Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere is an underwhelming ode to ‘the boss’

In the last ten years, Bruce Springsteen has cemented his status as a bona fide music legend.

In that time, he has won the Presidential Medal of Freedom, had a worldwide bestselling book been the subject of the acclaimed film Blinded By The Light (2019), and seen his studio albums continue to scale the higher reaches of the charts.

It’s as a live act, though, that Springsteen has flourished the most. Known for a relentless work ethic which has seen him touring almost non-stop since the early 1970s, Springsteen’s recent world tour has been his most lucrative, best-selling, and longest to date. On the back of all this, it’s no real surprise that “the boss” (as fans call him) has now been given the biopic treatment.

Bruce Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere stars Jeremy Allen White in the title role. The majority of the film focuses on the period between 1981 and 1982, where, in the aftermath of number one LP The River and a sold-out world tour, a disenchanted Springsteen channelled his inner turmoil into the songs that would eventually form his next album, Nebraska (1982).

As well as a lyrical shift from his earlier work, Nebraska was a sonic departure, recorded on a four-track tape machine in his bedroom. Released on September 30 1982, Nebraska was as stark and minimalist as any album from a major rock star. Coming at the peak of Springsteen’s commercial success so far, it was an enormous risk.

Devotees will undoubtedly appreciate the deep-dive into a cult favourite album. But for the casual fan or interested cinema-goer, Deliver Me from Nowhere will likely feel underwhelming.

Despite getting the thumbs up form The Boss himself, White never quite convinces in the role. While he does an admirable job depicting the gentler side of Springsteen, he lacks the jutting-jawed physical presence that so defines the star’s stage persona.

The film is interspersed with black and white flashbacks to Freehold New Jersey 1957, where an eight-year-old Springsteen struggled to get attention from his disengaged, hard-drinking father (played by Stephen Graham). The distant father trope is well-worn ground in the music biopic genre (see Bohemian Rhapsody, Rocket Man and Love and Mercy) and it falls to Graham to pull off the unenviable task of providing context for why our titular rock star is so fragile, broken and unstable.

That Graham manages to achieve this in minimal screen-time is one of his finest acting achievements yet. His nuanced performance brings a complexity to what, in other hands, may have merely been a paint-by-numbers character.

Sadly, others didn’t escape this fate. Springsteen’s friend Matt Delia (Harrison Gilbertson) is ridiculously underdeveloped. Sound engineer Mike Batlan (Paul Walter Hauser) is a glorified delivery man, first bringing the four-track recorder to Springsteen’s house, then the cassette it produces to manager Jon Landau (Jeremy Strong) and doing little else in between. Love interest Faye Romano (Odessa Young), meanwhile, seemingly only exists as a vehicle to deliver a series of cliché-heavy lines such as “I just wish you’d let me in” and “until you’re honest with yourself, you’ll never be honest with me”.

Sadly, the clichés aren’t exclusive to Faye. Towards the end of the film, Delia is saying goodbye to Springsteen after driving him to his new home in Los Angeles. As he turns to leave, Delia calls his name, Springsteen turns, Delia goes to say something but can’t seem to get the words out. Springsteen waits expectantly, Delia starts to speak, then thinks better of it and walks out. The implication, of course, is that Delia had something heartfelt to say, but for whatever reason was unable. Had I not seen the same technique used a hundred times already on screen (though never in real life), it might have been emotional.

Perhaps the biggest sledgehammer of a line, though, and one which very much laughs in the face of the old “show don’t tell” writing adage, comes when John Landau informs record executive Al Teller (David Krumholtz) that “it’s like Bruce is channelling something deeply personal”. Yes – we’ve been seeing that for the last hour, John, but thank you for the glaring neon arrow just in case we missed it.

In contrast, though, the depiction of depression is extremely well handled. The film manages to avoid stereotypes such as hysteria, violent outbursts, or sufferers who are represented as always sad or depressed (in real life depression is not necessarily a constant state of mind).

Depression is demonstrated by Springsteen letting people down, being unable to articulate his feelings, and withdrawing from social situations. And even if the film does fall short in many ways, the music is always there to rescue it. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who was unable to resist playing Nebraska on repeat the second I was outside.

For everyone but the most hardcore fans, skipping the film altogether might be the best option. Especially as the album that inspired it has been given the box-set treatment, with five-disc set Nebraska ’82: Expanded Edition released last week (a coincidence, I’m sure).

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Glenn Fosbraey does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.