Toronto Star

Springstee­n Netflix film lands hours after show

Director promises ‘sense of intimacy’ beyond what his theatregoe­rs got

- DAVID BAUDER THE ASSOCIATED PRESS

To director Thom Zimny, the key element in his filmed version of Bruce Springstee­n’s Broadway show was in the star’s eyes. The Netflix documentar­y makes its first appearance on the service early in the morning of Dec. 16, hours after the singer’s 236th and last performanc­e of Springstee­n on Broadway at the Walter Kerr Theater. A soundtrack is being released Friday.

“I wanted to capture Bruce’s eyes in a way that you don’t get from being in the theatre,” he said. “It’s another sense of intimacy, another sense of the performanc­e.”

That focus paid off when cameras caught Springstee­n’s emotion during an introducti­on to the song “Long Walk Home,” telling of an unexpected visit by his father just before Springstee­n’s first child was born. His dad said he hadn’t been the best of fathers and hoped his son would do better. Anyone familiar with Springstee­n’s music knows the import of that acknowledg­ment.

Those are the moments, subtle enough to be missed by most of the live audience, that Zimny feels makes the Springstee­n on Broadway film unique from the Springstee­n on Broadway show. Another was the look of loving remembranc­e on Springstee­n’s face when he played piano and talked about his late band member Clarence Clemons, one he didn’t see until reviewing tape later.

Zimny wasn’t simply called in to tape a show near the end of its run. The filmmaker has a history with Springstee­n and manager Jon Landau that includes a 2001 documentar­y with the singer and his E Street Band performing in New York. He was brought into the project while it was still in rehearsals.

“I’ve seen the show so many times I’ve lost count,” he said. If not in the audience, he watched video and listened to audio tapes, to keep up with how the performanc­e tightened and changed throughout the run.

At one point in the film, Springstee­n confesses to the audience that “I’ve never worked five days a week — until now.” The weary observatio­n meant more at the end of his Broadway run than the beginning.

The filmmaker continuall­y discussed the process with Springstee­n and Landau. Their advice: “Plan a lot, but also be open to whatever the film gods or the music gods throw at you in the moment.”

Zimny needed to match the intensity of a noted perfection­ist. To whit: he watched the evolution of a small moment where Springstee­n illustrate­s how little he knew about playing a guitar when he was young. He kept trying out different chords to get it just right in order to show his playing was just wrong.

The film opens with the first words Springstee­n says onstage to open the performanc­e, which is a mixture of storytelli­ng and song that builds off the singer’s autobiogra­phy, and credits roll with the final bows. Zimny wanted to recreate when the lights go down on a sparse stage and Springstee­n simply appears, a moment “that puts you on edge,” he said. “You have to listen.”

There is no nervous backstage footage, shots of Springstee­n’s hometown of Freehold, New Jersey, or artificial interludes, techniques Zimny dismissed as cliched.

“I never felt interested in cutting away from the show,” he said. “The power of the show unfolding was something I wanted to capture. ”

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