Born In The U.S.A., Born Again In Cinema
- Lara Walsh
- 5 minutes ago
- 3 min read
Amongst the noise of Dylan and Presley, Elton and Williams, Deliver Me From Nowhere lands quietly, unfurling more than just a tale of hedonistic, rockstar excesses, but rather, something much deeper. Springsteen is immortalised in an intimate, slow-paced, introspective take on the ghosts we carry, how they haunt our daily lives, and the ways we choose to escape them. Jeremy Allen White brings life and depth to Scott Cooper’s vision with a sincerity that is so easily forgotten amidst the mindless biopic churning machine.
Based on the 2023 book by Warren Zanes, Springsteen opens with black-and-white scenes of a frightened child. We see glimpses of what goes on behind closed doors. A young boy cowers in his bedroom, creeps into local dive bars, and lurks at the top of the stairs listening to raised voices in the kitchen below. Stephen Graham gives a stellar performance as Bruce’s harsh, emotionally distant father. He casts a harrowing shadow over a young Springsteen, played by Matthew Anthony Pellicano Jr. These formative episodes are interspersed amongst the narrative following Bruce’s adult life, bringing him back to the coldness of the place he grew up.
Allen White has built a career on the tortured introvert model, from Lip Gallagher to Carmen Berzatto, and now Bruce. He is simultaneously adored - known about town, recognised at the car dealership, doted on after concerts - and alone. Bruce doubles down in a lakeside house to write his sixth studio album, ‘Nebraska’. With his team and the rest of the world eagerly awaiting another radio hit, Bruce bases much of his intimate and still best-selling album on the story of an infamous teenage serial killer. The songs dance around grief and loss, failure and reminiscence.
Cooper’s decision to depict only a short period of Springsteen’s adult life is an intentional one. It sits over the threshold of childhood, a foot into adulthood, the period in which the unresolved comes bubbling, unprovoked, to the surface. Bruce is afflicted by his treatment of Faye Romano (Odessa Young). Working as a waitress and raising a young daughter alone, Faye is the embodiment of Bruce’s greatest fears; something inescapably real that he can’t bring himself to commit to. She seems to glow against a characteristically gloomy colour scheme, fed by a bleak and dismal East Coast winter.
‘Nebraska’ was a departure from Springsteen’s earlier artistic style. It was sombre, haunting, and brutal. In a gentle folk style, Allen White’s vocals are the soundtrack to a walk through Springsteen’s life. The movie is slow, as is the music. Cooper drags out long shots of countryside drives, something that has evidently confused audiences in the age of over-stimulation on screen. Nothing is rushed; we experience the slow lull of heartbreak and nostalgia almost as if it is our own.
‘Bruce is a repairman.’
‘Nebraska’ is Bruce’s healing. It is his deepest thoughts and fears manifesting alone in his bedroom on a four-track recorder. It is the abuse from his childhood, the love he cannot show, and the places he has had to leave behind, wrapped up in Colts, New Jersey, on dusty carpets and creaking chairs. The album is realised by Jon Landau, played by Jeremy Strong, who maintains his absolute, unwavering faith in Bruce. Despite the resounding calls for a pop album centred around ‘Born in the USA’, Landau gives Bruce the freedom to use the album to tell a deeper message. He is the bridge between the depths of Bruce’s mind and the sound distributed to millions; he brings the inner to life.
Springsteen is far from a blockbuster hit. Rather, it is a reflection, a mirror parallel, of Bruce’s ‘Nebraska’: vulnerable and hauntingly real. Cooper weaves threads of authenticity, care, and passion throughout, creating a snapshot of Bruce’s life that knits into the viewer’s heart. Bruce Springsteen is neither ‘The Boss’ nor ‘The Jersey Devil’, but a living, breathing, flawed human being. It is raw and unfiltered, capturing the story of a young-boy-turned-man, with a simple love for music.
Edited by Hannah Tang, Co-Editor of Film & TV
