Ego, Identity, and the Illusion of Success: A Complete Unknown

This post should come as no surprise to anyone—considering my first album review was Blonde on Blonde by Bob Dylan, it only makes sense that I write about the long-anticipated biopic of one of my favorite artists. Needless to say, as soon as the release date was announced, it went straight into my Google Calendar. Not only is it about my favorite musician, but it also stars one of my favorite actors, Timothée Chalamet.

However, the past few weeks have been nothing short of chaotic. Between back-to-back exams, celebrating the birthdays of my closest friends, and saying some tough goodbyes, life has felt like a whirlwind. But mixed in with all that has been moments I’m genuinely proud of—landing the on-campus job I really wanted, making a solid start in my mentorship role, and even winning an award!

I was grateful for these victories—or at least, I thought I was. But during my long run this past weekend, I had a realization: what I had perceived as gratitude was, in reality, my ego. The sense of fulfillment I felt wasn’t necessarily coming from being thankful for my experiences but rather from achieving things that made me appear as the person I wanted to be—successful, effortlessly smart, and accomplished. That thought sent me down a rabbit hole of reflection, trying to untangle the difference between my authentic self and the persona I project in public. Who am I when I’m alone? And how is it different from the person I project to the public?

These past few weeks, thus, have been a lesson in humility and keeping my ego in check.

And somehow, that realization led me to once again go back to one of the most influential artists in my life with Bob Dylan (shoutout Justin Banke for introducing me to Dylan), and consequently led to this review of A Complete Unknown.

I first saw this movie in theaters with a big group of friends, but last week, as I settled in with my homemade pizza, a glass of wine, and (yes, don’t judge me) a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the universe did what it does best: it connected the dots in ways I wasn’t expecting. Watching A Complete Unknown again—this time in solitude—I couldn’t help but see how its themes aligned so perfectly with my own internal struggles: ego, identity, and the lengths we go to maintain an illusion of success.

With a cast led by Timothée Chalamet, Monica Barbaro and James Mangold behind the camera, the movie is, of course, incredibly entertaining. But beyond the surface-level excitement of gritty guitar riffs and cigarettes smoke, it carries a deeper message—one that felt particularly relevant in light of my own reflections and current events.

Background 

Bob Dylan has always been an enigma—a rebellious and unparalleled figure, both for good and bad reasons. For the longest time, I never thought his story could or should be depicted by anyone but him. 

One of my favorite moments in the film captures exactly why Dylan remains so fascinating. In a particularly sharp moment, Chalamet’s Dylan bitterly remarks that when people ask him where his songs come from, what they really want to know is why those songs didn’t come to them. That’s as close as this film gets to pinning down one of the most elusive figures of the past century—a man whose words and voice shaped American culture, the subject of countless biographies, scholarly books, and films, yet whose true self remains, well, completely unknown.

While the movie felt prolonged at times, I appreciated Mangold’s choice to focus on one defining chapter of Dylan’s career—his fight to create the music he wanted to make, instead of what people expected from him—rather than attempting to condense his vast, ever-evolving life into a single narrative.

Given the massive success of this movie and the media attention it has received, I doubt much background is needed. Still, the fact that it garnered multiple Oscar nominations (though it didn’t win any), SAG awards, and independent film honors speaks to the sheer dedication of the team involved. As Timothée Chalamet said during the SAG Awards, “I’m really in pursuit of greatness.” He wasn’t lying.

Chalamet at SAG awards

This role took Chalamet five years to master, including six months of complete isolation where he cut off contact with family and friends to fully immerse himself in Dylan’s world. He didn’t just learn how to play the guitar well enough to recreate the legendary Woody Guthrie scene, but he also painstakingly studied Dylan’s polarizing voice—never fully perfecting it (because, let’s be honest, who could?), but getting eerily close.

In the world of cinema, some movies captivate us not just with their entertainment value but with the deeper lessons they leave behind. A Complete Unknown is one of those films. Just like Dylan, I’ve been grappling with what parts of myself are real and what parts are performances—what is truly me and what is just the version of me that I’ve carefully constructed for the world to see.

Maybe the truth is, we’re all a little unknown—even to ourselves.

Analysis 

In my view of the movie, Dylan is portrayed as the subject to his own story (obviously), but the object of ours, and he knows it. He seemed to know it from the very beginning, and any accurate portrayal of Dylan has to start from that point. That’s why the greatness of the movie hinges on Chalamet, who perfectly captures the combination of distance, calculation and suspicion that hides behind Dylan’s eyes both as he engages with others and as he performs his music. You can see this in archival footage of Dylan from the 1960s, which Chalamet not only studied carefully, but completely internalized for his role (there is a really cool side by side video comparing the performances).

