Who exactly was Bob Dylan? What about “Mr. Tambourine Man”? And why a rolling stone? I’m Not There won’t tell you just who Dylan was, but it does capture a sense of his essence. The two engrossing hours of non-linear narrative jump back and forth through a kaleidoscopic embodiment of six faces (of the many) of Dylan’s personas.

I’m Not There is undeniably Lawrence of Arabia-esque in its beginning (and ending). Where David Lean photographed the enigmatic Lawrence among the vast, endless deserts of Arabia, making the man an even greater legend (and essentially an icon of the cinema), Todd Haynes has wrought an honest survey of narrative form. He visually deconstructs and represents the myths of Bob Dylan (though not as masterfully as his lush homage to Douglas Sirk, Far From Heaven).

I’m Not There is a “mythopic,” as opposed to the standard biopic-fare thrown at audiences these days. Its fictional retelling is as fresh and inexhaustible as the myths of Jesse James and Billy the Kid, sure to appeal to that certain crowd of Dylanists and beyond.

Of all the faces of Dylan, the rarely disappointing Cate Blanchett as Jude is the most successful. She plays the standoffish, agitating Dylan who turns to electric music, leaving behind roots of folk and country, instantly recognizable as the Dylan of D.A. Pennebaker’s Don’t Look Back. In one year, Blanchett’s gone from the Virgin Queen in Elizabeth to a dazed, estranged Dylan frolicking around with the Beatles or alongside poet Allen Ginsberg dancing in the shadow of a cross.

Then there’s Dylan as Woody Guthrie (Marcus Carl Franklin), a black child hitching rides along the countryside on passing trains, accompanied by his tattered guitar case. Jack Rollins (Christian Bale) is a disillusioned Dylan of the early period. Heath Ledger plays the mediatized Dylan lost among celebrities. Ben Whishaw is Arthur the protesting interrogated Dylan, and lastly (and least effectively) Richard Gere is the outlaw Billy of the wandering West from Sam Peckinpah’s Pat Garret and Billy the Kid.

Few films have better served the task of recreating the 1960s, so dear to those who lived it and likewise to those of us who wish we had. Martin Scorsese’s No Direction Home and Pennebaker’s film may do more justice to Dylan, but Blanchett’s spot-on performance outdoes everything else. Haynes’ unconventional ways, if slightly flawed, produce an admirably unique portrait of the folk legend.