No, I haven’t actually seen the film, “Deliver Me From Nowhere,” featuring Jeremy Allen White (JAW) yet. I have seen the trailer, though, and I’m already convinced that JAW is a subpar Bruce.
The film covers one of the most introspective periods of Springsteen’s life, the early 1980s, when he recorded the haunted “Nebraska” album. It’s been hailed as a musical masterpiece about isolation, loss, and the underbelly of the “American dream.” Although I’m not here to critique the film, I’m here because something about Jeremy Allen White’s Bruce feels “off.” Not as an impersonation but as an energy, an intangible “vibe.”
I first became a very large Springsteen fan because of my “awesome” father, who, like Bruce, also hails from New Jersey. “Born to Run” has been a pivotal album for my understanding of music, popular culture, and sense of self. I know it sounds very cliché. My favorite songs have become “My City of Ruins” live from Helsinki, “Thunder Road,” “Atlantic City,” and “The Promised Land.”
Given all this, when the making of the movie was first announced, my father and I were very excited about the biopic, since we have bonded deeply over Springsteen’s music. After all, we did witness Timothée Chalamet nail Bob Dylan in the biopic “A Complete Unknown.” Furthermore, I think of myself as a bit of an aficionado of the genre (“Bohemian Rhapsody,” “Rocketman,” “Elvis” — a true howler — and of course, THE Bob Dylan). So, I ask, could lightning strike twice in the white male musician cinematic universe?
All this to say, I had both some weighty expectations for and major fears about the film, and I’m afraid that some of those fears are starting to be realized. One of those fears was Springsteen’s undue involvement in the film process, which may have contributed to a skewed narration and the vantage point of the film. He was seen on set and in the press tours, promoting his own biopic. Rock stars are not known for their undersized egos, but even still, some reviewers have noted that his childhood was perhaps scrubbed up in the film. One wonders if Dylan’s “You go, Kid” (with “kid” referring to Chalamet) approach is the preferable one? Or, maybe my own love of the music is clouding my judgment and creating unreal expectations for the film, thus sabotaging what could be a “fun” couple of hours with “The Boss.”
Another challenge with biopics about living icons, a status that Dylan seems to care very little about, is how an actor embodies a well-known, well-loved figure without resorting to slavish imitation. JAW has the hair, roughly the physique, and the jawline, but it feels a bit forced. Somehow, Chalamet channeled Dylan’s zero-f****-given vibe with an ease that belied all his hard work. I mean, the man studied harmonica for five years! But, at least in the trailer, I could really feel White’s effort in a way that kept me from escaping into the story. On his Broadway album, Springsteen talks about his “magic trick,” the shared intimacy between performer and listener. But White seems stuck in such sheer imitation. It’s all grimace without the ache behind it.
Maybe this is not JAW’s fault, if we accept that, in portraying Springsteen, one is destined to disappoint some among the millions of fans, purists, onlookers, poseurs, and (yes!) even the dads from Trenton, NJ, who raised “super cool” daughters like me.
This whole line of thinking reminds me of a Ricky Nelson song, one that my dad would venture to guess is familiar to both Springsteen and Dylan, “Garden Party.” The chorus goes as follows:
“But it’s all right now
I learned my lesson well
You see, you can’t please everyone
So you got to please yourself.”
Maybe this is the moral here, for Springsteen, JAW, and for the rest of us schmucks trying to make peace with our own icons.
The Boss does not need another imitator, I can sing “Born to Run” in the mirror with a strained deep voice already — he needs an interpreter, someone who truly understands him, or again, in the words of the car-crazy kid from Freehold (ie. Springsteen), someone who can be “a good companion for this part of the ride.” For maybe, after all, the real point is not to get Bruce “right,” but to remember why his persona, his lived experiences, and his music matter so much to us in the first place. Or as the last line of the “Nebraska” album says, “how at the end of a hard-earned day, people find some reason to believe.”
