Some fans have all the luck. This coming-of-age comedy from Gurinder “Bend It Like Beckham” Chadha is the story of a British-Pakistani teen growing up in Luton in the late Eighties and his obsession with Bruce Springsteen, “The Boss”. In the epilogue, we see Sarfraz Manzoor, the journalist on whose memoir the film is b*ased, cuddling up to his hero in the present day.
Imagine that same finale if the icon concerned was, say, Morrissey. How to put this so that I don’t get a nasty letter from Mozzer’s lawyers? Those we dote on have the potential to let us down. Springsteen, though, is the gift who keeps on giving. You don’t need to love his music to be tickled by the movie, though making his lyrics central to the a*ction is a masterstroke. As in Asif Kapadia’s Amy, lines from famous songs explode onto the screen which allows us to scrutinise them. Upon closer inspection, Bruce’s words are impressive (such a strategy might not work as well with Duran Duran’s oeuvre). The plot, though it contains many strands, could hardly be simpler. When we first meet Javed (newcomer Viveik Kalra; winning), he’s a dutiful Muslim and a swot. Harassed by National Front thugs and affectionately patronised by his trendy best friend, Matt (Dean-Charles Chapman), he’s also invisible to girls.
At sixth-form college he befriends an “uncool” Springsteen fanatic, Roops (Aaron Phagura), and — boom! — his life changes. Soon Javed’s walls are covered with Springsteen posters. Bruce resembles Che Guevara crossed with Popeye. And though Javed is still as weedy as Olive Oyl, he starts wearing ripped shirts. Before long, he’s kissing the vivacious, wealthy, super-Left-wing Eliza (Nell Williams) and helping his sister go to a “daytimer” (a daytime rave for Asian schoolkids willing to do a bunk). Javed’s writing improves too. The more he absorbs songs such as Promised Land and Prove It All Night, the more his essays flow. “You have a gift!” yelps his charismatic teacher, Ms Clay (Hayley Atwell). On the downside, his father’s unemployment creates new pressures, as does the behaviour of Margaret Thatcher’s government (the film’s anti-Tory stance is gobsmackingly direct) and racist skinheads. Javed is born to run. Will his dreams be crushed? Fat chance. Haven’t you seen the posters declaring this the feelgood hit of the summer? Chadha’s approach is often crude. Everyone who likes Javed is good; everyone who dislikes him is bad. Especially at the beginning, he feels like Luton’s answer to Harry Potter, all big eyes and sherbet-sweet smile. He’s a variation on Billy Elliot too (the working-class prodigy, forced to do battle with a rigid, beleaguered, ultimately loving father). The gags can also be sitcom-ish. Sally Phillips, as the school’s headmistress, and Rob Brydon, as Matt’s dad, are reliable but not stretched. And the musical numbers, full of saturated colours, owe more than a little to Sunshine on Leith. Still, when was the last time you watched a film set in Luton? The cafés and hot spots look authentically crummy and when musical numbers erupt, they do so unpredictably. Sometimes they blossom; sometimes they fizzle out. Not since Tom Courtenay skipped around “Stradhoughton” in Billy Liar has it been so hard to pin down where a town begins and a character’s fantasies end. When Javed and his pals leap around amateurishly, it’s disarming.
The “daytimer” sequence, meanwhile, is an eye opener because it contains the only sights (and sounds) able to compete with Springsteen. Javed realises, with a shock, that his sister is as **ual as he is. And as passionate about music. Javed, normally glued to his headphones, prizes them off in the club. It’s a visceral delight to watch him succumb, for a split second, to the alternative rhythms of the bhangra universe. The film’s detractors point out that Blinded by the Light, like many recent rock-music-centric-hits, champions a white artist. What if Javed had been gaga about a woman’s work? Bohemian Rhapsody. Rocketman. Yesterday. They all celebrate male musicians. That’s the way the film industry rolls. Still, we’re here to talk about Javed and Bruce and they’re a dreamy duo. Chadha’s tender offering leaves us with an understanding of why Javed needs to find his own voice and a burning desire to quote Springsteen. I caught myself doing it even a week after the screening. A friend, having bought chips, couldn’t decide whether to cough up an extra 25p for a ketchup sachet. What would the great man have said? “Ah, girl, you want it, you take it, you pay the price”. Let Bruce’s wisdom into your life. You don’t have to be blind to the flaws of this film to view it as a ray of sunshine.
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