In Randy Bell's '00 Eliot House dorm room (above), the young filmmaker stands in front of a dartboard, which seems dangerously close to Bob Dylan, the subject of Rice and Bell's film. Staff photo by Kris Snibbe

Those of us who were raised in the eighties – who thought Reagan, new wave music, and the threat of nuclear war defined American culture – often wish we had been born into a more idealistic, revolutionary generation (or at least a more stylish one). Haunted by the nation’s collective memory of better, more meaningful times, we are the living backlash to the spirited, peace-loving 60s generation. Instead of taking to the streets and marching for justice, we danced in seductive fluorescent costumes to songs like "Beat It" and "Material Girl." Rather than active debate, we engaged in passive viewing – we watched sitcoms and movies and we, the generation commonly known as "X," are still struggling to overcome our media addiction and ideological complacency in search of more transcendent values. To find these values, we look to history for inspiration – for lessons in the art of rebellion.

Senior Randy Bell and recent grad Justin Rice ’99 skillfully and humorously depict this gnawing generational longing for the past in their newly released documentary Look Back, Don’t Look Back. The film, which won the Best of Festival Award at the 2000 New England Film Festival, is a clever and unsentimental journey back to the Bob Dylan of 1965. During that year, the young poet-singer – radical, indignant, and clean-shaven – was the subject of D.A. Pennebaker’s now-legendary documentary Don’t Look Back. This pioneering work of "fly-on-the-wall" documentary filmmaking set the standard for rock documentaries for years to come.

"In a way we were trying to remake Don’t Look Back … but in a sense we were trying to be Bob Dylan in our version – because he’s old now," says Bell. A native of Lake Forest, Ill., 21-year-old Bell is already immersed in what looks to be a promising film career. The overwhelmingly positive reception of his and Rice’s film comes at a formative moment in life: graduation from college. In talking to him you get the feeling that life will be generous with him, that possibilities abound.

The idea to make Look Back, Don’t Look Back was originally Rice’s, who had always dismissed Bob Dylan until he realized "he had influenced so much music. He was a firebrand who was appropriated by mainstream culture." His obsession with Dylan was born of his desire to tap into the "anti-parent," anti-establishment counterculture. He wanted to make a movie about this obsession but neither he nor Bell knew how the story would play out or even if they would actually get to meet Dylan. Says Rice, "after getting the basic idea and learning about the process [of filming], we let the quest dictate the way." "Quest" is a word that surfaces often in conversation with these two.

The original Don’t Look Back, released in 1967, is a gritty, black and white, sometimes frantically chaotic portrayal of Dylan, which follows him from performances to hotel jam sessions to strangely unintelligible altercations with reporters. Bell and Rice filmed their own journey – to New York, to Dylan’s old haunts, to the apartment he used to live in – with the black and white ragtag look and feel of the original (they even recreate some of the original scenes).

They have a conversation with Pennebaker, himself, and employ his trademark offbeat angles and jarring close-ups to ironic effect. He comes across as pedantic and less-than-hip, a kind of normal, aloof, middle-aged guy who waxes nostalgic like everyone else. But that is allowed. And, besides, it is to him the young mavericks owe their inspiration. It is the crafty usage of his footage, playfully interspersed with their own, that draws the audience across the bridge to the past. Yet the two remain enthusiastically part of this world. Their modern lives play out quite convincingly with Bob Dylan singing in the background.

With Dylanesque boyish charm, optimism, and intrepidness, they are likable protagonists. Their journey is a sweetly humorous mishmash of sacred and ridiculous moments, and their comedic posturing à la Dylan manages somehow to soften the singer’s often astonishing arrogance. "Documentaries force you to go out and have an adventure in the world," says Rice.

The two learned about filmmaking at Harvard under a distinguished faculty that includes such cinema verité luminaries as Ross McElwee, Robb Moss, and Alfred Guzzetti. Visiting Lecturer on Visual and Environmental Studies Ross McElwee is best known for his documentary Sherman’s March: A Meditation on the Possibility of Romantic Love in the South During an Era of Nuclear Weapons Proliferation, which won Best Documentary at the Sundance Film Festival in 1987. He is a likable presence in his films who often draws out a poignant quirkiness in his subjects. Look Back, Don’t Look Back is, happily, informed by McElwee’s style, which is no surprise given he taught the course for which it was made.

McElwee was also Bell’s adviser this year for his senior thesis It’s Only a Tattoo. In it, Bell journeys through the underground tattoo community of Massachusetts (tattooing is illegal here), dermatologists’ offices, and the moral universe of his parents to figure out if he should get a tattoo. The film earned him a Thomas T. Hoopes Prize for outstanding scholarly work.

"In no way do I demand or encourage people to do autobiographical documentaries. It’s tricky territory … and difficult to make a film of depth and complexity at age 20," says McElwee. "Certain people display an ability to work with film and to think with it – you have to be able to respond to things quickly. Randy is a very good cameraman who also has the ability to get people to relax. He was able to gain the trust of both people getting tattoos and having them removed. He displays a wonderful humanity in his work."

Bell will stay in the area next year to be a teaching fellow for Visual and Environmental Studies 150, a film production class. Rice has been out for a year and has been working for acclaimed filmmaker Errol Morris, best known for his 1988 documentary The Thin Blue Line, and, most recently, Mr. Death: The Rise and Fall of Fred A. Leuchter Jr. Bell and Rice think they will continue to collaborate and are tossing around ideas for their next film. Rice has started working on a film about Walmart. Other possible subjects include the rise and fall of the metric system in the United States, the oil industry in Azerbaijan, and a hidden treasure out West.

When asked what he wants in life, Bell laughs, as if it’s a question he doesn’t deign to ponder. He’s too busy living life to muse over such matters. Then he says with a resigned shrug, "Peace, love, and happiness of course." Maybe there’s hope for Generation X, after all.