Bob Dylan: No Direction Home

One of first things “No Direction Home” hits you with is the bleak vast whiteout nothingness of a Minnesota blizzard

One of first things “No Direction Home” hits you with is the bleak vast whiteout nothingness of a Minnesota blizzard and it seems like time stops and it seems like the film stops and at first you’re not even sure what it is and you have to stop and think about that, and then it moves back and forth in time to on-stage madness and back to this ’50s town in the middle of the bleak whiteout nowhere.  And then in the shadows you see him much older talking about the sounds the radio brought in late at night from far away and perfect -- you see some kid sleeping next to a blasting radio and I had to stop think how some people now barely know what a radio is or what it did.  And I think back to how late at night, long after I was supposed to be at sleep I’d lie in bed, the radio right behind me, turned down real low, twisting that dial real real slow to try and get those sounds in from far away, which wasn’t all that easy because I was living on the outskirts of the radio capital of America, which had hundreds of stations of its own, but late at night you could tune in Louisville Kentucky. Windsor Ontario and sometimes Nashville, but it was a different world then.