Late in Martin Scorsese's fascinating 4-hour documentary on Dylan, there is a sequence of press conferences Dylan endures that tell you everything you want to know about why he was nearly destroyed before the motorcycle accident nearly killed him. The questions come from a variety of European reporters, and to describe them as inane would be generous. Dylan refuses to answer any of the questions seriously, delivering shoulder shrugs and eye rolls and one-liners instead. That footage is interwoven with Dylan today commenting on the events, and his exasperation remains pungent. Each reporter after the next, working from cribbed notes from other publications, demands that Dylan explain himself as spokesman of a generation, or what the hidden messages of his songs are, or why his earlier records are so much better than his latest ones (a French guy, naturellement). Some become outraged at his glib replies to their stupid queries and begin to attack him, and Dylan just lights up another smoke. One photographer asks him to suck on his sunglasses so he can capture that shot. Those twenty minutes of film turn fame into a Felliniesque circus in which the dancing elephants go misunderstood by the fat, cat-calling, drunken crowd. If you haven't seen it, look to fill your next rainy Saturday afternoon with this eye-opener. Oh, and poor Joan Baez. Poor Joan.