With Netflix’s faithful film version of “Springsteen on Broadway,” there’s no need to re-review the show itself. What my colleague Jesse Green wrote when it opened in October 2017 still stands: “As portraits of artists go, there may never have been anything as real — and beautiful — on Broadway.”
Bruce Springsteen’s solo monologue-plus-concert was sold out far in advance during its entire run, with an average face-value ticket price of around $500. For the last performance (on Saturday, the day before Netflix is releasing the film), resale tickets are currently running from $3,000 to well over $40,000 each. Making the show available for the cost of a streaming subscription is an unqualified boon, a greater contribution to the public good than our civic institutions seem capable of at the moment.
Admittedly, the feeling of being in the audience at the Walter Kerr Theater, sharing the distinct but equally electric currents of an unplugged rock show, a cadenced sermon and a shrewdly theatrical entertainment, can’t be replicated. The live experience is inimitable, and the post-show emotional high as you walk out of the theater probably can’t be duplicated, either.
But the film, directed by Thom Zimny and shot by Joe DeSalvo at two private performances this year, has its own compensations. “Springsteen on Broadway” has sold out on the strength of its star’s connection with his huge fan base, and the opportunity to see him do a clutch of his best-known songs in a relatively small setting. But the show’s revelation — and the reason it actually worked so well — was his ability to take the stagecraft he’d honed in rock clubs and arenas and transfer it so effortlessly to the theater.
It’s a master class in pacing, dynamics, modulation of volume and tone, and the film brings you right up onstage with Springsteen, giving you a more intimate view of his technique — understated, seemingly casual but absolutely controlled — than you could get in the theater. Each expression, gesture, artful hesitation and sly punch line is zeroed in on, framed for our appreciation.
Zimny, who served as his own editor, presents the show unadorned, almost entirely without directorial intervention — it’s just Springsteen onstage, joined for two songs by his wife and fellow E Street Band member, Patti Scialfa. The one noticeable strategy Zimny employs has to do with the audience, which is unseen during the first half of the film, when Springsteen delivers a series of vignettes about his childhood and his beginnings as a musician. Zimny films these highly personal anecdotes, and their accompanying songs, in close-ups and medium shots that don’t stray beyond the stage.
In the show’s second half, as Springsteen’s text opens up (and loses some of its poetic intensity) to encompass themes like fatherhood, relationships and the current political moment, Zimny gradually opens up, too, showing us hints of the audience members. They finally appear in full during the rousing closing performance of “Born to Run,” and the film ends on a note of community, with the Boss reaching across the lights to shake hands with his fans.
Bruce Springsteen’s solo monologue-plus-concert was sold out far in advance during its entire run, with an average face-value ticket price of around $500. For the last performance (on Saturday, the day before Netflix is releasing the film), resale tickets are currently running from $3,000 to well over $40,000 each. Making the show available for the cost of a streaming subscription is an unqualified boon, a greater contribution to the public good than our civic institutions seem capable of at the moment.
Admittedly, the feeling of being in the audience at the Walter Kerr Theater, sharing the distinct but equally electric currents of an unplugged rock show, a cadenced sermon and a shrewdly theatrical entertainment, can’t be replicated. The live experience is inimitable, and the post-show emotional high as you walk out of the theater probably can’t be duplicated, either.But the film, directed by Thom Zimny and shot by Joe DeSalvo at two private performances this year, has its own compensations. “Springsteen on Broadway” has sold out on the strength of its star’s connection with his huge fan base, and the opportunity to see him do a clutch of his best-known songs in a relatively small setting. But the show’s revelation — and the reason it actually worked so well — was his ability to take the stagecraft he’d honed in rock clubs and arenas and transfer it so effortlessly to the theater.
It’s a master class in pacing, dynamics, modulation of volume and tone, and the film brings you right up onstage with Springsteen, giving you a more intimate view of his technique — understated, seemingly casual but absolutely controlled — than you could get in the theater. Each expression, gesture, artful hesitation and sly punch line is zeroed in on, framed for our appreciation.
Zimny, who served as his own editor, presents the show unadorned, almost entirely without directorial intervention — it’s just Springsteen onstage, joined for two songs by his wife and fellow E Street Band member, Patti Scialfa. The one noticeable strategy Zimny employs has to do with the audience, which is unseen during the first half of the film, when Springsteen delivers a series of vignettes about his childhood and his beginnings as a musician. Zimny films these highly personal anecdotes, and their accompanying songs, in close-ups and medium shots that don’t stray beyond the stage.
In the show’s second half, as Springsteen’s text opens up (and loses some of its poetic intensity) to encompass themes like fatherhood, relationships and the current political moment, Zimny gradually opens up, too, showing us hints of the audience members. They finally appear in full during the rousing closing performance of “Born to Run,” and the film ends on a note of community, with the Boss reaching across the lights to shake hands with his fans.
by Mike Hale, NY Times | Read more:
Image: Kevin Mazur/Netflix
