Bruce Springsteen, checking out the dashboard cassette player on a sporty little number, shrugs and says: “Well, that makes one of us."
We’ve been here before, and not that long ago; it’s less than a year since the release of A Complete Unknown and Timothee Chalamet’s Bob Dylan navigating an equally soul-searching creative crossroads.
One intriguing difference is that while the earlier film is inspired by events leading up to Dylan infamously "going electric," The Boss biopic largely concerns itself with Springsteen doing practically the opposite.
All is not well, though, as rapidly escalating fame sits uncomfortably on his shoulders, further scratching an itch to dial down the bombast and get back to basics – it’s time to buy a primitive tape machine and retreat to a weather-beaten cottage in semi-rural New Jersey.
Consequently, the film shadows a Springsteen shorn of superstar trappings, to fashion a compelling portrait of self-examination, and song as a form of therapy.
Prominent in those memories is a difficult, frequently violent relationship with his father (an intense Stephen Graham, mostly seen in cold monochrome flashbacks), resulting in the slow realisation that many of these new songs are unwittingly autobiographical; at one point we see Bruce poring over a notepad and changing the tense of his lyrics from third person to first.
A love interest subplot involving Bruce’s reluctance, perhaps inability, to commit to a relationship with a local single mother (Odessa Young) is more a distraction than key to the narrative, while the first few scenes he shares with manager and mentor Jon Landau (Jeremy Strong) are painfully pedestrian.
Thankfully, Strong has more to get his teeth into as the film progresses, and director Scott Cooper eventually establishes a powerful bond between the two men, his actors expressing a totally believable mutual tenderness.
When figuring out where he’s going with Nebraska’s contents, White/Springsteen catches a re-run of early ‘70s murderous youth classic Badlands on TV, and there’s a brief glimpse of boyhood Bruce and his dad in a darkened fleapit watching Robert Mitchum in The Night Of The Hunter (a film about a violent father figure, no less).
Deliver Me From Nowhere works best when it’s small, when its sharper focus is on a troubled thirty-something burying himself in the creation of what would become one of his most celebrated records, digging deep into music both haunting and healing.
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