Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere — A Soulful Look at the Making of Nebraska

Springsteen Deliver Me from Nowhere

Directed by: Scott Cooper

Written by: Scott Cooper

Starring: Jeremy Allen White, Jeremy Strong, Odessa Young, Stephen Graham

Release Date: October 24, 2025

4.5 out of 5 stars

Scott Cooper’s Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere is a raw, poetic music biopic that captures Bruce Springsteen’s soul-searching journey through the making of Nebraska. Jeremy Allen White gives one of the year’s most powerful performances in this haunting portrayal of The Boss at a crossroads.


A Different Kind of Music Biopic

Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere is not your typical music biopic. Rather than tracing Bruce Springsteen’s entire life or career, Scott Cooper’s film zeroes in on a single, defining moment — the creation of Nebraska, one of the most personal and daring albums ever made by a major recording artist.

Coming off the chart-topping success of The River and standing on the edge of superstardom with Born in the U.S.A., Springsteen was poised to become an American icon. Yet, instead of leaning into commercial glory, he turned inward. The film powerfully captures this creative detour — a spiritual reckoning that would define the artist he became.

A Record Born from Darkness

Cooper’s film shows a restless Springsteen retreating to a secluded home in the woods of New Jersey. Still sweating from his marathon River tour, Bruce craves peace but finds none. His mind is haunted by old ghosts, regrets, and fears that can only be exorcised through music.

As Jeremy Strong’s Jon Landau shields Bruce from the pressures of record executives, he watches helplessly as his friend unravels. The industry demands radio hits — but Bruce is chasing something far more personal: truth, pain, and redemption.

Amid the creative storm, Bruce meets Faye (Odessa Young), a local woman whose quiet warmth offers a fleeting sense of connection. Their romance, tender but doomed, becomes another layer of emotional fuel for the songs that would make Nebraska timeless.

The Inspiration Behind Nebraska

What makes Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere remarkable is Cooper’s refusal to reduce the album’s genesis to tidy cinematic moments. The film doesn’t rely on obvious “aha!” inspirations. Yes, we see Springsteen watching Terrence Malick’s Badlands — the direct inspiration for the song “Nebraska” — but most of the music seems to emerge from deep within Bruce’s psyche.

In one of the film’s most striking interpretations, Bruce’s fascination with the story of Charles Starkweather reflects his fear of his own darker impulses. Cooper subtly suggests that Bruce identifies with the violence and isolation of his subjects — that his empathy comes from confronting his own emotional volatility.

The Father and the Ghosts of Home

Running beneath the entire film is Springsteen’s fraught relationship with his father, powerfully portrayed by Stephen Graham in what feels like an Oscar-worthy supporting performance. In monochrome flashbacks, we see a man broken by life — angry, volatile, but deeply human.

Bruce’s complicated relationship with his father is a dark undercurrent throughout all of Nebraska, culminating in the song My Father’s House, a broken hearted elegy that may not be fully autobiographical but carries within it all the hurt feelings and lasting love that defined Bruce’s love for his father.

Watching White and Graham give life to these two complicated men is devastating in its beauty and power. Lifetimes of emotions clash and when you see their final scene together in Springsteen Deliver Me from Nowhere, I dare you not to cry. A Father and a son unable to say the things they’ve always wanted to say coming out instead as tears.

Jeremy Allen White Delivers a Career-Defining Performance

Jeremy Allen White doesn’t look exactly like Bruce Springsteen — and that’s the point. His performance transcends imitation. What he captures instead is the essence of The Boss: the haunted eyes, the internal struggle, the yearning to express something too painful for words.

White’s performance feels lived-in, exhausted, and electric all at once. You can feel the tension in his shoulders and hear the weight of the songs in his silences. When he strums through “Atlantic City” or “Highway Patrolman,” it’s less an act of recreation and more a spiritual channeling.

A Film Worthy of the Album

Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere achieves what few music biopics do — it matches the soul of its subject. Scott Cooper’s subdued, naturalistic direction mirrors the stark black-and-white poetry of Nebraska. The film is quiet, mournful, and deeply moving, avoiding Hollywood gloss in favor of honesty.

