I Hope ‘Deliver Me From Nowhere’ Inspires More Men to Go to Therapy

Though occasionally clichéd, the biopic remains a testament to what makes Springsteen a storyteller worth listening to—and how therapy changed his life.

By Audra Heinrichs | October 8, 2025 | 8:55am

Photo: 20th Century Studios Entertainment Movies

I Hope ‘Deliver Me From Nowhere’ Inspires More Men to Go to Therapy

Few three-word phrases have gone from meme to meaningless faster than “men need therapy.” But in Scott Cooper’s deeply heartfelt take on Bruce Springsteen’s early dances with his demons, Deliver Me From Nowhere, the sentiment actually stands—mostly because it’s the working-class rock god’s honest truth.

Deliver Me From Nowhere has been hyped since the first trailer. Hollywood’s favorite sad boy (aka Jeremy Allen White) as music’s favorite counter to toxic masculinity? Instant Oscar bait. At this point, the leading man of the moment starring as a tortured artist is a tried-and-true formula for trophies (see Timothée Chalamet as Bob Dylan, Austin Butler as Elvis Presley, Joaquin Phoenix as Johnny Cash, etc., etc.). And as fatigued as I am by the plug-and-play of it all, this latest iteration works, too.

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For Springsteen, becoming The Boss™ was simple: his electric stage presence and proclivity for empathetic storytelling made him a phenomenon. But actually liking the person on the other side of the acclaim wasn’t as easy—his lifelong struggle with self-hatred has been the subject of innumerable songs, biographies, and his own 2016 memoir, Born to Run. His father’s family was plagued by mental illnesses—from agoraphobia to hair-pulling disorders to alcoholism—that went largely undiagnosed or undiscussed, and were all exacerbated by poverty. As a result, Springsteen had a strained relationship with his father, who, he revealed to Vanity Fair in 2016, was never able to say “I love you” before his death in 1998.

“As a child, it was simply mysterious, embarrassing, and ordinary,” Springsteen wrote of witnessing his family’s issues. After the massive commercial success of The River, Springsteen’s fifth studio album, a then 31-year-old Springsteen was forced to navigate sudden fame and confront what came next—professionally, but also psychologically. This is where Deliver Me From Nowhere, based on Warren Zane’s biography, begins.

In 1982, Springsteen returned home to New Jersey to write his next album, which would ultimately become Nebraska, one of his most beloved records. Portraying an artist’s creative process is difficult, especially when that artist is inspired by Flannery O’Connor stories, late-’50s serial killer Charles Starkweather, and an adulthood shadowed by childhood trauma. Still, the film could’ve been more sophisticated in showing what, about any of this, moved Springsteen to put pen to paper. Sure, there are black-and-white flashbacks to his difficult upbringing—his father’s abuse (both substance and verbal), working-class trappings, and perennial loneliness—which occasionally teeters into corny territory. However, we never really learn why Springsteen was drawn to outlaws and misfits at this moment in his life. At this point, his identification with the blue-collar everyman is obvious, but the others? Not so much—at least for anyone who isn’t already a fan.

As Springsteen works on the album in near-seclusion, he begins a relationship with Faye (Odessa Young, an up-and-comer to watch)—a single mother, waitress, and a fictional amalgam of women the real Springsteen was probably seeing during these years. In classic male rock-star biopic fashion, many of Springsteen’s most transformative realizations—namely, his aversion to intimacy despite his pursuit of “something real”—are at the expense of Faye and her young daughter. The fictional Springsteen only gets so close before pulling away, and his suicidal ideations only get stronger as he retreats further into his obsession with getting the album just right. Near the end, it’s his manager and longtime friend, Jon Landau (Jeremy Strong), who urges him into therapy.

In a maddeningly brief scene, we only see seconds of Springsteen actually breaking down after years of battling himself. This feels unfair for a few reasons—chief among them is White’s aptitude for accurately depicting depression’s covert and overt complexities. But also because Springsteen has lauded therapy’s impact on his life for years now. Surely, we could’ve benefited from seeing what, exactly, about that first session convinced him to keep showing up after all these years.

Regardless, the performances in Deliver Me From Nowhere are some of the best of the year. White may not look a thing like Springsteen, but he certainly embodies his sensitivity and swagger. And his singing? My hair quite literally stood on end. Young, too, is a scene-stealer. If played by other young actresses today, Faye could’ve been just another trope. Instead, she feels like a living, breathing person—hopeful, then heartbroken. And the material, though occasionally clichéd, is still a testament to what makes Springsteen a storyteller worth listening to. He might’ve had trouble looking at himself, but he achieved ubiquity by taking great care to examine others. In a time where self-victimization seems to be the name of the game for many artists (ahem, Taylor Swift), Springsteen’s curiosity for political and societal casualties is perhaps the most important story of all.

If Nebraska (and Springsteen’s succeeding discography) is ultimately the result of a man finally seeking help? Well, insert eye-roll-inducing “men need therapy” meme here.

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