I don’t go to the movies a lot anymore, mostly because it costs eight million dollars, you have to buy your tickets online in advance, and if that’s not enough, you then pay a “convenience fee” on top of that which I don’t find particularly convenient. And park me in a recliner in a dark room and within 15 minutes I’m being elbowed by the person next to me to wake up or at least control the ungodly sounds emanating from me.

I’d been seeing press about Deliver Me From Nowhere for quite some time, mostly because a lot was filmed here in New Jersey, and every time Bruce* would show up somewhere it was hot news. (These days, I’ll take it.) Admittedly, I didn’t pay much attention to what the movie is about, I just assumed it was another biopic, and with each update I would have to spend a half an hour lamenting that I’ve reached the age where all the music I listened to as a kid is now fodder for documentaries and biopics.

But my old pal Kathleen was in town and we both made mention of the Bruce movie. I was secretly giddy that we were off to Closter Plaza because they have a fancy Coke machine and the only time I drink soda is a vanilla ginger ale at the movies. It’s the little things, you know.

So I ask the child working at the concession stand for the smallest drink possible, and he hands me a 50 gallon drum for which I have to shell out 8 dollars. The boy reminds me with a smile that I get as many refills as I want. “Refills?” I think to myself, “If I drink even half of this thing I’ll need to be catheterized so I don’t miss the movie.”

While Kath is bringing up the tickets on her phone, the bartender asks me if I’d like something. “No thanks,” I say, “I’ve got 8 thousand gallons of ginger ale.” He smiles and writes me off as feeble.

The only seats available for this film were in the the first two rows, so when we settle into our recliners I am almost fully supine. Kath wishes me good night. “Nuh uh,” I reply. “When those lights go out I’m going to get up on the seat and scream, ‘ 1-2-3-4! The highway’s jammed with broken heroes..'” We then reminisce about our trip to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and comment on the previews like we’re Statler and Waldorf.

A Rolex commercial then comes on the giant screen, and I age 20 years. “Let me get this straight,” I complain to Kath, who’s no longer listening. “I just paid 20 dollars for a ticket, and then another 8 bucks to have vanilla ginger ale pumped into me intravenously (it is delicious, tho) and now I have to sit through commercials? This is outrageous.” At this point, Kath is wishing that she had stayed with the gentleman we met at the wine tasting, who implied that I was fat but that he liked fat women.

Once I realized this movie is not your basic biopic, I thought it was excellent. Spoiler alert: it’s about the making of Nebraska , and the issues that contributed to it. You’re not going to hear the Boss’s greatest hits, you’re not going to recognize fun places in New Jersey, (save for Asbury Park), and Julianne Phillips has not even been born. But I really enjoyed it, just as the crowd of Boomers behind me must have enjoyed my rendition of Atlantic City while the credits rolled.

A word about Jeremy Allen White. I am not a fan. I find it hard to look at him, probably because I associate him with a deranged character he played on an old SVU episode from 10 years ago. All my female friends disagree, but I don’t get his appeal. Having said that, he is fantastic as Bruce. Super acting job. He’ll probably get nominated for an Oscar just for the scene with the psychiatrist. He even sounds like Bruce, imitating perfectly the accent I never understood. He does not, however, look anything like Bruce. It’s more like a combination of Andrew Dice Clay and Carmine from Laverne and Shirley.

And one more thing. A native New Yorker would never say “WPIX.” They would say “Channel 11.”

All I all, Deliver Me From Nowhere gets a busting bladder and two hands strapped across my engines. Go see it!

*Some of you may remember that my first love will always be Rick Springfield. This movie is not about him.