Paul Walter Hauser

Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere

29/10/25

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Many people who, like me, purchased Bruce Springsteen’s Nebraska on its release in 1982, must have experienced the same bewilderment as I did. How had the Boss gone from the stirring, upbeat anthems of Thunder Road and Hungry Heart to this bleak, introspective slice of Americana? And, perhaps more importantly, why? Okay, after a few listens, a couple of those ballads did eventually get their hooks into me but, as a career move, it seemed a spectacularly ill-judged decision.

Scott Cooper’s film, based on Warren Zane’s book, sets out to explain exactly what happened and, in choosing to concentrate on that difficult album, runs the risk of alienating itself from those fans who were anticipating an upbeat celebration of the great musician’s life and work (much like the record itself). True, when we first see Bruce (Jeremy Allen White) onscreen, he’s powering through a blistering performance of Born to Run. Coming off stage, he’s informed by his manager and close friend, Jon Landau (Jeremy Strong), that, with his latest album (The River) at number one in the charts, he is standing on the edge of superstardom.

But in the following break from touring, Bruce appears to be heading into a depression. He happens to catch a glimpse of Terence Malik’s 1973 film, Badlands, on TV, featuring newcomers Martin Sheen and Sissy Spacek – and in that moment a spark is ignited. Pretty soon, he’s reading up on Charles Starkweather and the killing spree he and his teenage girlfriend, Caril Anne Fugate, embarked on back in 1958. Bruce starts to write the lyrics of what will become Nebraska’s title track.

He’s driven by powerful memories of his own childhood, the issues he experienced with his abusive father, Douglas, played in flashback by Stephen Graham, who gives a brooding, mostly silent performance opposite an intense turn from Matthew Antony Pelicano Jnr as Young Bruce. Something that happened between father and son in those formative years is clearly behind Bruce’s current malaise.

Back in the present, he enlists the help of recording technician Mike Batlan (Paul Walter Hauser) to capture the new songs as they emerge on a simple 4-track deck at home. But, as his obsession with the new project steadily grows – and his record label continually pester him for new product – so he becomes increasingly determined that the resulting album must be as stripped-back as the songs on the ‘demo’ cassette he’s already recorded…

Deliver Me from Nowhere is essentially about a kind of exorcism, an artist’s attempt to cleanse himself of the emotional baggage he’s carried around since childhood. While the story offers an interesting angle on a lesser-known aspect of Springsteen’s career, it’s not the kind of material that biopics are traditionally built upon. Several viewers at the screening I attend decide to vote with their feet around an hour in. While I’m engaged enough to stay in my seat till the closing credits, I have to admit that overall the film is a mixture of the good, the bad and the downright puzzling.

Jeremy Allen White, it must be said, doesn’t look an awful lot like Springsteen, but still manages to portray the man with absolute conviction and, perhaps more importantly, he captures the Boss’s distinctive voice with evident skill. Strong is an exceptional performer and makes the softly-spoken, nurturing approach of Landau interesting to observe. The man clearly had the patience of a saint.

But the female performers are less well-served. Gaby Hoffman, as Bruce’s mum, Adele, and Grace Gummer as Landau’s wife, Barbara, are granted barely enough dialogue to justify their presence. Elsewhere, we witness Bruce’s on-off romance with waitress Faye Romano (Odessa Young), a fictional character who is a composite of several girlfriends he had around this time. Young does her best with what’s she given which is, to be honest, nowhere near enough.

There’s a frankly exasperating moment where Bruce is finally about to unburden himself to a psychiatrist, to explain exactly what’s been haunting him all these years… only for the camera to suddenly cut away, leaving the audience literally in the dark. On the plus side, there are a couple of upbeat scenes set in New Jersey club, The Stone Pony, that celebrate the energy and excitement of the early 80s rock scene. And a recreation of the original recording session for the song Born in the USA, is a definite high point.

