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In a year when the Amy Winehouse movie Back to Black showed just how wretched musical biopics can sometimes be, most critics and ticket-buyers seem pleased with James Mangold’s look at Bob Dylan’s early years in A Complete Unknown. The project is nothing but a big swing, daring to take on one of the biggest myths of 20th century culture — a transformative artist who sold 125 million albums, has won Grammys, an Oscar, the Presidential Medal of Freedom and the Nobel Prize in Literature, the only musician ever to do so. (Apologies to Heinrich Böll, singing in the shower does not count.) You would think that the most ardent Dylan fans would be celebrating.

However, the Timothée Chalamet–led picture, written by Mangold and Jay Cocks, is not a court document. There are tweaks to the historical record from pretty much the first frame. The young Minnesotan Robert Zimmerman did not emerge from the Holland Tunnel onto the New York City streets all alone; he came with friends, but that doesn’t make for as striking an image. He didn’t appear like a ghost in the night at Woody Guthrie’s hospital bed and sing “Song to Woody” with Pete Seeger watching, either. And he didn’t have a heartfelt farewell with Suze Rotolo (name changed to Sylvie Russo for the film) at a Rhode Island ferry station in 1965. They were already split up by then, and she wasn’t even at the Newport Folk Festival that year.

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Changes like these are to be expected in any biographical film. But for whatever reason (maybe it’s because it’s the holidays and there’s some free time right now?) a lot of people who ought to know better are losing their minds about the bent facts in A Complete Unknown. There’s an added irony, of course, because to this day Dylan maintains a mercurial persona that likes to fudge the truth; indeed it’s a major part of the new film. (Just look at the title!)

Still, the dominant mansplaining gene in boomer and Gen X Dylan fans — the people who can listen to his creative cul-de-sacs Self Portrait, Saved or his three-disc collection of American standards Triplicate and say “yes, this is good, and let me tell you why” — has been triggered by this picture. I know, because I’m doing my best to conquer it within myself.

The biggest controversy — because it’s the most glaring — comes during the climax of the movie, when Dylan and his accompanists plug in their instruments and play a shocking short set of electric rock ‘n’ roll at the saintly Newport Folk Festival. Amidst the “boos!” in the crowd, we get a close-up of someone shouting “Judas!” and, well, this has proven a bit too much for some know-it-alls.

Yes, it is absolutely true that the famous “Judas!” moment did not happen at Newport ’65. It happened in Manchester, England 10 months later. While it’s perfectly fine to acknowledge these changes, it’s another to dismiss the whole movie because of it. And if you are on Facebook pointing this out to people, as the man once said, please crawl out your window!

Elijah Wald, author of the book Dylan Goes Electric that Mangold and Cocks adapted for the movie, got annoyed enough by the corrections that he took to his own Facebook page to write a 900-word essay, in which he first (perhaps jokingly) suggests that it’s entirely possible that someone did shout “Judas!” at Newport, it just wasn’t caught on tape, and then argues how even with its stretched facts the movie does a great job to capture the essence of the period. In a since-deleted thread on a Facebook group (of which I have seen screenshots), Wald responds to a more nuanced pan of the film from music critic (and author of another Dylan book) Chris Morris, who commented that Wald “says some nice things about the film, but I assume he cashed the check. Wald’s response: “ I would have no reason to hype the film if I didn’t like it. As it happens, I liked it a lot. Please disrespect me for having lousy taste, not for being a shill.”

Others have simply responded to the nit-pickers with some zings.

Maybe after so many years of comic-book nonsense meticulously scrutinized by online nerds, Dylanheads are just eager to have their day in the sun. None of the “well, actually” comments you’ll see online are incorrect. The joke is that these diehard fans are inadvertently aping one of Dylan’s great figures of scorn, the pencil-in-hand obsessive “Mr. Jones” who misses the forest for the trees in “Ballad of a Thin Man”—”you know something’s happening, but you don’t know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones?”

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