it in a parable about putting teaspoons of sand into a bucket, compared to Dylan’s shovel – this alludes to the idea of Dylan fulfilling Seeger’s dream of taking the unifying power of folk music to the world.

Enhancing Seeger’s role in Dylan’s world adds that all-important personalisation – when Dylan plugs in at Newport, we feel what the book characterises as Seeger’s anger and anguish (p283) that his charge couldn’t or wouldn’t make the decision to support his dream.

Characterization

Based on the book, there are various issues which prevent this story becoming a typical musical biopic. One of these is that Dylan’s career never flagged – he got famous and stayed that way.

Another is a lack of insight. He comes across as inaccessible, as well as being contradictory and oblique about his past – such as concocting stories about being in the carnival (p55 of the book).

Writing artists, especially those which drift towards the genius end of the scale, can be problematic as their gifts and inner creativity are unrelatable to us mere mortals. Combined with Dylan’s interiority, this could add up to a pretty cold and unsympathetic protagonist.

Another complication here is that Dylan does not arc in the traditional sense. As Wald states, what was not transformed by the events at Newport in ‘65 was Dylan himself (p280).

However, the writers lean into all of this and use it to build an intriguing and flawed character.

So, on p23/24 of the script, we get fictional Dylan spinning Sylvie a tale about being in the carnival. Then, on p33/34, his reluctance to be more forthcoming about his past creates conflict between them, leading to an argument.

The writers take this a step further by having Dylan and Sylvie go to see the Bette Davis melodrama Now, Voyager (1942) on their first date – a movie about reinvention and finding oneself.  “[Davis’ character] didn’t find herself, like her ‘self’ was a missing shoe,” Dylan comments to Sylvie on p26, “she just made herself into something different”. The Now, Voyager reference returns a couple more times during the story.

On p43, after a romantic encounter, Dylan criticises Baez’s songwriting, leading her to call him an “asshole”, which is a pretty good description of his behaviour, particularly with regards the women in his life, who come a distant second to his music.

This is balanced with moments where Dylan is more vulnerable and emotionally accessible. For example, Dylan’s connection with Guthrie is portrayed with real tenderness, such as the scene on p123 when Dylan visits him to say ‘goodbye’.

We also get insight into his thoughts about fame and the alienation talent can create.

The writers harness Dylan’s real-life love/hate relationship with fame to help build his character and emphasise the rebellious nature which led to his choice at Newport.

After getting recognised in a bar and punched by a stranger, Dylan ends up at Sylvie’s, where – on p72/3 – he laments that “everyone asks where the songs come from… but… they’re not asking where the songs come from. They’re asking why the songs didn’t come to them…”

We also get several examples of the intrusiveness of Dylan’s fame, such as in the scene with Seeger outside the clothes store on p89-91 when a female fan drapes over him. It’s also highlighted to great effect in the final scene between Dylan and Sylvie, when he catches up to her at the ferry before she leaves Newport – on p102. The action reads: Bob looks at Sylvie till the fans fill the space between them.

Throughout, Dylan is telling us who he is – in words and actions.

Further examples include:

1. His changing personal style. The book describes Dylan showing up at the 1964 Newport Festival no longer looking like “a gaunt Okie bard” and instead “like a cheery Beatle” (p171). This is reflected in his evolving appearance which echoes his musical evolution and influences.

2. Dylan’s offhand but telling comment to Sylvie on page 26, in response to her question about what he wants to be: “A musician. Who eats”.

3. Bookending the script with the Guthrie song, So Long, it’s Been Good to Know Ya. Dylan is characterized by the concept of moving on… including the closing image of him riding away on his motorbike. Of course, the writers also have the huge bonus of being able to bring in Dylan performing his music which in itself reveals much about the artist.

Making Alan Lomax the ‘baddie’

With Seeger portrayed as a sympathetic force in Dylan’s life, the story lacks an antagonist. As the narrative builds towards Newport ‘65, the folk purists on the festival board become more nervous about Dylan’s set. The most outspoken of these board members is Alan Lomax – a well-known folklorist.

The book makes clear that Lomax wasn’t anti-rock ‘n roll or even anti-pop (p219) – in fact, he was a champion of both. However, he was also committed to keeping Newport as a platform for authentic musical expression. This all created conflict (in real life) with people like Al Grossman, a commercially astute manager who failed to sign Baez but did sign Dylan (p223).

Again, the scriptwriters take these threads and use them to build Lomax into something of a baddie, opposed to the very idea of anyone plugging in electric guitars at Newport.

In reality, electric guitars had previously been played on the Newport stage. But this was not about artists in general playing electric guitars at Newport – this was about Dylan playing electric.