Like the album itself, this film is not about fame, but about isolation and redemption. It’s about a man confronting himself before he can face the world.

By the end, Deliver Me from Nowhere feels less like a biopic and more like an elegy — not just for a record, but for a version of Bruce Springsteen that had to die so the rest of his legend could live.

One of the best films of 2025 — and one of the most human.

Good Boy (2025) Review: A Bold and Original Dog’s-Eye Horror Story

Good Boy

Directed by: Ben Leonberg

Written by: Alex Cannon, Ben Leonberg

Starring: Indy the Dog, Shane Jensen

Release Date: October 3, 2025

Good Boy (2025), directed by Ben Leonberg, is a chilling and original horror film told entirely from a dog’s perspective. Starring Indy the retriever, this daring experiment blends loyalty, fear, and supernatural terror into one unforgettable story.



A Fresh Take in a World of Recycled Horror

Hollywood has long been plagued by remakes, reboots, and derivative sequels. Truly original films are rare, which is why Good Boy deserves celebration. Director Ben Leonberg has crafted something audacious: a horror movie seen entirely through the eyes of a dog.

The film follows Indy, a loyal retriever, as he tries to protect his owner Todd (Shane Jensen) from an unseen supernatural force. By anchoring the story in Indy’s perspective, Good Boy achieves a blend of innocence, loyalty, and primal fear that feels entirely fresh within the horror genre.

The Story: Loyalty Meets Supernatural Terror

The film wastes no time in setting the stakes. Todd has been bleeding in his sleep, a disturbing problem that his loyal dog notices before he does. Indy refuses to leave Todd’s side, nudging him awake and showing a protective instinct that sets the tone for the entire movie.

Exposition comes sparingly. A phone call from Todd’s sister suggests deeper issues—possibly illness or addiction—that complicate his situation. Soon after, Todd takes Indy to a secluded family cabin, a location steeped in ominous history. It was here that Todd’s grandfather died alone with only his own dog for company, a haunting parallel to Todd’s current plight.

As Indy explores the cabin, he begins to sense and even “see” things Todd cannot: eerie sounds, phantom barking, and the suggestion of the grandfather’s loyal dog still lingering in the shadows. The basement, in particular, provides one of the film’s most unsettling sequences, where Indy’s bravery clashes with his instinctive fear.

Why the Dog’s Perspective Works

At its core, Good Boy relies on the bond between humans and dogs. Leonberg and co-writer Alex Cannon understand the emotional shorthand that comes with seeing through Indy’s eyes. We project loyalty, love, and courage onto him—not because Indy understands these concepts, but because we believe he does.

Indy doesn’t “act” in the traditional sense; he simply behaves like a dog. His warm eyes, curious movements, and unshakable presence allow the audience to fill in the emotional gaps. This makes him the perfect vessel for our fears and hopes, especially when the supernatural threat emerges.

The result is an intimate, emotional horror experience. We don’t want Indy to be hurt, and we don’t want him to lose Todd. That fear is the engine of the film, and it works because nearly everyone has felt the unspoken bond between themselves and a pet.

Experimental but Accessible

Of course, Good Boy is not for everyone. The movie requires viewers to project human emotions—such as loyalty and love—onto Indy in order to fully engage. If you cannot make that leap, the experiment may feel too abstract.

But for those willing to embrace the concept, the film delivers a hauntingly effective story. It is both experimental in form and emotionally accessible, tapping into the universal love people have for their dogs. That’s what makes the scares so sharp and the emotional beats so resonant.

Final Thoughts: Man’s Best Friend Meets Fear

Good Boy is a rare thing: an original horror movie that succeeds on its own terms. Director Ben Leonberg dares to tell a story through the uncomprehending but deeply loyal eyes of a dog, and the gamble pays off.

Indy may not know he’s in a movie, but the audience knows they are watching something special. If you love dogs and are open to an inventive twist on horror, Good Boy is one of the most unique cinematic experiences of 2025.

