There’s plenty that doesn’t quite work in Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere (you can start with that clunky title!) but one aspect that’s as tight as Max Weinberg’s snare drum is Jeremy Allen White’s central performance as Bruce Springsteen in his early thirties.
It’s a daunting gig. Springsteen is one of the most famous people of our time, and most of us already have some kind of connection to him. We all either love the guy or love someone—possibly our dads—who does. Scott Cooper’s new film focuses on a fork-in-the-road, with Bruce untethered on the cusp of superstardom, retreating to a rental home and solitude. (Men would rather self-record a series of brooding songs about murder and remorse than go to therapy.)
As such, Deliver Me From Nowhere is necessarily moody and cold. Moreover, White does not have the usual crutch of “a movie star playing a real person.” The Boss has always had Hollywood looks; it’s certainly up for grabs which of the two is more dreamy. A daunting gig, but not insurmountable!
The star of The Bear, the first television show that finally brought the phrase “Italian beef” into common parlance, is making his first leading man in a mainstream release here, though anyone who saw him in the pro wrestling ensemble The Iron Claw had no doubt he had the goods.
He’s dead center of pretty much every shot except for the movie’s many melancholy flashbacks to Springsteen’s childhood—but know that we’ll always cut back to White’s searching eyes, mess of curly hair, and hollowed-out body in a black leather jacket. No, his look may not pass the police artist sketch test, but if you watch this movie and then look at the cover of Darkness at the Edge of Town, you’ll see that he and the production have captured l’essence de Bruce quite well.
He also nails the singing. Though maybe this isn’t too much of an accomplishment. If you read Springsteen’s outstanding memoir Born to Run you’ll come across several passages in which the multi-platinum artist who still sells out football arenas admits that, despite having one of the most imitated “ah-one-two-three-fowah!”s in rock music, he isn’t exactly what you’d call a crafty vocalist. (He’s much more boastful about his guitar playing, and if you track down old Steel Mill bootlegs, you’ll discover that The Boss can really shred.)
Luckily, though, this movie isn’t about mimicry. It is to White’s great credit that it takes only a few moments of screen time before you view him not as a facsimile of a famous person but as a character. Very quickly he’s not the star we know, just a glum dude who likes to stare out at the water and dwell on his messed up childhood. Indeed, once the story is rolling it is a little surprising when he starts singing again and you think, “Oh yeah, that’s Bruce Springsteen.”
The most striking moment comes when White’s Springsteen is wooing Faye Romano, Odessa Young’s fictional vision of a feet-on-the-ground Jersey Girl like the one Bruce will eventually marry once he gets his s–t together. The pair are at a dilapidated Asbury Park carousel straight out of “Sandy.” He asks her what music she likes. She gives him some names, then also mentions “this guy Bruce Springsteen” and he chuckles and mumbles something humble-but-not-humble back. It’s the same type of crack you’ve seen the Oscar, Tony, and 20-time Grammy-winner make on a million talk shows.
It’s an eerie and exact instance of transference. But what is special about it is that this little exchange represents Bruce when he’s “being Bruce.”
Even though we may think we know the guy, we’ve only seen him when he’s on. White’s performance only becomes indistinguishable from that vision we have in our head when it is supposed to—in concert scenes, while laying down a recording, or using the persona as a crutch. To that end, White’s turn here is something of a masterpiece. And if there was a similar insightfulness and urgency to the script, this would be one of the best movies of the year, instead of something that is merely good.
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