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Rating: The issue with Dylan, more often than not, is an issue of face. For many artists, putting their face on something is an added value; with Dylan, it can be a choice that makes things worse. Or ruin them permanently.
If you then involve him in a project he's not convinced about, it's even worse. He's better than anyone at making you feel this. Because in that case, he keeps that enigmatic and indecipherable asshole face all the time, about which so much has been said and written, but in the end, one never quite understands what it's meant to express.
And maybe this is also part of the eternally fascinating Dylanian mystery. Maybe...
Oh. There are also the statements of Slash no less, who was involved at the time in the sessions of 'Under The Red Sky.’ Al Kooper (another person involved in that album, although those involved were a platoon where the special guest was Elton John) nicknamed it 'the hooded album.’ Not because the record was released in stores wrapped in a special package, but because Dylan — probably in a sociopathic phase — spent all the time during those troubled sessions inside a hoodie, and barely spoke to anyone.
And indeed, Slash (whom we imagine with the top hat, just to match Zimmie's hoodie) said: 'I met this little guy who didn’t seem like Dylan at all; he seemed like an Eskimo. It was summer, and he was wearing a hoodie and a baseball cap underneath. He had big wool gloves and seemed completely out of his mind. He was rude in everything, and it was one of the worst experiences of my life.'
Of course, it must be said that often those debating Dylan’s face are people with a face more debatable than his. But let’s move on.
So, let's get to the point. Dylan in the '80s: a sore spot, no denying it. First, the assault on MTV, with 'Empire Burlesque' (succeeded only partially). Then, the greatest inspiration crisis of an entire career. He, who had always written prolifically, struggled even to string ten meager songs together for a half-hour disc. And just as the painful sessions of 'Down In The Groove' were about to begin, a prolonged torment that dragged on for months, Zimmie throws himself into a new project.
Even though almost no one remembers it (and there's a reason).
It happens that Dylan invites Richard Marquand to his home in Malibu (the famous Dylan house in Malibu), the director of 'The Eye of the Needle' and 'Return of the Jedi'.
And what could he possibly have to share with Dylan? (one might ask) But someone might have already guessed.
It happens that, at the peak of an epic binge, Marquand throws out a proposal. 'It's been many years since you made a movie, what would you think if...?' And Dylan doesn't need to hear it twice. But let’s repeat, we’re at the peak of an epic binge.
The idea is to make a film about music, about rock music (Marquand already has 'The Birth of the Beatles' under his belt which went almost unnoticed, apart from a brief period of TV screenings following the Lennon-murder, and even that should make one think). The plot, very original indeed, revolves around a murky love triangle with the music business in the background: there’s the retired rock star, the up-and-coming young pop idol, the attractive aspiring starlet contested between the two.
A plot so unpredictable, as you can see, that it’s hard to guess which part Dylan should play.
Marquand is convinced, he really believes in it, wants to do things in a big way. He aims high for the rest of the cast, not settling for any supporting actors alongside Dylan. So much so that for the part of the younger idol, he first contacts Bowie and then Sting.
Both turn him down (were they both sober at the time of the proposal?).
Then he settles for Rupert Everett, to the amazement of those who never would have imagined seeing Dylan act alongside Rupert Everett. And for the role of the beauty, no Madonna, too expensive. It’s better to aim for the fiery Fiona Flanagan, a singer with a career so packed with successes that she is still remembered today as 'the girl loved by Dylan in the film Hearts of Fire.’ And, it should be added, for an appearance in an episode of Miami Vice in '86.
So, I’ve anticipated that the film is called 'Hearts of Fire.’ Indeed. A title that, rather than the sacred fire of rock'n'roll and great balls of fire by Jerry Lee Lewis, makes one think of the unforgettable 'Hearts on Fire' from Rocky IV. The song that plays at the end (ta-ta-ta) when Ivan Drago is defeated, and the Italian Stallion utters the famous 'if I can change and you can change, everybody can change!' While the little son rejoices and watches Rocky from home. 'I love you too, daddy!'
Hearts of Fire. A title more-'80s couldn't be.
And a profound story, also full of heart and sentiment, about the true values of life. Billy Parker alias Dylan who has left music and now raises chickens, is with the very young Molly alias Fiona who, however, is tired of him, you see, there’s too much of an age difference and she gets with the charming new pop phenomenon James Colt alias Rupert Everett, only in the end Molly realizes show-biz isn’t all that great and returns to Dylan’s farm, who in the meanwhile continues to raise chickens and warns her with "you see, what did I tell you? The world out there is a mess baby, it’s dangerous baby, there are wolves out there baby, you'd better stay with me. Baby"
And that's everything. In the end, good always triumphs, and the wolves don't massacre Dylan’s chickens.
Regarding an assessment of the film, one could say that of the three, Dylan is by far the best actor. And when Dylan is the best actor in the cast, a bit of apprehension arises.
Perhaps Marquand thought about it, reviewing it.
And we haven’t mentioned the most important aspect of the matter: the soundtrack.
Clearly, Marquand doesn’t even consider it, he gives Dylan free rein. After all: you have Dylan as the star of the film, you’ve wracked your brain to come up with such a plot, and you also have to think about the soundtrack? That would be too much.
But Dylan, as was said, is in the worst creative slump of his entire career. So he has nothing ready, except hoping to come up with something impromptu on the set — like 'Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door' during Pat Garrett, you never know.
Of course, it doesn’t happen, and he only contributes with 'Had A Dream About You' and 'Night After Night, which haven’t become as famous as 'Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door.’ And who knows why.
Plus a cover of 'The Usual' by John Hiatt, because not even a leftover from 'Knocked Out Loaded' was left to recycle. And Marquand should make peace with that.
They even let Rupert Everett sing a 'Tainted Love' in Phil Collins-style, but the brutal playback in the film makes things even more embarrassing.
The presentation is scheduled for mid-September '87. Marquand could never remember it: he dies from a stroke on September 4, at just 49 years old. Dylan is in London for the premiere, but at the last minute he changes his mind and doesn't show up.
The effect of that epic binge was over, and he must have realized something. Who knows.
Not even Marquand’s sudden death lifts up 'Hearts of Fire,’ like Lennon’s at the time of the Beatles film: in the USA, the film doesn’t even open, the distribution is canceled, and all Dylan can do is watch it on VHS. Assuming he ever did.
From these sessions at London’s Townhouse Studios survive a handful of leftovers and out/alternate takes featuring old pals Ronnie Wood and Clapton (whom we imagine in an oversized jacket like on the cover of August, soon to be released).
Who knows what Dylan was thinking during the fifth take of 'Had A Dream About You.'
And who knows what face he had, especially.
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