Star Rating

⭐⭐⭐⭐ (4/5 stars)

Martyrs (2008): The Agony and Transcendence of Modern Suffering

Martyrs

Directed by: Pascal Laugier

Starring: Morjana Alaoui, Mylène Jampanoï

Release Date: September 3, 2008 (France)

Pascal Laugier’s Martyrs is more than a brutal horror film — it’s a haunting meditation on pain, transcendence, and modern despair. Part of Reelscope’s 31 Days of Horror series.




The Apology and the Provocation

French director Pascal Laugier opens the DVD presentation of Martyrs with an apology — a nervous, self-deprecating preamble for what he’s about to unleash. It’s an oddly endearing gesture, though unnecessary. Laugier has nothing to apologize for.

Despite my usual distaste for what’s lazily labeled “torture porn,” Martyrsstruck me as something far more ambitious. Beneath its harrowing violence lies a searching meditation on pain, purpose, and transcendence — the rare horror film that hurts because it’s trying to mean something.

A Shocking Beginning

The film begins with Lucie (Mylène Jampanoï), a young girl fleeing a warehouse of unimaginable abuse. Rescued and placed in an orphanage, she befriends Anna (Morjana Alaoui), a gentle and empathetic soul. But Lucie is haunted by something only she can see — a creature of guilt and trauma that drives her to self-harm.

Fifteen years later, in a bright suburban kitchen, a family shares breakfast. It’s the kind of domestic normalcy you could find in any French cul-de-sac — until a knock at the door, and a shotgun blast, shatters it. Lucie has come for revenge.

The carnage that follows is not gratuitous — it’s precise, deliberate, and unsettlingly final. Laugier upends every expectation of what this story might become. The suburban horror setup collapses into something stranger and deeper.

The True Horror Behind the Walls

(Spoilers below — stop here if you haven’t seen Martyrs.)

The murdered family wasn’t innocent. They were Lucie’s torturers — part of a secret organization devoted to discovering what lies beyond death. Their victims, all young women, are systematically tortured toward “martyrdom,” in the hope that their suffering will peel back the veil between life and eternity.

Lucie’s suicide leaves Anna to uncover this horror. Soon, she too becomes the organization’s next experiment — enduring daily cycles of feeding, beating, and dehumanization, all in the name of enlightenment.

Suffering as a Mirror

What unfolds is almost unbearably cruel — but also weirdly meditative. Anna’s endless torment plays like a grim metaphor for life itself: the repetitive grind, the indignities, the soul-sucking pain of persistence.

Laugier’s film dares to ask: what if meaning comes through pain, not after it? What if transcendence demands total surrender of the body and ego?

It’s not a literal comparison — working a miserable job is not the same as being tortured — but Martyrs externalizes the psychic punishment that many people feel trapped in. The endless cycle of survival, guilt, and perseverance becomes, in Anna’s story, a grotesque path to self-actualization.

Transcendence and the Face of God

When Anna finally “ascends,” her skin flayed, her face still intact, she achieves something paradoxically peaceful. She has transcended her suffering — or perhaps seen the truth beyond it.

It’s one of horror cinema’s most disturbing and unforgettable images. And then, Laugier delivers one final, quiet death — a moment that reframes everything we’ve seen as both terrifying and strangely hopeful.

The Horror of Meaning Itself

Martyrs is impeccably crafted. Laugier’s camera is restrained and clean, his pacing methodical. The violence isn’t chaotic — it’s ritualistic, built to wear us down until empathy and revulsion become inseparable.

By the end, the film achieves a rare alchemy: horror not just as fear, but as reflection. Laugier forces us to stare at pain — not to revel in it, but to recognize the echo of our own exhaustion within it.

When Anna looks beyond the veil, she might not see God. Maybe she sees us — the living, endlessly enduring, still searching for meaning in our daily suffering.

Final Verdict: 4.5 out of 5

Pascal Laugier’s Martyrs is brutal, profound, and unforgettable — a film about pain that somehow finds grace in its wake.


Minority Report (2002): Steven Spielberg’s Chilling Vision of the Future We Almost Built

Minority Report (2002)

Directed by: Steven Spielberg

Written by: Scott Frank, Jon Cohen

Starring: Tom Cruise, Colin Farrell, Samantha Morton, Max von Sydow

Release Date: June 21, 2002

Steven Spielberg’s Minority Report blends futuristic tech with moral dilemmas that feel alarmingly real. Tom Cruise stars in this thrilling, cerebral vision of justice gone too far.




