The New Springsteen Biopic: Flawed, Downbeat, But Still Delivers

 Now playing at a multiplex near everybody:

SPRINGSTEEN: DELIVER ME FROM NOWHERE
(Dir. Scott Cooper, 2025)

 

Like James Mangold’s A COMPLETE UNKNOWN, Scott Cooper’s new Bruce Springsteen drama is a specific biopic, centering on a crucial period instead of a full career overview. Based on Warren Zanes’ 2023 book of the same name, the narrative concerns the making of the Boss’s classic 1982 album, Nebraska, which was a departure for the artist; a spare, haunting acoustic album that was in a different world from the radio hits, and arena anthems, which had previously dominated his discography.

 

Jeremy Allen White (Shameless, The Bear) fills Springsteen’s shoes admirably, giving an intensely troubled performance as a man who, as Bruce would say is “livin’ in his own skin, and can’t stand the company.” After coming off a huge stadium tour for his best-selling double album, The River, which yielded his first top 10 single “Hungry Heart,” the musician finds himself wanting to explore a different direction.

That involved recording some spare demos on a crude four-track cassette recorder in a rented house in Colt’s Neck, New Jersey, where he tells engineer Mike Batlan (Paul Hauser), “It doesn’t have to be perfect, I want it to feel like I’m in the room by myself.” Meanwhile, Springsteen’s stoical manager, Jon Landau (Jeremy Strong), fends off CBS Records exec Al Teller (David Krumholtz), who wants something more commercial as the singer-songwriter is on the verge of superstardom.

 

Interspersed throughout the movie are black and white flashbacks depicting Springsteen’s father Douglas (Stephen Graham), abusing him, and his mother, Adele (Gaby Hoffmann), which inform our protagonist’s writing as does a book of Flannery O’Conner’s work, and, more importantly, his coming across Terrence Mallick’s 1973 crime classic BADLANDS on TV. This inspired Nebraska’s title track, told in the voice of serial killer, Charles Starkweather, while the record’s other songs illustrated the desperate musings of a cast of guilt-ridden outsiders fighting interpersonal demons.

 

The biggest liberty that Cooper’s screenplay takes with Springsteen’s story is the addition of a fictitious girlfriend, Faye Romano, played by Odessa Young. As a Jersey Girl, who is a single mother working as a waitress in a diner named Frankie’s, Faye seems like should could’ve been a subject of one the Boss’s ‘70s songs, and Young puts in an affecting turn as the fan turned love interest on the side, but I’m not sure it was a necessary element in this scenario. Yet the couple’s scenes did get to me a bit emotionally (yeah, I teared up a few times) so I’m not complaining. Word is that the character is a composite based on a few women that the real Boss admits now that he ghosted at the time.

 

As a musical biopic largely dealing with depression over daddy issues, this lowkey, downbeat treatise is more like Bill Pohlad’s 2014 Brian Wilson biopic, LOVE AND MERCY, than it is like A COMPLETE UNKNOWN. Despite a few loud concert scenes, it’s mostly a downbeat, introspective affair, much like the album it centers on, with some of its best moments being about Springsteen’s friendship with Landau.

White’s immersion into the character isn’t as invested, and surprising as Timothy Chamalet’s turn as Dylan last year (or as Oscar-worthy), but he’s pretty damn convincing nevertheless as he consistently nails the nuances of the legendary musician, and his vocals on a bunch of the Boss’s very well known (and very well worn) iconic tunes.

 

While the soundtrack is mostly made of White’s vocals, Springsteen’s can be heard a number of times throughout the film, but, even as a big fan, there were times I wasn’t sure who I was hearing at times, which means for me, they really pulled off the conceit.

I bet other, more hardcore fans may be less impressed, but, while it has some over simplistic dialogue, a few predictable story beats, and some cringy clichés (though of the sort that are unavoidable in biopic formulas); DELIVER ME FROM NOWHERE is overall a stirringly poignant portrait of an incredible (and incredibly sensitive) artist at the crossroads of fame, and finding oneself.

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SPINAL TAP II: Fairly Funny But No Instant Comedy Classic

SPINAL TAP II: THE END CONTINUES
(Dir. Rob Reiner, 2025)

Okay, let’s get this out of the way. I haven’t even looked at other reviews yet, but I know many of them are going to address whether or not this movie goes to 11. Of course, this refers to the famous scene in the 1984 comedy masterpiece, THIS IS SPINAL TAP, in which lead guitarist, Nigel Tufnel (Christopher Guest) explains that his amplifier’s volume knob goes one louder than most amps. So, I’ll say upfront that, no, the new sequel, SPINAL TAP II: THE END CONTINUES, doesn’t go to 11, but it’s a solid seven. 

 

Reprising his role as filmmaker Marty Di Bergi, Rob Reiner brings us up to date on the career of Spinal Tap in the 40 years since the original as Britain’s loudest band is lured out of retirement for one last concert, a contractual obligation to their deceased manager Ian Faith (played in the first film by Tony Hendra, who passed in 2021). While the band had performed some high-profile gigs – Wembley Stadium, Royal Albert Hall, and Glastonbury (these were real concerts) in the following decades, they had a falling out, and haven’t spoken in 15 years.

 

In the meantime, David St. Hubbins (Michael McKean) composed instrumentals for podcasts and for telephone hold music; Nigel Tufnel runs a cheese and guitar shop with his girlfriend Moira (Nina Conti), and Derek Smalls (Harry Shearer) curates a glue museum. There’s friction when the three re-unite for their show at New Orleans’ Lakefront Arena, which continues into their rehearsals that make up the bulk of the film.

