Edgar Wright’s Baby Driver takes a page from Quentin Tarantino and elevates its soundtrack to a full-on supporting character. Ansel Elgort’s Baby suffers from tinnitus and medicates himself with an iPod and headphones. He knows his music, as does everyone around him. That means we get riffs on everyone from Barbra Streisand to Beck, and a playlist that veers from big hits to geeky deep tracks. For the most part, Baby’s too cool to say much, so Wright lets the steady R&B thump speak for him. That might sound unbearably clever and pretentious, but Baby Driver finds just enough goofiness and adrenaline to make it all work.
Inspired, I guess, by the old Simon and Garfunkel song, Baby Driver repurposes a fairly familiar tale: Baby (Ansel Elgort) is a redoubtable getaway driver for Doc (Kevin Spacey), a local kingpin. Turns out, Baby once ran afoul of Doc, and shuttling scumbag bank robbers is how he pays off that debt. And wouldn’t ya know it? Baby only has One Last Job before he’s free and clear. And, even more shocking–nothing on that last heist goes to plan!
Thankfully, Baby also finds that other cinematic requisite: The Sudden Reason to Live. This takes the form of Debora (Lily James), a charming waitress at Baby’s favorite diner. They bond over obscure music, often sharing airpods between them. (“Debra,” Beck’s lusty Prince pastiche, makes an early appearance.) For the first time in a long time, Baby can see something other than his breakneck job, and his dormant humanity begins to reemerge.
That basic outline probably makes Baby Driver seem overly familiar. And to some degree, it is. The entire arc for Baby and Debora is total cliché. Still, Wright succeeds by splashing his canvas with vibrant colors. The margins around Baby are filled with quirky characters and snappy dialogue. Even better, we get an all-star cast to rev their engines: Jon Hamm is Buddy, the volatile robber with the James Bond face. Jamie Foxx delivers a memorable turn as Bats, whose penchants for philosophical analysis and psychopathic violence feel like something straight from Reservoir Dogs. And then there’s Baby (Eiza Gonzalez), Buddy’s gum-snapping squeeze. Her lively, flirtatious demeanor belies the icy, manipulative killer beneath. Finally, Jon Bernthal’s thief goes full Sonny Corleone by picking a fight with everyone around him.
That entire group is clearly having a blast, and they do a lot to make this dance party fun. Good thing, because as protagonists go, Baby can be a little flat. Elgort speaks with a velvety Elvis mumble, and hides behind shades and headphones. Clearly, Baby lets his quietness speak volumes. While this vibes into the rest of the movie–and sets his cocky passengers on edge–it can also make his character feel aloof from the audience, as well.
Of course, those audiences made this movie a hit for several reasons, but one stands above: The car chases. Wright kicks off with a humdinger, as Baby leads his crew on a frantic, frenetic freeway escape. (Even better, he sets Baby’s iPod to “Bellbottoms,” by the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion.) It’s a dazzling opening, replete with the edge and editing of Bullitt, crossed with the groove and stylistics of a classic music video. Every action scene from here on out runs on the same self-assured swagger. From start to finish, Baby Driver is more exciting than it has any right to be.
Really, that’s the best thing about the entire movie: It finds a way to exceed expectations. On paper, Wright’s pet project should be too ironic, too slick, and too written. And while it has a little of all those traits, Baby Driver is also built to last. It has a freewheeling sense of fun, and a sweet-natured sensibility at its core. Both traits should give this movie high rewatchability. Hell, watch it once for the action, then come back for the tunes.
113 min. R. Netflix.