1964 performance of It Aint Me Babe

Even early in the film, young Bob is guarded and deliberate. There’s something transactional and performative in all his personal interactions that borders on sociopathy; that is before fame gave him good reason to be paranoid. He seemed to know before anyone else that what he wanted was within his reach, and he was not going to let anything distract him from accomplishing his purpose; Dylan knew how to detach his ego from his achievements and goals.

This detachment didn’t always lead him down the right path, particularly in his treatment of women. Throughout the movie, we see Dylan expanding this transactional approach to relationships—first using Sylvia’s kindness and resources to further his music career, then shifting his focus entirely to Joan Baez once she entered his orbit. I don’t condone his behavior, but I couldn’t help but notice that his single-minded determination wasn’t limited to his relationships—it was embedded in his entire approach to life.

Dylan and Sylvie

And that’s what makes the climax of this movie so powerful: Dylan’s infamous decision to go electric at the 1965 Newport Folk Festival. As shown throughout the movie, Dylan was the initiation as well as the epicenter of folk music, breathing Pete Seeger idea of the genre into life. 

For years, the Newport Folk Festival had been a purist’s dream—acoustic guitars, stripped-down voices, music rooted in tradition. But by the mid-’60s, with bands like The Beatles, The Doors, and The Beach Boys on the rise, electric music was gaining traction. Dylan, being the musical genius he is, wanted in. That decision sparked controversy—not just between him and Pete Seeger but with the entire folk music world.

Dylan "Going Electric"

That, is what takes up most of this movie, and similar to how it is in pretty much every other movie, everything you need to know about the main theme of the film is contained in the contrast between how it starts, and how it ends (apply to this to your favorite movie, and let me know what you uncover the true message to be):

Beginning: Pete Seeger is in court, facing judgment, because a congressman didn’t like a song. How does he respond to being found guilty? He plays the song. The judge is angry, the crowd applauds. 

Middle: Bob Dylan becomes the leader of folk music, replacing Seeger, thanks to his politically-charged songs. 

Ending: Dylan is on stage, facing judgment, because Seeger and other folk leaders don’t like a song. How does Dylan respond? He plays the song. 

Parallels are a powerful technique in storytelling because they convey association, even though Dylan isn’t literally on trial the way Seeger was, because the film establishes the parallel between the characters and the scenes, the latter scene at Newport carries the subtext of the earlier one. Which means Newport is a trial. 

That also highlights the irony—and hypocrisy—of Seeger being the one who doesn’t want Dylan to perform with an electric guitar.

In court (and on multiple other occasions), Seeger passionately defended the power of music:

Seeger: “Your honor, you may know of a friend of mine, Woody Guthrie. A great songwriter and a great American. And Woody’s not well. But he’s been much on my mind as I’ve been going through this, because Woody once said, ‘A good song can only do good.’ And the song I’m in hot water for, here, is a good song. It’s a patriotic song, in fact. And I thought you might actually want to hear the words, and I can play it for you.”

But later, when Seeger tries to convince Dylan to stick to acoustic, insisting that he’s at the heart of sharing true folk music—that he can’t play his electric songs—Dylan fires back:

"Did you ever listen to the music you’re telling me not to play?"

Notice the parallel. “I thought you might actually want to hear the words” versus “Did you ever listen to the music you’re telling me not to play?” The same way Seeger had represented a cultural shift that scared the United States government, Dylan embodies a cultural shift that scares Seeger. Seeger has now become the judge, stuck in the old ways; The Newport Folk Festival? The courtroom. 

Through these characters, A Complete Unknown captures the social upheaval of the 1960s that continues to define the United States to this day. The traditional values that had been the foundation of the country since its inception could not survive the fallout from two World Wars, the Vietnam War, inhumane racial discrimination, and the assassinations of important figures like John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King Jr. You know, all the things Dylan was writing and singing about. 

James Mangold uses Seeger to represent the simplicity and wholesomeness of a bygone idealism. And Dylan epitomizes the disaffectedness of not only his generation but the generations to follow. In that way, A Complete Unknown isn’t just about “back then” but right now. There will always be someone older saying “Do things our way.” And there will always be someone younger who says, “No.” 

This juxtaposition brings up an important point of showing us not only Dylan’s desire for artistic freedom, but I viewed his unwavering commitment to making the music he wants to make as him having a positive self-esteem, and not an ego. Dylan knew exactly what he was doing. As Jay Shetty says, “If you are satisfied with who you are, you don’t need to prove your worth to anyone else.” Dylan didn’t need to prove himself—he was simply following his artistic instincts. He played his electric set as the crowd threw chairs, booed, and raged. And yet, the result was Highway 61 Revisited went on to become one of the best-selling albums of all time.

