When Todd Haynes makes a film about popular music, it’s advisable not to anticipate something in the mould of Walk the Line, or Ray. His 1987 debut, Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story, enlisted a cast of Barbie dolls to transform the life of the tragic MOR singer into a critique of consumerist America. And his 1998 celebration of glam rock, the sadly unloved Velvet Goldmine, began with the infant Oscar Wilde being delivered to his parents’ doorstep by flying saucer before declaring, at the age of five, his ambition to become a pop idol.

In this context, Haynes’s new film is business as usual. I’m Not There is a playfully unorthodox biopic of Bob Dylan in which the role of the enigmatic troubadour is passed back and forth between six actors, like a never-ending game of pass-the-parcel. Of these performers, it’s Cate Blanchett who, surprisingly, bears the strongest physical resemblance to Dylan. She takes over the part between Dylan controversially going electric at the Newport festival and the fateful motorcycle crash that preceded his retreat from public view. The British actor Ben Whishaw is a dandified, Rimbaud-influenced Dylan, while Richard Gere embodies the singer in exile, in contemplative scenes that evoke Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid, the 1973 western in which Dylan starred. Christian Bale portrays Dylan at two stages in his career: 1960s folk hero and late1970s born-again Christian; Heath Ledger plays an actor starring in a biopic about the former; and the 11-year-old African-American newcomer Marcus Carl Franklin is Dylan in his Woody Guthrie-influenced early days. Given Haynes’s tendency towards the experimental, it is perhaps surprising that additional incarnations of the singer weren’t played by, say, a rocking chair or a yak.

Film-makers have tried this kind of job-sharing experiment before; one of Haynes’s peers, Todd Solondz, split the lead role in Palindromes between eight performers, though the chronological appearance of each actor in that picture looks positively humdrum next to I’m Not There. Haynes’s film ping-pongs between the lives of its various Bob Dylans (none of whom is actually called “Bob Dylan”), so they come to represent contrasting sides of the same personality rather than autonomous characters. The action begins with the death of Blanchett’s Dylan in that motorcycle crash – an evocation of how deeply the folk set mourned his departure from the unplugged world, as well as a literal reading of the way the musician actively killed off his image, like a precursor to fellow chameleons such as David Bowie and Madonna. But it’s no puff piece: Ledger’s scenes touch on Dylan’s chauvinism, his tendency, as Haynes describes it, to “make the women in his songs poetic and beautiful, but to deny them access to any kind of political discourse”.

After seeing an initial cut of the film, one of its producers, the notorious Harvey Weinstein, expressed what Haynes calls “very serious concerns” about the structure, arguing that audiences would be confused by the intercutting between the various Dylans. But the director stuck to his guns and saw his decision vindicated when I’m Not There was rapturously received at this year’s Venice film festival, with Blanchett awarded the best actress prize. Certainly,it’s not your average multiplex film, but in an age in which many of us have Memento and Don’t Look Now in our DVD collections, we shouldn’t have much trouble getting our heads around a film that takes a fractured, crazy-paving approach to an artist who is himself a natural enemy of convention.

This, remember, is the man who, even at pensionable age, continues to give Dylanologists the slip, whether by publishing an antichronological autobiography, becoming a DJ, signing a distribution deal with Starbucks or appearing in an ad for Victoria’s Secret (which sent US newspapers into a frenzy of wordplay: “The undies, they are a-changin’”, “Tangled up in boobs” and so on).

When I last met Haynes five years ago, he had just received word that Dylan had granted permission for his music to be featured in I’m Not There (something of a balm, given that the director failed to secure similar cooperation from Bowie for Velvet Goldmine, and that Superstar remains banned because of its unauthorised use of Carpenters numbers). At the time, Haynes was promoting what would turn out to be his only commercial hit to date, the Oscar-nominated melodrama Far from Heaven, but his most extravagant enthusiasm was reserved, even then, for the upcoming Dylan project and its soundtrack. “I can use whatever I like,” he babbled to me. “It’s in ink.”

“That was probably the most exciting part of the whole process,” he laughs now. Disturbingly, the 46-year-old doesn’t appear to have aged more than a few minutes in the past five years. His short, strawberry-blond hair adds to his general sprightliness, and he looks easy-going in black jeans, New Balance trainers and a brown checked shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

It is common for journalists to ask what attracted someone to a particular film, but in this instance the pressing question is: What attracted Dylan to I’m Not There? Haynes didn’t speak to the man himself – “I’ve never talked to him about it, never met him” – though he has some ideas as to why he consented. “I think if there had been anything he would have said yes to, it would have needed to have an irreverence about it, as well as a resistance to reductive storytelling traditions. The idea of having Dylan played by multiple performers seemed obvious to me: I think it taps into something about the psychological nature of him as a person. He constantly reinvents himself for whatever reason, whether it’s to maintain creative space or as a survival tool. That behaviour still defines him and gives him his Bob Dylan-ness.”

Haynes certainly talks a good movie. Fortunately, he can make one, too. I’m Not There may sound cerebral on paper, and it has its share of in-jokes, references and homages aimed mainly at fans. And not just fans of Dylan – film buffs will pick up on visual and thematic nods to Fellini’s 8½ and to Godard’s stylish late1960s films, such as Masculin féminin, which are used to place Dylan and his work in a broader cultural context. But enjoyment of I’m Not There is far from conditional on recognising these cinematic touchstones. The film is an accessible, imaginative distillation of the essence of the freewheelin’ Bob Dylan into two hours, nourished by those glorious songs. For Haynes, it was always crucial that the picture would appeal to viewers who didn’t necessarily have Hurricane as their mobile ringtone, or want It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue played at their funeral.

