‘Springsteen: Hand Me Out of Nowhere’ review: White in thoughtful ‘bear’ mode

Writer-director Scott Cooper didn’t want to make a biopic musical. At least not the kind of music autobiography you’d expect. Instead, in Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere, he presents a character study as autobiographical, following in similar footsteps as his Oscar-winning 2009 debut film, Crazy Heart.

“Deliver Me From Nowhere” doesn’t attempt to tell the full story of the life of beloved New Jersey rocker Bruce “The Boss” Springsteen — in fact, it doesn’t even cover his biggest hits. Instead, “Deliver Me From Nowhere,” which Cooper based on Warren Zanes’ 2023 book of the same name, focuses on a reflective period in Springsteen’s life and career, a time when the musician delved deep to exorcise his demons, producing songs for his 1982 “Nebraska” soundtrack album.

The Bear’s star, Jeremy Allen White, wears leather jackets, flannel jackets, and dark curls to his forehead, to embody Springsteen on screen. As with most musical biopics these days, the audience has to come to terms with the film, suspending disbelief. Will White disappear into the role? Does he sound exactly like Springsteen? No, but he’s a Springsteen icon here, and he captures the star’s raucous, rock-and-roll stare as he performs the songs, bringing his own intense emotionalism to the role.

With Zinn’s book, Cooper wants to offer a study of the creative process and how isolating, transporting, and transformative it can be to spill your guts and express something so personal until it becomes universal, as Springsteen did with “Nebraska.”

Bruce was holed up in a rented house in Colts Neck, New Jersey, in late 1981, having just finished a tour and trying to adjust to the quiet, which was very noisy. He tries to distance himself from others with nights at his hometown rock club, Stone Pony, and a relationship with fan Faye (Odessa Young). But he is haunted by his past, especially his childhood with an alcoholic and emotionally neglectful father (Stephen Graham) and a loving but troubled mother (Gaby Hoffman).

Cooper depicts Springsteen’s emotional and creative turmoil through black-and-white childhood flashbacks and scenes of him driving around his old haunts in a muscle car, as well as tender montages of Bruce and Faye playing with her daughter on the boardwalk. Unfortunately, Cooper can’t escape some of the hackneyed autobiographical tropes in his songwriting representation, which are almost impossible to avoid.

Bruce reflects on the stories of Flannery O’Connor and Terrence Malick’s 1973 crime drama Badlands, which he came across while channel surfing one night. At a local library, he comes across a large collection of news stories about Charles Starkweather, the rampant killer who inspired the film. He watches a showing of Night of the Hunter, and he remembers how his father took him to see the movie in the middle of the school day.

From this mire of memory, imagination and real-life horror emerge the songs of “Nebraska,” recorded in his bedroom on a four-track recorder purchased by his guitar tech Mike Patlan (Paul Walter Hauser), and mixed through an Echoplex and a water-damaged boom box.

This process-centric portion of “Deliver Me From Nowhere” shines, especially catnip for audio nerds, as Springsteen combines his own memories with something dark and distinctly American to produce a distorted cassette tape that he insists is reproduced exactly as it is, much to the confusion and chagrin of his engineer, Chuck Plotkin (Marc Maron), and the manager who… Long-suffering but loyal, John Landau. (Jeremy is strong).

Half the film belongs to Landau as one of the unsung heroes of this album. The film is partly a tribute to those people who support artists and their vision but don’t necessarily get the glory. Cooper takes the time to explain how Landau protected Bruce’s creative space, and later protected his art, ensuring it was released the way he wanted it, despite the protests of record executives.

Evoking a rough-and-tumble authenticity, the film’s style is shot on handheld camera by cinematographer Masanobu Takayanagi, who captures the bright, ethnic chaos of a rock show on stage, tender, low-lit moments between lovers, offbeat American neon and intimate, naturalistic close-ups. Jeremiah Fraites’ score blends beautifully with the famous songs.

While it serves as a thoughtful exploration of the creative process, “Deliver Me From Nothingness” loses its way toward the end, meandering aimlessly into Springsteen’s period of depression, never regaining its footing.

Cooper explicitly deprives us of big, soaring moments, offering us emotional highs in the form of backstage hugs or E-Street’s band singing during the gorgeous “Born to Run” in the studio. The film is a quiet winter meditation. If the film isn’t a complete success, it’s still a fascinating experiment in how rock stars are shown on screen and a valiant attempt to understand how they make the music that moves us.

Katie Walsh is a film critic for the Tribune News Service.