Blinded by the Light: Incandescent!

Blinded by the Light (2019) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity and vulgar racism
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 8.16.19

Music doesn't merely hath charms to soothe the savage breast; it can transform lives.

Writer/director Gurinder Chadha has been absent from our screens for far too long, after enchanting filmgoers with Bend It Like Beckham and Bride & Prejudice, back in the early 2000s. She has remained busy, but her intervening projects haven’t resonated nearly as much (at least, not here in the States).

Determined to share his newly discovered affection for Bruce Springsteen's inspirational
lyrics, Javed (Viveik Kalra) drags a surprised — but definitely pleased — Eliza
(Nell Williams) into a spontaneous dance.

She’s back with a vengeance, thanks to Blinded by the Light.

Pop/rock music fans have enjoyed an embarrassment of riches, of late; we’ve viewed the world — and enjoyed tuneful biographies — according to Queen (Bohemian Rhapsody), Elton John (Rocket Man) and The Beatles (Yesterday). Now Chadha — with a scripting assist from Paul Mayeda Berges and Sarfraz Manzoor — has put Bruce Springsteen’s poetic, working-man angst to similar magical use, with “Blinded by the Light.”

The result is charming, exhilarating and illuminating by turns, along with a perceptive nod toward current real-world events: in every respect, one of the summer film season’s sweetest surprises. That it’s based on actual events — Manzoor’s absorbing 2008 memoir, Greetings from Bury Park: Race, Religion and Rock ’n’ Roll — is the icing on the cake.

The setting is Luton, England, in 1987: the height of Margaret Thatcher’s reign, with millions of people out of work, many of whom — believing “foreigners” have taken their jobs — have joined increasingly aggressive “Make England White Again” marches. (Sound familiar?)

Javed (Viveik Kalra), a teen of Pakistani descent, has lived in Luton since his father Malik (Kulvinder Ghir) moved the family to England years ago. Malik is bluntly imperious in his traditional views; he’s therefore a stern roadblock to any semblance of Westernized behavior that might tempt Javed and his sister, Shazia (Nikita Mehta). 

Which is a problem, because Javed is forced to conceal his artistic tendencies; he has recorded his thoughts and dreams in daily journals since childhood, and also composes poetry. Some of the latter find an outlet as lyrics for songs written and performed by a garage band headed by longtime best friend and neighbor Matt (Dean-Charles Chapman).

Matt also has been a staunch defender against the racial taunts — and worse — abusively hurled in Javed’s direction.

The film opens just as Javed begins his first year at the local sixth-form college, where he’s determined to pass his A-levels in order to qualify for university: somewhere (anywhere!) other than Luton. His father tolerates this only with the expectation that Javed studies medicine, law, business or something else that guarantees a high-income job.

Meanwhile, entering a new school is fraught with the usual peril, amplified because Javed a) looks foreign; and b) is slight of build and easily intimidated.

Salvation comes on two fronts. His writing class instructor, Ms. Clay (the always engaging Hayley Atwell), is passionate about literature; she’s the sort who challenges and inspires students to awaken their intellectual curiosity, and become the best possible version of themselves. She sees potential in Javed’s writing, but perceptively accuses him of being too timid about expressing his own voice.

Upon learning that he writes poetry, she asks about such efforts. “It’s just rubbish,” he replies, defensively.

“Maybe so,” she replies, tartly, “but it’s your rubbish.” 

In other words, own it.

The incentive to do so — to really, truly consider believing in himself — comes when Javed chances into a friendship with the school’s only other visible Pakistani student: the jovial Roops (Aaron Phagura), who fancies himself an evangelist for The Boss. Passing along two Springsteen cassette albums — Walkmans being the current rage — Roops demands that Javed give them a listen.

He does … and his world changes in a heartbeat.

Chadha employs a clever text animation technique to emphasize Springsteen’s lyrics, as the words literally swirl around Javed’s head. It’s almost as if we watch the young man breathe in the passionate sentences, having found — for the first time in his life — a muse who genuinely, truly speaks to his own inner thoughts and desires.

Malik, immediately suspicious, demands to know why his son is wasting time with “an American Jewish musician,” when he should be listening to traditional Pakistani music.

This generation gap, leavened with an even broader cultural tug-of-war, will be recognized by those who fondly remember Bend It Like Beckham, where Parminder Nagra’s Jess faced similar hostility and disapproval from her orthodox Sikh parents. Indeed, Chadha regards this new film as a spiritual companion to Beckham, with its focus on impassioned teenagers who fight for their own identity and desires, while desperately trying not to alienate their parents. 

It’s a delicate dance — a swaying tightrope walk — and most teens, being teens, don’t always take savvy steps.

The resulting dynamic, warts and all, is thoroughly engaging, endearing and oh-so-familiar.

The brief bursts of racist intolerance are heartbreaking, both for their casual cruelty, and particularly for the resigned acceptance with which Malik and his fellow Pakistani neighbors accept this as something to tolerate. One vile act is acutely loathsome — prompting a gasp of shock and horror from last week’s preview audience — and I’ve no doubt it actually happened to Manzoor, or somebody he knew (and, God forbid, might still be happening).

Chadha always has had a knack for discovering young talent — having helped launch the careers of Keira Knightley, Nagra and Aaron Taylor-Johnson — and she has a similarly strong eye for ensemble casting. Kalra is an equally talented find: an earnest actor who delivers persuasive line readings, and seems to understand the defensive posture that frequently characterizes Javed.

More crucially, Kalra nails the role’s complexity. As introduced, Javed isn’t merely somebody who hasn’t yet found his bliss; he suppresses any semblance of individuality beneath a series of “poses,” depending on present company. He’s one person within his family household, in slight terror of his father; somebody else when around Matt; somebody else with the effervescent Roops; and — explosively — an entirely different person, once exposed to The Gospel According To Bruce.

Ghir deftly navigates a difficult role. At first blush, Malik seems an imperious monster, particularly with respect to the way he takes his long-suffering wife, Noor (Meera Ganatra), for granted. She, in turn, keeps close counsel; we gradually sense that Noor has more spunk than she reveals … until a key moment.

Atwell is note-perfect as the feisty, motivational teacher we’d all love to have had; Phagura is a hoot as the eternally upbeat Roops. Nell Williams also stands out as Eliza, a self-assured classmate and political activist positioned to become an important part of Javed’s life. A hilariously embarrassing dinner with her ultra-conservative parents, when she introduces them to Javed, is the film’s comedic highlight.

Hard-working character actor Rob Brydon earns a couple of marvelous scenes as Matt’s father, whose taste in music proves crucial at one juncture. David Hayman is equally sublime as Mr. Evans, a neighbor who remains something of a mystery … until he isn’t.

Chadha shrewdly and unerringly slides her film between a wealth of moods and emotions. Once Springsteen’s songs enter the story, Chadha succumbs to the Bollywood tradition of characters spontaneously breaking into song and dance; this never seems forced, but absolutely feels organic to the story.

In the next breath, we’re confronted with a despicable moment of racist brutality. Indeed, this is an increasingly nervous-making narrative; more than once, we hold our breath, fearing the worst.

Academy Award-winning composer A.A. Rahman (Slumdog Millionaire) smoothly blends his underscore elements with a wealth of Springsteen classics; editor Justin Krish maintains a steady pace. This is one of those rare films that concludes too soon, leaving us wanting more.

The aforementioned preview audience cheered and applauded, as the drama yielded to the closing credits. You’ll likely do the same.