An example of Lomax’s attitude can be found on p82 of the script. In response to a comment about Dylan shifting towards playing electric, Lomax simply responds, “not on our stage”. If that wasn’t clear enough, in the same scene, he dismisses rock ‘n roll as a “cash powered alien invasion crushing all authentic human possibility”. This comes towards the end of Act Two, as battle lines are drawn for what’s to unfold at Newport ’65.

Weaving in the subplots with Sylvie & Baez

The writers set up this part of the story as a love triangle, with Dylan’s live-in girlfriend Sylvie pitted against the ethereal Baez, with whom Dylan has something of a love-hate relationship. On stage, they have chemistry but off it they clash, especially after he moves away from the folk scene and the causes which she passionately supports.

Baez recorded Dylan’s music and championed him at Newport in 1963 when he was virtually unknown. They later toured together. All the while, Sylvie is in the background.

It comes to a head at Newport, where – as we wrote in our review – “Dylan’s musical strengths and personal frailties collide”. After he whisks Sylvie away on a whim to join him at the festival, Dylan once again torpedoes the relationship by duetting with Baez. This aspect of the narrative creates additional complications, reveals character and enhances the main story thread. Seeger, Baez, Sylvie – none of them could pin him down or put him in a box.

Maximizing the drama (and the myth) of Newport

Act Three of the script takes place at Newport in ‘65. It’s set up so that, essentially, Dylan is forced to pick a side. The action is all shaped around building the tension to the moment he chooses the electric guitar rather than the acoustic.

Much of the closing night has passed into the realm of folklore. Again, the writers lean into this to create an effective climax which brings together everything that’s come before.

Elements of the Newport myth which are worked into the narrative include a fistfight between Lomax and Grossman (on p111 of the script). In reality, the fight was not about Dylan’s set (p223 of the book).

Similarly, there is Seeger’s reaction to Dylan’s choice, which included the suggestion that he threatened to chop through the cables with an axe – true or not, how could you not work that into the plot?

What the writers also do is clean up the mess of Newport to ensure they keep a simple story thread. Dylan had a choice to make – do what Seeger and the folk fraternity want and use his fame to further the cause… or not.

Whatever else it was, Newport ‘65 was Dylan’s farewell to a chapter of his long and eclectic career, which, 60 years later, is still going strong. However, for the purposes of the film, the final scene of Dylan riding away indeed feels like the end.

One more thing to note is that often scriptwriting comes down to small details and moments of subtext. An example is a seemingly casual exchange on p118 of the script between Dylan’s friend Bobby and his manager Grossman after the electric set, as Dylan’s onstage finishing up his acoustic farewell to Newport, It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue.

Grossman asks Bobby how quickly he can get Dylan out of there. “Like he was never here,” is the reply. “Not that fast,” Grossman retorts…

To sum up

The script captures the essence of what happened but transforms the history into disciplined narrative in which the supporting characters become:

a.) sources of conflict for Dylan

b.) drivers of emotional engagement

c.) representatives of the folk movement

On a basic level, the screen story is framed as a battle of old vs. new. Seeger and Lomax represent the traditional folk movement. They see Dylan as the next Woody Guthrie who’s arrived on the scene at a turbulent time in America, when young people and those concerned with injustice and inequality needed a cultural leader. They wanted to harness Dylan’s talent and fame for their own purposes.

At first it seems as though Dylan has willingly picked up the mantle, with ‘protest’ songs like Blowin’ in the Wind. However, as the story progresses, a chasm opens up, as Dylan’s fame grows and his style (both personal and musical) moves away from the folksy roots he never signed up to serve.

By positioning Seeger as a mentor and father figure who was responsible for introducing Dylan to the New York folk scene, it makes the younger man’s Newport ‘betrayal’ a personal slight. It’s one thing to let down a homogenous group; it’s quite another to let down a friend and one partly responsible for your success.

A final point to (re)emphasize is that the ‘facts’ of history are often disputed. As we noted, Wald’s book recounts the melee of truths, half-truths, myths, and exaggerations which emerged from Newport in 1965.

Despite the slippery nature of historical recollection, for some reason, films which are based on true events are held to the stale and redundant “it didn’t really happen like that!” standard.

The whole idea is to take historical events and adapt them into the demands of – in this case – a two-hour feature film. This requires writers to use the tools at their disposal to craft a compelling narrative while adhering to the spirit of the truth.

Like those who witnessed Dylan’s set at Newport in 1965, A Complete Unknown has not received wall-to-wall praise. However, for writers, it’s a great example of how a complex, messy, and disputed history can be transformed into a focused, linear, and character-driven screen story.