Copyright New York Post
Surprise, surprise. “Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere” was not born to run. It was born to flop. So far the new Bruce biopic, starring “The Bear”’s Jeremy Allen White, has grossed just $19.4 million worldwide. Not good for a Disney-produced movie about an American music legend who’s sold more than 128 million albums over 52 years. People who have seen the film mostly dig it. So did I. Low-key “Deliver Me From Nowhere” has a perfectly respectable 83% RottenTomatoes audience score. The problem, however, is that few are rushing out to buy tickets to the Bruce movie. Why are they shrugging en masse? Well, that’d be Bruce. He’s brilliant, talented… and a big ol’ snooze. One of the greatest songwriters of all time happens to be a nice, mostly drama-free, soul-searching open book, who, after a brief marriage to Julianne Phillips, has been with the same woman, wife Patti Scialfa, for 34 years. “Deliver” doesn’t even get as far as that. It ends when Springsteen is just 32 and is struggling with anxiety. That’s not exactly a pass-the-popcorn formula. Or, for that matter, an Oscars rubric. At best, it’s a thoughtful-insight manual. There is, of course, Springsteen’s political outspokenness. His lefty leanings might be a turn-off for some. But then so would 99.9% of the entertainment industry. Many have also questioned the choice to focus the film on the 1982 creation of “Nebraska,” a somber, acoustic folk album recorded in his bedroom, instead of the Boss’ better-known bangers, only a few of which make a cameo appearance. But I doubt a starrier soundtrack would’ve moved the needle much. When it comes to Bruce, poetic stories about the man’s working-class New Jersey upbringing, strained family relationships and introspective writing process are only truly compelling when they come from the genuine article. For instance, his solo show, “Springsteen on Broadway,” which featured songs strung together by autobiography, was a fantastic smash. At the movies, though, there is a hint here of the 2018 battle between “Bohemian Rhapsody” ($910 million) v. “Rocketman” (whoops, $192.5 million). “Rocketman” was, by far, the better, more stylish film. But audiences were completely indifferent to learning any more details about Elton John’s life. Anyway, what more is there to know? Queen frontman Freddie Mercury, on the other hand, was an eccentric enigma who died of AIDS in 1991 at just 45 years old. “Bohemian Rhapsody,” then, promised mystery and a tragedy that was made all the more shattering by our happy memories of tunes like “Under Pressure” and “Radio Gaga.” I doubt anybody was ever made chipper by the title song of “Nebraska,” which is about a serial killer. The narrative matters every bit as much as the name. So does a revelatory central performance. Rami Malek won the Oscar for playing Freddie. Chilled-out White, whose acting is quite good, opts against trying to nail his character’s look and mannerisms. Admirable, Jer, but generally speaking not what audiences want in a flick about their favorite artists. Hollywood is always trying to crack the musician biopic code. Easy, you’d think, but it’s really one of the the most difficult genres to get right. Two bombs that, on their face, should’ve worked, were “I Wanna Dance With Somebody,” about Whitney Houston, and “Back to Black,” about Amy Winehouse. Both were torturous pulp, and rightly tanked. But “Elvis,” starring Austin Butler as the King, and “A Complete Unknown,” with Timothée Chalamet as Bob Dylan, turned out to be box-office hits and award-season players. The key to their success was artfully fusing popularity and prestige. The pair had meaty stories about obsessed-over rock gods, fantastic songs, sweeping presentations and transformative, theatrical, talker lead performances. “Deliver Me From Nowhere,” depending on who you ask, checks anywhere from three to zero of those boxes. The movie might best be described by this lyric from a song everybody wishes was in the movie, “Thunder Road”: You ain’t a beauty, but hey you’re alright.
