BOSS MITIGATION

Opening in the multiplexes this weekend:

Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere--Exhausted after the 1982 tour for his album The River, Bruce Springsteen rented a house in Colt's Neck, New Jersey, and tried to figure out what to do next. Unsettled by his rapidly increasing stardom, he started strumming an acoustic guitar and writing downbeat songs about downtrodden, desperate working-class Americans. These would make up his 1982 release Nebraska, as well as his 1984 hit machine Born in the USA.

Scott Cooper's biopic, adapted from a 2023 book by Del Fuegos guitarist Warren Zanes, recounts this chapter from the life of "The Boss" (Jeremy Allen White, as an adult). The focus is narrowly on that brief but critical period in his development, but we also see him haunted by his past; his troubled childhood with his drunken, scary but not unloving Dad (Stephen Graham) and his anxious, loving Mom, played here by Gaby Hoffmann. How upsetting is it that Gaby Hoffmann is now old enough to play Mom roles?

Shot in fine, muted tones by Masanobu Takayanagi, it's a watchable, absorbing movie. Although we're shown Springsteen's wary, commitment-phobic relationship with a lovely (fictional) new girlfriend (Odessa Young), Cooper honestly tries to keep the focus on the vagaries of the creative process; how moping around, reading Flannery O'Connor and repeatedly watching Terrence Malick's Badlands can be essential to finding your voice.

But this behavior, however essential, can be a drag for the people around you, and that includes not only friends and family and lovers and co-workers but also the movie audience watching you. White is first-rate; exploding into life in the scenes in which he sings (blasphemy alert: I'm not sure I don't like White's singing better than Springsteen's), suggesting that performance may have been a form of therapy, even self-medication, for Springsteen. He's moving in his depressive mode, too, but there's no getting around it, the movie becomes a long dark night of the soul in these passages, and they make up a lot of screen time.

The best performance in Deliver Me from Nowhere is by Jeremy Strong as Springsteen manager Jon Landau. His hangdog manner is hilarious; every time his boss The Boss gives Landau more bad news, not only about what kind of album Nebraska is going to be but about how he wants it released--without press, a tour, or even Springsteen's picture on the sleeve--you see it register on Strong's sickened face. Then you see him stoically shake it off.

As depicted here, he's skeptical about the business wisdom of Springsteen's decisions, but he walks the walk when it comes to defending artistic integrity; his loyalty never wavers. He's the hero of the movie.

TRUNK SHOW

The specific subject of Terrence Malick’s new film The Tree of Life is a mid-century, middle-class, middle-American family—dysfunction & tragedy played out in Norman Rockwell light. Malick isn’t big on specificity, though, & it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that what he’s really taking on with this movie is no less than the Meaning of Life, the inscrutable Fruit & Root of the title Tree.

Malick’s story concerns the O’Briens, of Boomer-era Waco, Texas: Dad (Brad Pitt), who gave up his dream to be a classical pianist for a career as an industrial engineer, the radiant & saintly Mom (Jessica Chastain), and three boys. The eldest of these, Jack (played by Sean Penn as an adult & by the terrific Hunter McCracken as a preteen), is our point of view for most of the film.

It’s an iconic American motif; what makes The Tree of Life different from innumerable other treatments is, first of all, Malick’s narrative style. The story is given to us in elliptical fragments, mostly brief, often enigmatic, seemingly meant to suggest snatches of memory. In its broader organization, it’s also suggestive of a piece of symphonic music, with movements: a light & joyous passage devoted to the mother, a brooding one for the father, a turbulent one for the boy’s sexual awakening, and so forth (the powerful score is by Alexander Desplat).

Past and present, the dramatic & the trivial, are freely mixed with scenes of the characters wandering in expressionistic landscapes. It’s disorienting at first, and some of the questions that arise about exactly what’s happened to the family remain ambiguous. But the wisps & glimpses of story accrue emotional force, & most of what’s onscreen is superbly done—it includes, among other merits, one of Brad Pitt’s best performances, a turn of almost Brando-like vibrancy. Still, what we aren’t shown can be exasperating.

Secondly, The Tree of Life is remarkable for Malick’s ambitiousness of scope: In addition to emotional conflicts—career and personal disappointments turn Dad from a stern & hard-assed but by no means unloving father to a repressive tyrant—& coming-of-age drama, the family is also visited by heartbreak & loss. They cry out to the Almighty, as people do in such times, with the Eternal Questions: “Who are You? What are we to You?” And Malick takes his unironic best shot at giving them, & us, an answer, in visual terms.

The oddest branch on The Tree of Life is a lengthy, epic special-effects sequence depicting the formation of the Cosmos, and the development of life on Earth, from slimy blobs & worms to plesiosaurs & dinosaurs. It’s a majestic free-standing episode, inevitably reminiscent, in atmosphere, of Kubrick’s 2001 (Kubrick crony Douglas Trumbull reportedly worked on the effects), but what, you might well ask, does this titanic spectacle have to do with the O’Briens of Waco, Texas?

The question could be answered in more than one way. It could be that Malick is saying to the bereaved questioner, in the manner of a rationalist-era Voice of God to Job: In light of this magnificent, terrible, pitiless, glorious pageant, how dare you ask for an explanation for your sufferings?

I don’t think, so, though. I think he’s trying to put personal & family travails into a cosmic context—to suggest that our lives are every bit as important, in the grand scheme of things, as exploding suns & volcanoes & primordial monsters. The film seems in some sense theistic in outlook, though not simplemindedly so, & the point seems to be that human life & our interpersonal connections do have metaphysical or transcendental significance, even if we can’t quite understand it.

Of course, Malick’s depiction of The Grand Scheme of Things is just that—a depiction. Your own sensibility will have a lot to do with whether it repels you or thrills you, whether it seems pretentious & presumptuous or an audacious & visionary use of the medium.

For me, it was the latter. Malick, now 67, has made only five features as a director. His marvelous debut, 1973’s Badlands, holds up as a classic; I’ve found most of his subsequent work interesting but diffuse. But The Tree of Life, for all its loose ends & ramblings, strikes me as another that may still look like a classic four decades from now.