 

That’s what there is of the plot, but is it funny? Well, yes, though I mildly chuckled more than laughed out loud. Most of the proceedings left me with a smirk as Reiner, who co-wrote with Guest, McKean, and Shearer reassemble many of the beats from the original, and cathc us up with what happened to a number of their supporting players, including Fran Drescher as Bobbie Flekman, Paul Shaffer as Artie Fufkin, and June Chadwick as St. Hubbins’ ex-wife, Jeanine Pettibone.

As I’ve been a huge fan since seeing THIS IS SPINAL TAP on opening night at the Varsity Theater in Chapel Hill in 1984, I had fun seeing these people again, and had a warm, fuzzy feeling when lines landed, but also felt some cringe when things were more awkward than amusing.

One thread that didn’t exactly kill was the new character of concert promoter Simon Howler (Chris Addison), who is clinically unable to appreciate music. This premise doesn’t pay off, and the conclusion to the character’s screen-time is far from satisfying. Spinal Tap’s young new drummer, Didi Crockett (Valerie Franco) is affably spunky but also doesn’t fare as very funny, but they didn’t give her much to do except when it comes to the climatic concert sequence. 

Faring better are cameos, as a scene featuring Sir Paul McCartney joining Spinal Tap in the studio for a rendition of their faux ‘60s song, “Cups and Cakes.” St. Hubbins’ reaction afterward is hilarious as he feels the famous former Beatle has a “toxic personality.”  Elton John’s appearance isn’t as funny, but he brings it onstage for the big “Stonehenge” finale where they finally have the right size dimensions for the stage prop.

As a fairly funny film, SPINAL TAP II: THE END CONTINUES does continue the vibe of its predecessor, but it’s a little too loose and lazy to come anywhere close to the original’s comedy classic status. Mileage will vary on how big a fan of the fake band one is, as so much of the sequel relies on how well one knows what went down the first time.

I liked, but didn’t love what Reiner, Guest, McKean, and Shearer did here, but it’s still better than I expected. It’s great that this and the NAKED GUN reboot (which honestly is much funnier), are showing that comedy can make a comeback to the movies, so here’s hoping that’s what will really continue.

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STEALING PULP FICTION: What The Hell Is This Movie?

STEALING PULP FICTION
(Dir. Danny Turkiewicz, 2024)

So I haven’t been babbling ‘bout movies in a while because I’m finishing work on a book project, but I’ve been wanting to get back into it so I decided that I’d view, and review a new film that’s opening today in select theaters, and debuting on digital platforms. It’s a heist comedy about a couple of quirky, dorky guys who plot to steal Quentin Tarantino’s personal 35mm print of his 1994 classic PULP FICTION.

The leads are somewhat familiar faces as Jon Rudnitsky was a featured player on Saturday Night Live a decade ago, and Karan Soni plays the Indian taxi driver in the DEADPOOL movies. We are introduced to them in a prologue that is identified with white on black titles as “Pun-Themed Businesses.” This is a Seinfeld-ian exchange over drinks at the 321 Club in Los Angeles, where the duo propose ideas about an oyster bar called “Ah, Shucks,” and a royal-themed oxygen bar called “Air to the Throne.”

Yeah, this opening bit sets the tone – for better or for worse – and we go from there to accompany them to a midnight showing of PULP FICTION at a Tarantino-owned theater, and over burgers after the screening, they hatch the idea for the theft of the film reels, which they plan to sell (“It’s as valuable as gold,” Rudnitsky says).

The constantly quipping duo decide they need a third so they rope in their eye-rolling friend, Elizabeth (Cazzie David), despite the fact that she hates Tarantino (“He is misogynistic, foot-fetished freak, who doesn’t let the women in his films speak”). Then there’s the surprising addition to the caper of Jason Alexander, the only real name in this movie, as the guys’ therapist, who is going through marital problems, and it’s odd to seem him try to match Rudnitsky and Soni’s weird energy in the most un-George Constanza manner he can render.

Now this way this whole deal plays out is really dumb, and feels on-the-fly, improvised, and oddly self-satisfied, and just when I thought it couldn’t get any stupider, boy does it.

This largely happens when an actor (Seager Tennis) playing “Quentin Fuckin’ Tarantino” (that’s how he’s credited) shows up, who is made to look like him with a prosthetic chin, and is portrayed as angrily obnoxious, which reduces who is supposed to be celebrated here into a grotesque caricature.

Okay, I’m tired of writing about the plot. I was pretty baffled, and stupefied by this flick, which has a really short running time of only 78 minutes, even though it’s padded with things like unnecessary tennis, and on overly long dance scene finale. That last part is actually one of the funnier things in the film as the laconic Elizabeth character just stands there unengaged, with her arms folded while everybody around her makes a fool of themselves on the dance floor to Tina Charles’ “I Love to Love.”

You know, actually the film’s soundtrack, which of course riffs on Tarantino’s love of ‘70s soul, is pretty good with its use of Keith Mansfield’s 1969 instrumental “Funky Fanfare,” you know, the snazzy music that was used for the “Our Feature Presentation” title cards with the psychedelic background back in the day.

Thing is, the thought I kept having while watching STEALING PULP FICTION is what the hell is this movie? It’s such a goofy, half-assed endeavor dominated by the smug-ass Rudnitsky, who seems high on his own vibe, and it doesn’t really have anything to say about Tarantino’s masterwork that it can’t even dream of holding a candle too. But it is breezy, and watchable if you are looking for an hour and a half of idiocy, which is the only way I’d ever recommend it.

These guys – writer, director Turkiewicz; Rudnitsky, and Soni – do have some spunk in this junk, and I didn’t walk away disliking them, but damn, whatta really stupidly strange experience this is. I mean, nice try I guess, but how about making a real movie next time?

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