But too often, Deliver Me From Nowhere struggles to justify its considerable running time. Hardcore Springsteen fans will find enough elements here to pique their interest but those with only a passing knowledge of the man and his work may soon start running out of patience.

3.4 stars

Philip Caveney

The Naked Gun

01/08/25

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Yes, I know, it’s Fringe 2025 and I appreciate that in August that generally takes precedence over movies – but damn it, this is the reboot of The Naked Gun, which I’ve been eagerly awaiting since they released the trailer several months ago. 

For those of you who weren’t around for the original way back in 1988, some back story may be appropriate.

Inspired by the TV series, Police Squad, The Naked Gun starred Leslie Neilsen as Detective Frank Drebin, a useless cop with a predilection for landing himself in the worst kind of trouble possible.The first film, directed by David Zucker (who also gave the world Airplane!), was a palpable hit and two decent sequels followed (in 1991 and 1994 respectively). The films also gave Neilsen’s co-star Priscilla Presley an opportunity to shine – and sharp-eyed viewers may spot her in a brief cameo here. The trilogy were outrageous spoofs of the hardboiled detective genre and Nielsen’s approach was to act the central role with the kind of gravitas an actor might apply to Hamlet, completely oblivious to the madness exploding all around him. It was an approach that created comedy gold.

This reboot, directed by Akiva Schaffer, centres around Drebin’s son (played by Liam Neeson, who seems an intelligent choice for the part). He’s clearly a chip off the old block, though – unlike his dad -Frank Junior has the combative skills of a Ninja warrior, as is proved in the opening scene in which, initially disguised as a schoolgirl, he single-handedly takes on a gang of vicious bank robbers and beats the crap out of them. (This isn’t a spoiler: anyone who has seen the trailer will know this, as it pretty much shows the entire sequence.)

For the most part, Neeson adopts his predecessor’s approach, ignoring the general chaos and his own stupidity in his single-minded approach to getting the job done by any means possible. Presley’s role is taken by Pamela Anderson, as novelist Beth Davenport, a woman with her own personal axe to grind. (Anderson actually auditioned for the original film back in the day so it’s nice to see her finally getting to grips with the part.) Paul Walter Hauser plays Frank Jnr’s sidekick, Ed Hocken Jnr.

Their adversary this time out is the oleaginous Richard Cane (Danny Huston), a tech-billionaire who has built his massive fortune on a range of electric automobiles – hmm, I wonder where they got that idea from? It’s revealed early on that Cane has come up with an evil – and quite frankly loopy –  plan to achieve world domination….

The plot is, as you might expect, utter nonsense, a thinly-veiled excuse to link together a seemingly endless stream of slapstick routines and dumb one-liners, which is pretty much the object of the exercise. Okay, so if I’m being scrupulously honest, The Naked Gun 2025 rarely rises to the inspired heights of its progenitor, but much of that might be that the world has changed irrevocably since the 1980s and the audience’s appetite for this kind of rampant stupidity has inevitably waned. There are attempts here to incorporate new elements into the proceedings – a fantasy sequence set during a skiing weekend and featuring a magical snowman seems to have wandered in  from a different genre entirely, but it still manages to make me laugh.

Neeson and Anderson provide the heart of this film and, if recent rumours are to be believed – that the pair of them genuinely have become a couple – well, that’s nice to hear. Whether this film can make a big enough dent on the box office to justify a sequel remains to be seen. But, overall, I enjoy it and I suspect there are plenty of others out there who will feel the same.

Oh, and those of you who are prepared to sit through the lengthy credits till the very end will be rewarded with… ah no, you’ll have to see for yourselves.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Inside Out 2

16/06/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh

In 2015, Inside Out was a deserved hit for Pixar Animation, a clever and sophisticated story about the antics of the various emotions that dwell within a human being, helping them – and, for much of the time, hindering them. We awarded the film 5 stars and wondered if its creators would deem it worthy of a sequel. Nine years later, here it is and, while it might not be quite as perfect as its innovative predecessor, it’s nonetheless beautifully executed and full of glorious invention.