“I knew the film had to have a sense of humour and fun,” he reflects, “so you didn’t feel the ideas were strangling you, or that you were going to be tested on them afterwards. You can be a smarty-pants director, but that won’t matter if the movie doesn’t work emotionally as well as intellectually.” Indeed, its poignancy is considerable and unexpected. Any concerns over casting gimmicks are forgotten in the heat of the performances. Interestingly, in a film about a male icon, there is a strong female presence: Charlotte Gainsbourg is terribly moving as Ledger’s neglected wife, while Blanchett is tipped for an Oscar nomination for her insect-like portrayal of the reluctant, gnomic prophet, barricaded behind sunglasses, crazy curls and cigarette smoke.

“Cate got it,” Haynes enthuses. “She totally got it. Her performance seems to collect together Dylan and herself in this weird way that makes them both disappear, creating this new character. The audience may see it as a physical transformation, but Cate’s experiencing it from the inside: how it feels to wear those shades, to smoke that many cigarettes. She studied footage and photographs, and she lost a hell of a lot of weight.” I remind him that Julianne Moore pushed herself to the brink of anorexia to play an ailing housewife in his chilling 1995 drama Safe, and he cackles diabolically: “I’m so cruel to my actresses. I’m a monster.”

The concept of I’m Not There arose as a direct response to turmoil and unhappiness in Haynes’s own life. He had been a Dylan aficionado in his teens, but the music really took hold of him and refused to let go at the start of 2000. He was heading from his New York apartment to a friend’s house in Portland, Oregon, where he was going to write Far from Heaven, when he was gripped by the urge to hear Dylan again. On that long drive, Haynes played the singer’s music for the first time since college. “It was so strange,” he says. “I suddenly had this feeling that was, like, ‘I need Dylan! Give me Dylan!’” He mimes collapse, bare forearms offered up like a junkie aching for a fix.

Haynes believes now that there was a deeper reason for Dylan’s reentry into his life than the desire to hear those cherished songs again. “It was only afterwards that I realised I needed change in my life. It’s so clear now. And Dylan, who is all about change, represented that. I needed to hear that voice again, which I associated with a time in my life when I was young and everything was in the future.And what did I find but the supreme example of change as creative strategy, as survival mechanism. That fed into my ideas for the movie. I assumed it wouod become about change. So, my life issues got channelled into my work. I guess that's the way creative temperament functions.

Before making Far from Heaven and I’m Not There, Haynes had been through an arduous few years and had grown increasingly disillusioned with his lot. “I wasn’t happy,” he sighs. “For a long time, I’d had this low-budget, throw-everything-you-have-into-your-work sensibility. I moved around a lot with shooting, and never made a proper home for myself. After finishing Velvet Goldmine, I thought, ‘Why did that have to be such a lonely, not-fun experience?’ I love the film, but it was hell to make. And when I got back to New York, it hit me that I didn’t have the things my friends had – babies, nice apartments, stability.”

Haynes had also recently broken up with James Lyons, his longtime companion and editor, who starred in his 1991 film Poison. The two remained friends and collaborators: Lyons continued editing his movies, including Far from Heaven, but died earlier this year of Aids-related cancer. I’m Not There is dedicated to him.

“Change is harder as you get older,” Haynes observes now. “You never know how much you need to get out of the rut.” Yet, with Dylan on the brain, he uprooted permanently to the calmer climes of Portland, where he remains blissfully happy. “Once I got to Portland in a cloud of Dylan, everything became fun. I can be totally open and available there, in a way that I couldn’t be in New York City. Life is like, ‘Hey – whoever you are, come over, we’ll smoke a joint, we’ll go on a hike. Let’s jump in the river. Let’s have a party.’” I rain on his parade by mentioning a recent article in a style magazine that proclaimed Portland, with its numerous bands (including the Gossip and the Decemberists) and influx of businesses, to be the new Seattle. “Enough, already,” he says in a mock huff. “It’s too small – it can’t withstand much more development.” He leans in close to my Dictaphone and hisses: “Portland sucks, everybody. Don’t go there.”

Just because Haynes is leading a contented personal life, however, don’t get the idea that his career is any easier. Oscar nominations and critical-darling status notwithstanding, it’s as hard as ever to get a film made when

you keep coming up with ideas that are insanely inspired – or, to studio executives, merely insane.

“I’m Not There was the toughest job I’ve ever had,” he says, sounding deflated for the first time. “I actually wanted this to fold, to fall apart, more than I ever have on any film. I couldn’t imagine pulling it off, given the budgetary restraints. I felt the film was already a high-wire act, and I was having to do it with both arms tied behind my back. But it wasn’t a surprise: it was the height of the Bush-Cheney reign, so Hollywood was at its most conservative and fearful. The difference now is that when I find myself in that situation, as I did here and on Far from Heaven, it isn’t my whole life. I have other things going on, and I know that if it does fall apart, I can just go and hang out in Portland, do a commercial or teach. Or,” – and he pauses before he says this, as though the thought has just presented itself – “I could do nothing.”

A who’s who of Dylans

Actor: Marcus Carl Franklin Character: Woody Role: Guthrie idoliser circa 1963 Song: When the Ship Comes In

Actor: Christian Bale Jack/ Character: Pastor John Role: 1964-65 troubadour/ late1970s God-botherer Songs: Blowin’ in the Wind/ Every Grain of Sand

Actor: Heath Ledger Robbie Character: Role: Serial philanderer rital heading for ma breakdown Song: Idiot Wind

Actor: Cate Blanchett Character:Role: Dylan goes electric 1965-66 Song: Like a Rolling Stone

Actor: Ben Whishaw Character: Arthur Role: Poetry- loving pseud Song: Chimes of Freedom

Actor: Richard Gere Billy Character: Role: Billy the Kid Song: Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door

I’m Not There is released on December 21

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