Curatorial Corner – Deliver Me from Unnecessary Fact-Checking

The October 24 release of the major motion picture Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere—about the making of Bruce Springsteen’s 1982 album Nebraska—has sparked a media blitz. From feature spreads in Rolling Stone and Variety to in-depth television interviews and social media campaigns, the film’s rollout has emphasized both the raw, introspective artistry that defined Nebraska and Bruce’s struggles with his personal demons. We’re all witnessing not just a promotional campaign, but a full-fledged cultural conversation about trauma, authenticity, isolation, and healing. It’s a conversation that is more timely than ever, given that the Centers for Disease Control (CDC) reports America is in the midst of a mental health crisis. 

I initially didn’t intend to blog about the film, an adaptation of Warren Zanes’s acclaimed book (see my July 2024 conversation with Warren about it here). What could I possibly add to the already very robust conversations surrounding the film’s release? 

But then, as people started seeing advance screenings of the film, I started seeing the (I suppose inevitable) comments online about historical inaccuracies in the film, real and perceived.  Fans’ attention to detail comes from a place of deep love and investment—and that’s something I completely understand. But I’m here—working as part of the team running the Bruce Springsteen Archives, mind you—wading in and encouraging even the most ardent Springsteen fans to embrace the concept of suspension of disbelief. This, of course, refers to an audience’s willingness to accept elements of a story as plausible—even when they know those elements might be fictional or exaggerated—in order to fully engage with the narrative. In the context of historical adaptations of real events, this means viewers consciously set aside their awareness that certain details, dialogue, or timelines may be altered for dramatic effect. 

Film makers often condense complex histories, merge characters, or heighten emotional moments to create a compelling story that fits the medium of film. When audiences practice suspension of disbelief, they agree to prioritize the emotional or thematic truth of the story over strict factual accuracy. The challenge for historical adaptations lies in striking a balance—staying faithful enough to the real events to maintain credibility, while exercising creative license to evoke a deeper understanding of the human experience behind history.

So, ok: Jeremy Allen White is not necessarily Bruce’s doppelganger. Love interest Faye is a composite character. Maybe guitar tech Mike Batlan’s weight isn’t portrayed just right and maybe producer Chuck Plotkin’s beard should have been a little thicker, I really can’t say (that last one genuinely made me chuckle). I won’t repeat any more of the debates being had online here because I don’t want to spoil the movie for anyone. But the filmmakers paid painstaking attention to detail overall (to include visiting the Archives), and, anyway, the minutia is not the point. 

The point is: even global superstars struggle. Rather than romanticizing suffering, the film emphasizes the importance of acknowledging and articulating pain, and seeking help when needed. It shows how Springsteen used songwriting as a form of self-therapy, confronting his fears and familial trauma through music instead of repressing them. He then goes a step further and seeks professional help as well. Because even the most successful and admired individuals are not immune to internal darkness. 

As Jeremy recently noted in an interview, “I think…Bruce making that decision in his life, then, in the time of the film making, was very brave. I think Bruce giving us permission to tell this story, in general, was very brave. And I think, especially for young people…just seeing how brave he was…in reaching out for help, and ultimately accepting help…I hope people see this and feel less alone, and feel like, if they do need to reach out, or even seek professional help, that that is something that is available to them and they won’t be judged.”

This message feels especially urgent in light of the data. Approximately one in five U.S. adults (23.1%) have struggled with a mental illness in the past year, according to the National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH). This equates to over 59 million people. Another 46% of Americans will meet the criteria for a diagnosable mental health condition at some point in their lives.  In highlighting these tough issues, Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere becomes more than a biopic. It becomes a meditation on vulnerability and resilience. It challenges readers to consider that creative expression can be both a mirror of one’s inner turmoil and a path toward healing—and that the path toward healing might need to include professional help. There’s no shame in that for Bruce, or for any of us. That’s a beautiful lesson and far more important than any nitpicking over Jeremy’s finger placement on the guitar. 

History—whether in a book, the classroom, a museum, or on the big screen—is at its best when it’s helping us make sense of the world we live in today. Deliver Me from Nowhere does just that. 

Melissa Ziobro
Director of Curatorial Affairs
Bruce Springsteen Archives & Center for American Music
Monmouth University
October 13, 2025