Edgar Wright’s latest is kinetic, dynamic and effortlessly cool.
“Your name’s Baby? B-A-B-Y Baby?”
Kinetic, dynamic, soulful as hell. Dripping in nostalgia – but not without its youthful spirit either. Baby Driver is many things: a rip-roaring action flick, a toe-tapping musical, a high stakes heist picture, a sweet little love story. Birthed from a director’s adoration for both music and cinema, it feels like Edgar Wright’s most personal movie yet. Each sub-genre represents a little slice of his personality, superimposed on the big screen for the whole world to enjoy. To call it his ‘passion project’ might be unfair – so much passion goes into every one of his films – but it’s certainly got his fingerprints all over it. And those of the artists that inspired him.
It’s also a little removed from the rest of his work – less comedically inclined, yet still wholly capable of making you howl. The stakes are conveyed with a straight face, the romance is endearingly earnest. There’s a real element of danger woven into this tale, that heightens tenfold as momentum drives it towards a thrilling third act (spinning a little out of control in the last ten minutes). Chaos reigns, enveloped in musical mayhem and car chases galore. Characters clash, egos fly and fall. It’s a bubblegum flavoured treat, a sweet slice of pop culture pie – charming, nimble and endlessly entertaining. And it’s all so effortlessly cool.
It took me a week, but I finally wrote something meaningful about this film (that didn’t just boil down to IT’S THE COOLEST SHIT EVER.