Riley (voiced by Kensington Tallman) is now thirteen years old, a promising ice hockey player who makes up a formidable sporting trio with her best friends, Grace (Grace Lu) and Bree (Sumayyah Nuriddin-Green.) Meanwhile, the inner team that maintains Riley’s everyday existence is being ably supervised by Joy (Amy Poehler), who manages to keep Fear (Tony Hale), Sadness (Phyllis Smith), Anger (Lewis Black) and Disgust (Liza Lapira) in check as Riley approaches adolescence.

But when she and her friends are invited to a weekend hockey camp by an influential coach, a puberty alarm goes off, and some new recruits promptly turn up to join the party. They are Anxiety (Maya Hawke), Envy (Ayo Edebiri), Ennui (Adèle Exarchopoulos) and Embarrassment (Paul Walter Hauser.) Suddenly, Riley isn’t the calm, capable creature she used to be; she’s a nervous wreck – and Joy and her team are going to have a heck of a job getting her through the weekend…

There’s enough progression here to make this worth the price of the ticket, and screenwriters Meg LeFauve and Dave Holstein have a lot of fun unleashing a whole torrent of problems for Joy and co. to deal with as best they can. We’re introduced to a bunch of eye-popping new locations, many of them built around puns. Ever tried drifting along the Stream of Memory whilst braving a Brainstorm? Here’s your opportunity.

As ever, the animation is bright and brash and beautifully detailed. Check out Grace’s chipped nail varnish for starters! I worried first time out that there might not be enough here to appeal to younger kids and this sequel seems even more intent on aiming for the teen market. The wee ones at the screening I attend seem to spend an awful lot of their time going back and forth for toilet breaks. Their parents on the other hand are doubtless having a field day playing ‘spot the movie reference’ and there’s enough inventive twists here to keep them on board. I love the repeated joke about sweet Grandmother figure, Nostalgia, who keeps making hopeful appearances only to be told to ‘come back in a few years.’ Clever. The ultimate message – of course there’s a message, there always is – manages to avoid being chock full of schmaltz and the ending is nicely handled.

Pixar have been in a bit of a slump in recent years, but despite that unadventurous title, Inside Out 2 puts them back where they belong, ahead of most of the Hollywood competition. Not sure there’s enough left to risk making this a trilogy, but we’ll see how that pans out. Meanwhile, the message remains the same. For best results, see it on a cinema screen!

4.5 stars

Philip Caveney

Richard Jewell

(L-r) NINA ARIANDA as Nadya Light and SAM ROCKWELL as Watson Bryant in Warner Bros. Pictures’ “RICHARD JEWELL,” a Warner Bros. Pictures release. Photo by Claire Folger/Warner Bros.

14/01/19

We’re only two weeks into the new year, yet we’re already on our third excoriating movie exposé of a corrupt American justice system. Appalled? Yes. Saddened? Yes. Surprised? Not so much. Not any more.

Richard Jewell is the story of a hapless security guard, the focus of an intense FBI and media investigation. His crime? Discovering a bomb and alerting the authorities. But lazy  stereotyping (‘he’s a bit of an oddball and he lives with his mom’) is enough to convince the forces-that-be that Jewell is the perpetrator, responsible for two deaths and more than a hundred injuries, despite a lack of any evidence whatsoever. And, once that suspicion is leaked to the press, Jewell loses control of his life.

Paul Walter Hauser gives us a convincing portrayal of a decent man driven almost to despair. He portrays Jewell as utterly sincere – a naïve, mild-natured, over-zealous employee, a stickler for the rules. His mother, Bobi (Kathy Bates), has always taught him to respect authority, and Jewell has absolute faith in law and order. He is devastated when it proves to be a phoney, a façade.

