If I ever have to get a divorce from Sam Rockwell, Robbie Robertson is my next husband. Oh, shut up. He had really good rock and roll hair, okay? Plus, if he can play that big guitar-y thing with about eighty strings…anyway. I more listened to it than watched it, because it’s more a concert film than a documentary, which seemed like a shame — all those guys had such good stories from their time on the road, like the Sonny Boy Williamson story, and we only get to hear a few of them. I’d rather hear more of that and less of Neil Young at the farewell show. And Martin Scorsese, if you’re going to interrupt every two seconds with prompting questions, SPEAK UP! If we can’t hear what you asked, it makes no sense.

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