The film’s final scene cements this idea. After Newport, Dylan returns to Woody Guthrie, seeking judgment from the only person who truly matters to him. Feeling like he’s betrayed folk music, he tries to return Guthrie’s harmonica. But Guthrie refuses to take it back. The message is clear: Dylan has earned his place. He is free from expectation. And that’s why we end with Dylan on his motorcycle, on the open road—without a home, a rolling stone.

Takeaway 

So how did I get to this point—this mix of ego, humility, and identity?

If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you know my last post on Back to Black focused on detaching from outside expectations. In my mind, that process was step one. Step two? Becoming aware of my ego. And let me tell you—this realization hit me in two very different ways.

The first one was casual, almost sneaky in the way it crept up on me. I was at the gym, just minding my business, when a friend/acquaintance pointed out that I was doing an exercise wrong. Something about my form not being deep enough. I said, “Thanks,” walked out, and immediately felt pissed off. How dare she critique me? I know what I’m doing. Who does she think she is? Classic ego move. My reaction wasn’t about the exercise itself—it was about my identity. I saw myself as someone who knows fitness, and any challenge to that felt like a direct attack.

The second realization was more internal. Recently, I won an award and landed a competitive job—big wins, things I worked hard for. But soon after, I noticed something shift in me. I’d walk into rooms feeling... superior. Not because I should have, but because I thought I deserved to. Like my achievements somehow made me more than the people around me. That was my ego talking.

Just one of my running views

Recently, on my runs I have ventured into listening to audio book (shoutout Will Reese), I have been switching between two similar yet different books; The Odyssey (in anticipation of Christopher Nolan's star studded release of it) and ironically, The Bhagavad Gita (yes, my parents are beaming with pride right now). During that run, I was listening to the latter and it incited this journey of self improvement; it mentioned a Sanskrit word, vinayam, which means humility or modesty. Later, the chapter drew a distinction between the real ego and the false ego, the real ego is our very essence, the consciousness that makes us aware and awake to reality, the false ego is an reality crafted to preserve our sense of being the most significant, the most important, the center of the universe. I realized, that my false ego was overpowering my real ego, I was trusting the false ego; the image we externally portray, and by trusting it, I was pretty much wearing a paper armor to war, thinking that it was metal.

This is when I started to think about how letting my ego control my view and decisions thus far have effected my life, and what I uncovered, really scared me. Ego can have such great negative impacts, for one, it creates hierarchies, false ego puts others down, because if others are less than us then we are special.  You see it everywhere: class rankings, the caste system, net worth comparisons. In the film, the festival crew builds their entire world around ego—who’s famous enough, who deserves to be there. These famous artists could do whatever, treat anyone like however and it be forgiven, all because of their status. Watching that, I couldn’t help but reflect on how easily I fell into the same trap.

How I smile when my humility is in check!

These hierarchies, are because ego or success goes to our heads, like it did for me. I forgot that everyone is equal, no matter how many awards I win or how many job offers I get, I should not expect special treatment or demand special treatment because of my presumed status.

Bob Dylan, on the other hand? He flipped that entire mindset on its head. People call him egocentric, but I never saw it that way. Sure, he was selfish in his own way, but ego? No. He never expected special treatment. He never demanded to be seen as great. He just wanted to make music, live life, and stay true to himself—even if that meant frustrating the hell out of people. His messy hair, his slouched posture, his complete indifference to what anyone expected of him—it wasn’t an act. It was a rejection of the very idea that fame or success made him better than anyone else.

To remind myself of that, I started picturing life like a movie theatre. Think about it: whether you’re Bill Gates or just Debanshu Kanungo, no one deserves a better seat in the theatre of life. Sure, you can camp out overnight for tickets, pay extra for front-row seats, or maybe you just get lucky and end up with the best spot. But the second you start expecting to sit closer than everyone else, you’ve already lost. That was me, walking out of the gym that day. That was me, walking around campus after my award. That sense of entitlement? Pure false ego.

So I started digging. What was at the root of that entitlement? It led me to the biggest distinction I’ve made so far:

The arrogant ego desires respect. The humble worker inspires respect.

This is when the journey of humbleness came into play, like vinayam suggests, when we are humble, we are open to learning because we understand how much we dont know. In a sense, think of humbleness like the elixir of ego, it is what lies between the ego telling us we are the best and the ego telling us we are the worst.

