First, a confession: I really can’t speak objectively about Bob Dylan. I am the kind of fan that you could easily identify as obsessed. I own all his albums (even the handful of genuinely bad ones) as well as countless rare live and unreleased studio songs; I have seen all the films he has made or that have been made about him; I have read three or four full-length biographies and a number of critical studies of his work; I have seen him live in concert three times and will see him again next time his “Neverending Tour” wanders into my town. And, of course, I know the words to most of his songs, even the long, surrealistic ones. His lyrics have moved my heart, made me smile, given me shivers of delight at recognizing amazing creative prowess in action, challenged my way of thinking, and sometimes provided a meeting place with God Himself.

So, here’s the deal. If you are similarly fascinated with the man and his music, you will love the new film, Todd Haynes’ I’m Not There. It is a fabulous consideration of the many masks that Dylan has worn over the years: world-weary folk singer, amphetamine-fueled rock superstar, heartbreakingly honest poet of relationships, reclusive outlaw prophet, and a preacher of God’s grace.

What makes the film so compelling is that Haynes chooses not to tell Dylan’s story in the usual manner of the celebrity film biography. Not only does he dispense with the expected chronological framework, but he actually splits Dylan into six separate characters, each of whom represents one aspect of Dylan’s shifting persona. He is Woody, an 11-year old African-American orphan who is riding the rails and seeking to become the next Woody Guthrie. He is Arthur, a poet dressed in 19^th century garb, ala Rimbaud. He is Jack, a folk-era legend who eventually becomes a singer for God. He is Robbie, a Vietnam-era singer whose marriage and life are crumbling around him. He is Jude (in an amazing performance by Cate Blanchett), the rock superstar who struggles with his own identity in the midst of a whirlwind of concerts, drugs, and press interviews. And he is Billy, a reclusive outlaw who can’t escape from the pain of a world that is crumbling around him.

All these are parts of the ever-shifting Dylan persona. And each of them carries some of the truth about this legendary artist. Those who know the Dylan canon well will recognize many key moments from his personal and artistic history, as well as countless winking insider jokes. It is a feast for the Dylan fanatic. Those, like me, who see the hand of God in Dylan’s spiritual journey will appreciate the respect (if brief screen time) given to this aspect of the unfolding story. Even if you do not share my passion for Dylan’s music, I still think there is much to recommend the film, filled as it is with wonderful performances, beautiful cinematography, a great script, and—of course—amazing music.