Sci-Fi Week at Reelscope

Welcome to Sci-Fi Week at Medium.com/Reelscope — a celebration of futuristic cinema and the ideas that shape tomorrow’s stories. This Friday, don’t miss our deep-dive review of Tron: Ares, the long-awaited continuation of Disney’s neon digital odyssey.

The Rare Sci-Fi Film That Actually Thinks

A large number of movies shoved into the science fiction genre are really just horror stories dressed up with shiny tech. The “science” is often thin, the vision of the future hopeless, and the audience blamed for destroying it.

Minority Report is different. Steven Spielberg’s 2002 thriller doesn’t just look futuristic — it feels intellectually alive. The film has a brain, a point, and a pulse. It’s both entertaining and philosophically rich, grounded in the tension between technology’s promise and its moral cost.

The Premise: Predicting Murder Before It Happens

Tom Cruise stars as John Anderton, the head enforcer of Washington D.C.’s Precrime Division — a system designed to stop murders before they occur. Using a trio of genetically engineered humans known as Precogs, the department visualizes crimes in advance, arresting would-be killers before they act.

For six years, D.C. has been murder-free. Anderton believes the system is perfect — until the Precogs predict his future crime: a murder he hasn’t committed, against a man he’s never met.

This setup launches a tense manhunt, as Anderton goes on the run from his own department while trying to uncover whether the technology he helped perfect has been compromised — or if he’s lost his mind.

Chases, Stunts, and a Tangible Future

Spielberg doesn’t rely solely on CGI spectacle. Instead, he builds a world that feels tactile — a believable near-future achieved through a seamless blend of real sets, stunts, and effects.

Cinematographer Janusz Kaminski floods the screen with a cold, washed-out glow, giving the movie its distinct, surveillance-heavy texture. The result: a film that looks like a memory being erased as you watch it.

Colin Farrell is terrific as the skeptical government investigator whose pragmatism grounds the story, while Samantha Morton’s haunting performance as a Precog adds a layer of tragic humanity to the film’s sterile tech environment.

Technology as Morality

Legendary science fiction author Isaac Asimov once said the best sci-fi is “a logical extension of existing technology.” Minority Report fits that definition perfectly. It’s not prophetic — but it’s frighteningly plausible.

Touchscreen interfaces, gesture-based computers, iris scanners, personalized ads — all were science fiction in 2002, and all have since become part of everyday life. The film’s technology feels “just around the corner,” a vision that eerily anticipates our own surveillance-driven reality.

And then there’s the ethical question: if you could prevent a crime before it happens, should you? At what point does safety become tyranny? Spielberg and screenwriter Scott Frank never give us an easy answer, and that’s what keeps the film relevant more than two decades later.

Spielberg, Cruise, and the Power of Vision

While Minority Report is adapted loosely from a Philip K. Dick short story, Spielberg reshapes it into something uniquely cinematic. This is science fiction as moral inquiry, delivered through breathtaking action and deeply human emotion.

Cruise’s performance is both desperate and driven — a man trying to reclaim control in a world where free will may no longer exist. It’s one of his best, a rare case where his physical intensity mirrors existential fear.

Final Thoughts: The Future Is Now

Minority Report remains one of the most intelligent and exciting sci-fi films of the 21st century. It’s not just about predicting crime — it’s about predicting us.

As part of Reelscope’s Sci-Fi Week, this film reminds us that science fiction isn’t about the gadgets — it’s about what those gadgets reveal about humanity.

And if Spielberg’s vision of predictive policing feels unnervingly close to reality, it’s because the future isn’t waiting. It’s already here.

31 Days of Horror: Let Me In (2010) — Innocence, Violence, and the Terror of Being Seen

Let Me In (2010)

Directed by: Matt Reeves

Written by: Matt Reeves

Starring: Kodi Smit-McPhee, Chloë Grace Moretz, Elias Koteas, Richard Jenkins

Release Date: October 1, 2010

Matt Reeves’ Let Me In (2010) reimagines Let the Right One In with haunting precision — a gothic tale of loneliness, love, and the violence required to survive.



