THE STORY – On the cusp of global superstardom, New Jersey rocker Bruce Springsteen struggles to reconcile the pressures of success with the ghosts of his past as he records the album “Nebraska” in the early 1980s.
THE CAST – Jeremy Allen White, Jeremy Strong, Paul Walter Hauser, Stephen Graham, Odessa Young, Gaby Hoffmann, Marc Maron & David Krumholtz
THE TEAM – Scott Cooper (Director/Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 120 Minutes
“Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere” mirrors the spirit of Bruce Springsteen’s 1982 “Nebraska” album in its ability to defy expectations. After the propulsive energy of “Born to Run” and “The River,” audiences were anticipating more accessible, radio-ready hits with his next release. Instead, they got a stripped-down, somber, and deeply personal record. Likewise, Scott Cooper’s film rejects the formula of the traditional, career-spanning musician biopic. Anyone expecting something akin to “Walk the Line” or “Bohemian Rhapsody,” or even a more limited but still charismatic portrait of Springsteen’s stage persona, will be surprised. Instead, Cooper narrows the scope to roughly six emotionally fraught months in the early 1980s, when Springsteen funneled unresolved childhood trauma and fears of losing his identity into what became one of the most stark and haunting albums of his career: “Nebraska.” Does it match the storytelling power of the album itself? Of course not. Does this make for a more compelling music biopic than most? Absolutely.
The film opens with Jeremy Allen White as an exhausted, sweat-soaked Springsteen at the end of “The River” tour in 1981, belting out the song that launched him to superstardom: “Born to Run.” For a brief moment, White captures the familiar, energetic, charismatic Springsteen that audiences know. Yet even here, his version of Bruce trembles and wheezes, as though on the verge of collapse. It’s a telling choice, one that signals the last glimpse of the swaggering rock star this film intends to show.
Almost immediately, we are introduced to the Springsteen of “Deliver Me From Nowhere.” He’s slouched in a chair, pale and sickly, barely able to muster words in front of the press. His manager, Jon Landau (played by Jeremy Strong), recognizes both his vulnerabilities and his genius. Wanting to give Bruce the space to create, he rents him a house in his hometown of New Jersey and allows him total freedom to make his next record. What Landau doesn’t anticipate is just how unconventional and uncommercial that record will be.
Springsteen retreats into isolation, reading Flannery O’Connor, watching Terrence Malick’s “Badlands” and Charles Laughton’s “Night of the Hunter,” and confronting long-buried memories of a troubled childhood. These influences inspire an uncompromisingly raw album, recorded with a cassette player in his bedroom with the help of a reluctant sound mixer (Paul Walter Hauser). As Bruce becomes consumed by his past, Landau grows increasingly concerned, not just that the album is unsellable, but that Bruce may be suicidal. Meanwhile, Springsteen wrestles with the resurfacing trauma of growing up under an abusive, schizophrenic father (Stephen Graham), all while fearing that chasing superstardom could mean losing himself entirely.
The film traces this descent into darkness, culminating in one of the lowest points of Springsteen’s life but also the creation of one of his greatest works. Rarely has a music biopic leaned so hard into its subject’s flaws, sadness, and torment. While films like “Rocketman” or “Walk the Line” embrace their protagonists’ struggles, they still balance them with moments of triumph. Cooper, by contrast, asks viewers to sit fully in Springsteen’s despair. This is a Bruce of few words, brooding and withdrawn, his voice wavering when he speaks at all. White wisely avoids outright vocal mimicry, instead channeling the essence of a man worn down by depression.
Though his musical talent is never in doubt, Cooper portrays Springsteen at his least likable. He neglects his girlfriend, Faye (Odessa Young), a single mother drawn to his star power. He fails to appreciate the loyalty of his friends and Landau, often unable to get out of bed. Black-and-white flashbacks of childhood abuse haunt him. And yet, Cooper resists painting him as a villain. There are glimpses of compassion, such as Bruce rescuing his father during a schizophrenic breakdown in Chinatown. Still, the film deliberately showcases Springsteen at his most vulnerable and least charismatic.
What keeps the film from collapsing under its weight is its refusal to take Springsteen’s artistry for granted. We hear not only songs from “Nebraska” but also early versions of tracks that would later appear on “Born in the U.S.A.,” providing context for how his despair fueled two landmark albums. At the same time, the film’s subdued tone can make for a less-than-engaging viewing experience. Cooper avoids conventional emotional crescendos, which may frustrate audiences accustomed to big, cathartic moments.
Yet when the payoff arrives, it is powerful. The final act delivers an emotional resolution anchored by the performances of White, Strong, and Graham. Strong, in particular, stands out as Landau, a man who functions as a father figure despite being only marginally older than Bruce. His mix of tough love and unyielding loyalty shines in both tender moments and fiery confrontations with record executives (David Krumholtz and Marc Maron among them). These scenes ground the film’s emotional core, ensuring it lands with resonance.
On the technical side, the craft varies. Jeremiah Fraites’s acoustic score lacks the dynamism of Springsteen’s own music, and the naturalistic cinematography isn’t always striking. However, the sound design is inventive, integrating Bruce’s nervous tics, such as finger tapping and heavy breathing, into transitions and heightening the subjective experience of his inner turmoil. At times, Stephen Graham’s voice is modulated to sound larger-than-life from the perspective of young Bruce, effectively capturing how abuse looms in memory. The editing, meanwhile, is crisp, handling the film’s flashback structure with clarity and restraint.
In the end, “Deliver Me From Nowhere” feels intimate and unflinchingly subdued. It doesn’t aim to capture the complete Bruce Springsteen, the public persona or the triumphant rock icon, but rather the costs and consequences of depression during a pivotal chapter of his life. It’s about how despair can both corrode and catalyze creativity. While it falls short of the brilliance of the “Nebraska” album itself, Cooper’s against-the-grain approach offers a refreshing antidote to the formulaic music biopic, delivering a bleak yet moving exploration of an artist in crisis.