I have been throwing around this term humility for the whole blog, but what does it mean? My perception of it is best explained through a metaphor; A firefly at night probably thinks it’s the brightest thing in the world. But the moment the sun rises, it realizes it’s not even close. Ego thrives in darkness—it makes us believe we’re special, powerful, significant. But humility? That’s sunlight. It lets us see clearly, to be honest with ourselves.

Now, I don't want this definition of humility to convey that you should be self-deprecating or lower your self esteem; in fact, it is quite literally the opposite. Ego wants everyone to like you—self-esteem is fine if they don’t. Ego thinks it knows everything—self-esteem knows it can learn from anyone. Ego wants to prove itself—self-esteem just wants to express itself.  Now, if the firefly started to think about itself compared to itself as opposed to the rest of the world, it would have a totally different mindset, it would recognize its light but also realize its darkness.

My journey into humility has resulted in constantly reminding myself of 2 things, centered around remembering and forgetting: remembering the good things/actions others have done for me, and the bad things/actions I have done to others; and forgetting the good things/actions I have done to others, and the bad things/actions that has been done to me. These 4 reminders have been instrumental in keeping my humility in check.

This is one of the people that always do good things for me!

That’s what I’m working toward. Not to feel small compared to others, but to feel small compared to my goals. That’s the real shift. The moment I start thinking I’ve “made it” is the moment I lose. I’m not sitting here preaching from some enlightened mountaintop. I’m still figuring this out, still making mistakes, still catching myself when my ego creeps in.

I hope all this makes sense, as I sit here and write this, I feel like I am just spitting unstructured thoughts, so here is my attempt to summarize what I am trying to say: My goal of humility is unattainable, and it is supposed to be, I view it as a practice to overcome ego, not an achievement of overcoming ego. My goal is to be able to accept where I am without seeing it as a reflection of who I am. This distinction is important partly because of what is coming next for this post.

Takeaway: Current events 

Here’s what hit me the hardest after watching A Complete Unknown: Ego isn’t just an individual problem. It’s everywhere—schools, governments, corporations. And when ego drives institutions, it creates something even more dangerous: institutional ego.

Think about elected officials. They fight for their supporters, their donors—not for the people who come after them. They build policies that serve their own interests, not the greater good. And to justify it, history gets rewritten. Textbooks tell the story from the perspective of the winners. The people in power refuse to see beyond themselves, beyond their own narratives.

And let’s be real—this isn’t just some abstract concept. It’s happening right now. Look at every policy implemented since January 20th. Immigrants being deported on military aircraft like cargo. Plane crashes blamed on DEI rather than on the reckless decision to fire the head of the TSA. DEI initiatives erased overnight, making it harder for people of color to access the very opportunities this country claims to stand for.

And when people do stand up against this unchecked ego—like in the address to Congress the other day—what happens? They’re kicked out. Silenced. Dismissed. Meanwhile, ego digs its roots even deeper into the systems that govern all of our lives.

When you really sit with everything I’ve said about ego, doesn’t it make you wonder—what will it take for us to see each other as equals? Why does it always take tragedy to bring people together?

Because that’s the real danger of ego. It convinces us we matter more than them. It stops us from listening, from learning, from even considering the idea that we might be wrong. And that terrifies me.

I’m not sharing this because I think I have the answers. I’m sharing this because this journey of mine has opened my eyes to something I can’t unsee. I’ve realized that these injustices have become so normalized that even I, someone directly affected by them, have subconsciously ignored the warning signs. And I’m not alone in this. So often, I have been in situations where people dismiss conversations about politics with the excuse of “It is not effecting me” or “It is just going to cause unnecessary arguments.”

But isn’t the very fact that it’s uncomfortable proof that it is affecting you? That it is worth talking about? Or are we just never supposed to talk about the things that actually matter?

I don’t expect everyone to have the same political views as me. In fact, I want to have conversations with people who disagree with me—people who can challenge me, who can back up their beliefs with more than just blind loyalty to a party or a system. But what I can’t accept is the idea that these conversations don’t matter. That they’re just noise.

Because for me, for my family, for millions of immigrants in this country, these aren’t just debates. They shape our futures. Our opportunities. Our ability to exist without constantly fighting for the basic respect that should be a given.

So I’ll ask again: Is this really what we worked for? For unchecked ego to erase our hard work, our differences, our perspectives, our cultures?

If this journey has taught me anything, it’s that humility isn’t just about self-improvement—it’s about awareness. It’s about being willing to see the unknown, the things we’d rather ignore. And right now, I see it more clearly than ever.

Similar to how Dylan going electric was controversial but needed, maybe it is time to ask the hard questions, if not for yourself, then for me. Because ignoring them isn’t an option anymore.