As I watched the American reimagining of the Swedish vampire masterpiece Let the Right One In, retitled Let Me In, in the theater 15 years ago, a pair of troglodytic morons giggled in the theater at moments that should have broken their hearts. They giggled when Chloë Grace Moretz’s twelve-year-old vampire leapt upon her prey. They giggled when her weary caretaker, played by Richard Jenkins, committed murder to feed her hunger. Most disturbingly, they giggled during a scene of innocence and affection — a rare moment of human connection in a story about monsters.

Director Matt Reeves (Cloverfield) approaches this stark Swedish story with reverence and sorrow. Let Me In is a vampire film about loneliness — one that replaces the thrill of the hunt with the ache of being seen and accepted. Its young stars, Chloë Grace Moretz and Kodi Smit-McPhee, lure you in with their innocence and devastate you with their empathy and quiet ferocity.

The Boy Who Watches and the Girl Who Can’t Grow Up

Kodi Smit-McPhee plays Owen, a bullied and isolated boy living with his alcoholic mother in a lonely Los Alamos apartment complex. His days are filled with humiliation at school and empty silences at home. He steals money to buy candy — Now & Laters — and dreams of revenge.

Then, one cold night, a strange barefoot girl named Abby (Moretz) moves in next door. She tells Owen they can’t be friends, yet soon they’re talking through the walls that divide their apartments. She never appears during the day. She walks through snow without shoes. The man Owen assumes is her father (Richard Jenkins) keeps nocturnal habits and carries an aura of dread.

The truth is clear to us long before it is to Owen: Abby is a vampire. But she’s also a child, trapped in an endless cycle of dependence and death.

Their friendship — tender, awkward, pure — blooms in the cold, each finding in the other what life has denied them: compassion.

A Remake Done Right

Remakes are often unnecessary. But Matt Reeves avoids the usual pitfalls by grounding Let Me In in atmosphere, casting, and emotional honesty.

Chloë Grace Moretz and Kodi Smit-McPhee bring something both familiar and fresh to their roles. Their chemistry is remarkable — a mix of trust, fear, and curiosity that elevates every quiet exchange. They convey the aching awareness of children forced to grow up too soon, yet still yearning for connection.

Supporting them are two understated yet vital performances: Richard Jenkins as Abby’s desperate caretaker, and Elias Koteas as a detective who slowly uncovers the grisly truth. Koteas, calm and mournful, becomes the film’s conscience — a presence that grounds the horror in something heartbreakingly human.

Beauty in the Bleakness

Let Me In is stunningly violent at times and almost meditative at others. Reeves’s direction captures the haunting quiet of snow and shadow, the warmth of flickering lamps, and the sudden terror of blood.

The violence lands harder because it’s surrounded by moments of stillness — stolen glances, whispered conversations, a shared smile through a window. Reeves reminds us that horror works best when it’s built from empathy.

Those two giggling theatergoers were wrong 15 years ago and they are still wrong today. Let Me In deserves a serious audience, one willing to look past the blood and see the tenderness underneath. For those who do, the film rewards them with one of the most hauntingly beautiful and emotionally rich horror stories of the 21st century.

De-Lovely (2004) — Kevin Kline’s Remarkable Role as Cole Porter

De-Lovely

Directed by: Irwin Winkler

Written by: Jay Cocks

Starring: Kevin Kline, Ashley Judd, Jonathan Pryce

Release Date: July 2, 2004

⭐️⭐️⭐️ (3 out of 5 stars)

Kevin Kline and Ashley Judd shine in De-Lovely, Irwin Winkler’s uneven but heartfelt Cole Porter biopic. A flawed yet elegant musical portrait of love, creativity, and regret.


A Complicated Collaboration Reunited

When director Irwin Winkler and actor Kevin Kline last worked together on Life as a House, the result was an overwrought melodrama that didn’t do either of them favors. So when news broke that they were reuniting for De-Lovely, I wasn’t exactly excited. Winkler’s previous outings — The NetAt First Sight — hardly inspired confidence, and Kline’s recent career, as of 2003, had seemed adrift.