Sam Rockwell plays Watson Bryant, the real estate lawyer who comes to Jewell’s rescue (in real life, Bryant employed a team to help him; here – for the sake of a stronger storyline – he goes it alone). It’s a terrific performance, giving us a real sense of the man’s selfishness and impatience as well as his deep-rooted morality. Thank goodness for Bryant; I dread to think what might have happened to Jewell if he hadn’t once worked in the same building and earned the man’s respect. Without representation, who knows?

It’s so depressing. How can a so-called mature democracy have a justice system that is so blatantly unfair, where guilt or innocence is decided by how much money an individual has, or by the colour of their skin, or by how desperate the law enforcers are to meet their targets? And Eastwood’s film delivers this message well.

A shame, then, that the women’s roles are so reductive, and that real-life AJC news reporter Kathy Scruggs (Olivia Wilde) is depicted as having slept her way to success. It’s an evidence-free stereotype as offensive and pervasive as the one the movie exposes.

It’s not the film’s only fault. Billy Ray’s script is somewhat pedestrian – long-winded in places – and the cinematography a little murky but, nevertheless, taken in conjunction with Seberg and Just Mercy, this amounts to a searing condemnation of a broken institution.

3.5 stars

Susan Singfield

I, Tonya

18/02/18

Just when you think  the Oscar race can’t get any tighter, in swaggers I, Tonya, straight out of left field and hits you with a hefty sucker punch, right in the kisser. This noisy, brazen biopic is wonderfully enervating and it’s clear that its claim to be ‘the Good Fellas of figure skating’  isn’t so very wide of the mark. Indeed, the constant jumping from time-frame to time-frame, the fake interviews, the occasional deadpan remarks delivered straight to camera and, above all else, the wonderful classic rock soundtrack – all serve to remind you of Martin Scorcese’s finest movie. But it’s much more than just a pale imitation of that film. There’s so much to admire here, not least Margot Robbie’s incendiary performance in the title role.

Tonya Harding, it seems, had a fight on her hands from her earliest days. Knocked around by her hard-as-nails, chain-smoking momma, LaVona (Alison Janney, in brilliant Oscar-baiting form), beaten up by her ne’er-do-well husband, Jeff (Sebastian Stan), she manages to battle through, performing manoeuvres on the rink that no other skater has ever dared to try –  but her ‘wrong-side-of-the-tracks’ persona doesn’t stand her in good stead with the judges, who like to see a little more deportment doled out alongside the leaps, twirls and pirouettes.

Of course, we all know why she came to wider attention – through the notoriety of a vicious attack on her main rival, Nancy Kerrigan (Caitlin Carver), which left her hospitalised just as they were both preparing to skate in the Olympics. Despite being only tangentially involved in the incident – it was originally devised as a series of poison pen letters by Jeff and then pumped up out of all proportion by Tonya’s so-called ‘bodyguard,’ Shawn – Tonya ends up paying the highest price when Shawn decides to go a bit further with the plan and enlists the aid of some very dodgy people indeed. What follows is so bizarre, it can only be a true story…

Director Craig Gillespie handles the material with an edgy, almost experimental approach, throwing in slow-mo and jump cuts with glee – and the mesmerising skating sequences are so cleverly staged, you literally cannot see the joins. That appears to be Robbie on the screen, skating up a storm, but it can’t really be, can it? Like many other recent biopics, there’s a final sequence of interviews showing the real life protagonists, just so you can fully appreciate how close these characterisations keep to the originals, which is particularly surprising in the case of Paul Walter Hauser’s hilariously off-the-wall performance as the cartoonish Shawn. It’s an eye-opener.

Go and see this riotous, hard-hitting and occasionally hilarious film and enjoy what must qualify as one of the strangest sporting stories in recent history. And as for that rock soundtrack, if you can manage to sit in your seat without twitching and foot-tapping along in accompaniment, then you’re made of sterner stuff than me.

4.9 stars

Philip Caveney