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A review by brendcurran
The Mayor of MacDougal Street by Dave Van Ronk, Elijah Wald
3.0
Well, it turns out the book isn't always better than the movie, even in cases where the book is only loosely adapted. I'm referring of course to Inside Llewyn Davis, the excellent Coen Brothers film, which draws upon themes and ancedotes in this autobiography.
In the author's defense, this is an incomplete work, interrupted by his death. This explains the somewhat scattered structure of the book, which drifts among topics ranging from the musician's political beginnings, the Greenwich Village folk scene, his own personal escapades, and, of course, Dylan. Even with this exemption, though, Van Ronk's voice doesn't really compel. When he tries to be funny, it's somewhat reminiscent of someone's corny uncle telling a joke where the punchline is visible from miles away.
The most interesting parts of the book were unfortunately spoiled by the film, and quite frankly, executed in a richer manner on screen. Llewyn Davis's bitterness is palpable here, albeit in a more muted form, but that actually ends up being a disservice to the tale. Of course, it's easier to play with narrative when you can take liberties with the truth, so perhaps the author deserves a little bit of a pass.
Another wise choice the filmmakers made, in contrast to the author, was to hint at Dylan, rather than dedicating a large portion of the narrative to him, as Van Ronk does. Dylan of course is a monumental figure, and is hard to avoid, but many great books have been written solely about him. He's a deserving subject on his own, and I would have appreciated more of a focus on the author's own artistry (and I say that as someone who rarely calls for less Dylan in my life!)
It's too bad we didn't get the ambitious final project from Van Ronk, which was apparently a compendium of the history of folk music. That ambitious project surely would have been a more relevant read.
In the author's defense, this is an incomplete work, interrupted by his death. This explains the somewhat scattered structure of the book, which drifts among topics ranging from the musician's political beginnings, the Greenwich Village folk scene, his own personal escapades, and, of course, Dylan. Even with this exemption, though, Van Ronk's voice doesn't really compel. When he tries to be funny, it's somewhat reminiscent of someone's corny uncle telling a joke where the punchline is visible from miles away.
The most interesting parts of the book were unfortunately spoiled by the film, and quite frankly, executed in a richer manner on screen. Llewyn Davis's bitterness is palpable here, albeit in a more muted form, but that actually ends up being a disservice to the tale. Of course, it's easier to play with narrative when you can take liberties with the truth, so perhaps the author deserves a little bit of a pass.
Another wise choice the filmmakers made, in contrast to the author, was to hint at Dylan, rather than dedicating a large portion of the narrative to him, as Van Ronk does. Dylan of course is a monumental figure, and is hard to avoid, but many great books have been written solely about him. He's a deserving subject on his own, and I would have appreciated more of a focus on the author's own artistry (and I say that as someone who rarely calls for less Dylan in my life!)
It's too bad we didn't get the ambitious final project from Van Ronk, which was apparently a compendium of the history of folk music. That ambitious project surely would have been a more relevant read.