That’s part of what made his performance in De-Lovely so remarkable. Even as Winkler turns in a compromised and uneven musical, Kline glides through the film with wit, poise, and emotional precision, reminding audiences why he’s long been one of Hollywood’s most admired actors.

A Life Told Like a Broadway Show

De-Lovely tells the story of Cole Porter, one of the 20th century’s greatest songwriters. Kline portrays Porter from his youth to his final days, while Ashley Judd plays his wife and creative muse, Linda Lee Porter.

The story unfolds through a clever, if clumsy, device: Porter is guided through his own life by an angel named Gabe (Jonathan Pryce), who stages Cole’s memories like a Broadway production. The idea sounds imaginative — a meta-theatrical reflection of Porter’s own showmanship — but in practice, the conceit never fully gels.

Love, Music, and the Cost of Compromise

Cole meets Linda in Paris, where she helps reignite his creativity after early Broadway setbacks. Their marriage, however, is not built on traditional romance. Porter’s homosexuality was one of Hollywood’s worst-kept secrets, and De-Lovely only grazes the surface of how this shaped their unusual but deeply affectionate relationship.

The film moves through Paris, Milan, New York, and finally Hollywood, where Porter’s sophisticated wit often clashed with studio expectations. In one of the film’s best scenes, the cast bursts into “Be a Clown,” illustrating how Porter learned to embrace the contradictions of commercial art.

But for every inspired moment, another subplot gets lost — a brief blackmail story, emotional conflicts, and Porter’s inner turmoil are all introduced, then dropped in favor of celebrity-studded musical numbers.

Pop Stars Meet Porter’s Classics

One of De-Lovely’s biggest gambles is its use of modern pop stars to perform Cole Porter’s timeless songs. Alanis Morissette (“Let’s Do It, Let’s Fall in Love”)Sheryl Crow (“Begin the Beguine”)Elvis Costello (“Let’s Misbehave”), and Robbie Williams (“De-Lovely”) all take the stage.

While these performances are well-intentioned, they underscore a key problem: pop singers and Broadway standards don’t always mix. Their modern phrasing clashes with Porter’s theatrical rhythm. By contrast, Caroline O’Connor (“Anything Goes”) and John Barrowman (“Night and Day”) deliver powerhouse renditions that capture the spirit and precision of Porter’s world.

The casting of pop stars feels like a commercial decision — designed to sell soundtracks more than to serve the story — and it shows.

The Pain Beneath the Perfection

The emotional center of De-Lovely comes after Porter’s devastating horse-riding accident, which crushed his legs. Despite constant pain and surgeries, he continued composing, thanks largely to Linda’s steadfast devotion.

Ashley Judd gives one of her most radiant performances, communicating love, frustration, and heartbreak through pure presence. Kline, meanwhile, channels both Porter’s elegance and melancholy. His Cole is charming, brilliant, and profoundly sad — a man who could express love only through lyrics, never quite able to return the affection he inspired.

Beauty in the Imperfection

De-Lovely suffers from an uneven script and a confused tone — unsure whether it wants to be a surreal musical or a straightforward biopic. Yet the performances by Kline and Judd elevate the film beyond its flaws. Their chemistry gives life to what might otherwise be a hollow tribute.

When you strip away the flashy cameos and showy structure, what remains is a touching portrait of love, pain, and artistry. The film may not be as “de-lovely” as it wants to be, but it is deeply human.

Final Verdict

Despite its clunky direction and distracting gimmicks, De-Lovely stands as a showcase for Kevin Kline’s brilliance and Ashley Judd’s emotional depth. The movie doesn’t always sing, but when it does, it finds a kind of bittersweet harmony that honors Cole Porter’s spirit.

⭐️⭐️⭐️ (3 out of 5 stars)

Relay (2025) Review: Riz Ahmed and Lily James Can’t Save This Thriller Snoozefest

Relay  Directed by: David Mackenzie Written by: Justin Piasecki Starring: Riz Ahmed, Lily James Release Date: August 22, 2025 Rating: ★☆☆☆☆...