Baby Driver Screen 19 articles

Baby Driver


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  • For this unhip viewer, who preferred a stodgy Emily Dickinson biopic to this totally awesome genre flick, the whole thing veers from bad to unforgivable in the romantic subplot involving the beautiful waitress (Lily James) who may or may not have an inner life but nevertheless falls head over heels for the in-every-way-uninteresting Baby, and who stands by her man despite hell, high water, or years of imprisonment.

  • The soundtrack is annoying, the editing obnoxious, and the titular driver made me grind my teeth, I wanted to punch him so badly. For something so relentlessly BANG BANG obvious, it's also really milquetoast. It's like enduring a generic cover band play at full volume for two hours while everyone around you insists it's sooooo brilliant. What a fucking headache of a movie.

  • Merging [Wright's] extravagant audiovisual appetite (Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz) to the laconic style and improbable virtue of strong, silent anti-heroes from the movie past, he emerges with an entertaining hybrid. At its best, it affects us like adrenaline mixed with laughing gas. But when Baby Driver, like the Energizer bunny, keeps going and going and going (as with half of Wright’s other films, it’s 20 minutes too long), it manages to run on fumes.

  • Wright’s apparent commercial success in his enterprise (“Baby Driver” sold thirty million dollars’ worth of tickets in its opening weekend) contrasts with—and perhaps depends on—a conspicuous lack of artistic vision. “Baby Driver” plays like a Disneyfied version of an action film—rated R for, I suppose, its sanitized violence and middle-school cussing. Wright’s sense of style is movement in quantity rather than in detail.

  • Echoing Ms. Garbo: Give me back my Baby! First two scenes... are exponentially better than the rest of the movie, largely because the protagonist is introduced as such a megadork; briefly, this looks like it's gonna be The Driver with O'Neal replaced by Jon Cryer as Duckie, which could have been tremendous. That characterization mostly vanishes thereafter, sadly, and so does the first-rate vehicular the point where the film actually becomes Baby Runner for one key stretch.

  • When a foot chase looks like a dance or a speeding car syncs up with the soundtrack, that’s fun to watch. When Paul Williams lists off cuts of meat or an aerial shot looks down at a cloverleaf interchange, that’s pleasurable filmmaking. But those are only bits and pieces of this semi-ironic heist saga. The rest is too nice to its hero and too hung up on a secondhand notion of “cool” already played out by the mid-’90s.

  • While it might be too simplistic to say that Wright generates the technical pyrotechnics and Pegg supplies the soul, the flaws of Baby Driver hint that this equation roughly adds up... Its greatest liability is its screenplay: the filmmaker’s first-ever fully solo effort in this area. Baby Driver is so poorly written on levels of plot, characterization and (especially) dialogue that Wright’s typically first-rate craftsmanship fails to save it—and, in context, even becomes its own source of annoyance.

  • I've always loved Wright for being the most delirious formalist in comedy today, but if it's not too paradoxical of me, I thought that Baby Driver has his best shots and is his least good film. There's an interesting movie in here about drowning out the world with media, and I like that it adds geekery to the outlaw myth. But it's undeveloped, going in loops when it should be moving forward with singular purpose.

  • The movie is a gust of fresh air: a feature-length quotation mark of a movie that somehow doesn’t feel too hung up on its references. Wright’s originality as an artist is to refurbish old tricks, old tropes, in his own wackadoo image. And the joy of Baby Driver is that, though you’ve seen versions of this story before, many times over, you’ve never seen it done quite like this.

  • The countless musical sequences, which seem like an experiment to see how many songs can be crammed into one film, do a damn good job of evoking that great teenage fantasy of the cosmos perfectly choreographing itself to the sound in your headphones.

  • The film literalizes Edgar Wright's fascination with people's emotional overreliance on pop culture as a cover for arrested development.

  • There’s much to enjoy, including the satisfactions of genuine cinematic craft and technique, qualities that moviegoers can no longer take for granted. The edits snap, the colors pop and the cinematography serves the performances and the story rather than embalming them in an emptily showy, self-regarding directorial conceit. The emotions are mostly rote and cold, but the car chases are hot... with a beat Baby carries with him out of the car whether he’s on the stroll or the run.

  • This is movie craftsmanship and showmanship of a very high order... “Baby Driver” is a lavishly souped-up gimmick movie, and I don’t mean that as a knock. The gimmick here is so good that I actually wanted more of it: more killer tracks, more death-defying car-eography, more chase scenes shot to look like renegade Uber commercials.

  • [Wright's] movies, while at times enjoyable, all have a kind of smirky Neverland quality, a “Lads, let’s never grow up!” vibe that no filmmaker, not even one as clever as Wright, can sustain. But Baby Driver, with its vivid, openhearted energy, is a bold step forward. Movies are supposed to keep us young—that’s one of their jobs. But you can’t keep gunning the arrested-development engine forever. With Baby Driver, Wright finally breaks free, and the result has a beat you can dance to.

  • Wright’s movie is part greatest-hits compilation, part remix, a high-speed all-access tour of car-chase movies that still manages to find a new route. It’s studded with cameos from the worlds of music and film, the most substantial (and nerdy) of which comes as such an unexpected surprise that I gasped out loud in the theater. Wright’s most novel idea is to approach the heist movie like one of Michael Powell’s “composed films,” where every element plays its part in a larger symphony.

  • A remorselessly entertaining, impeccably assembled action-musical in which cars and people defy the laws of physics and common sense... And unlike, say, a Fast and Furious flick, Wright’s movie delivers action that’s convincing and concrete — the cars seem real, even when the people don’t. This is the kind of pure pop confection that leaves you breathless with admiration for the director’s supernatural command of his frame. But it might also leave you a little cold.

  • The hero is music mad and skilled at the wheel, which befits a movie powered by fast cars, a throbbing soundtrack, syncopated dialogue, and balletic violence. Oozing menace as addicted bank robbers, Jamie Foxx and Jon Hamm are all the more charismatic thanks to Bill Pope's luscious noir photography. Credit Jonathan Amos and Paul Machliss for the razor-sharp editing, and look for a cameo by director Walter Hill, whose 1978 thriller The Driver helped inspire this sleek exploitation flick.

  • No one has better captured the pleasure of walking while listening to pop music [than Edgar Wright]. Baby Driver begins with a breathtaking car chase through Atlanta, but the credit sequence that follows, in which Baby, getaway driver for a shuffling pack of thieves, goes round the corner and back to buy coffee, all in one shot, is almost as dazzling. Everything moves to the beat, and the street itself has been modified to match the music as the camera tracks along it.

  • It’s finally most apt that Wright’s final image returns to fantasy realised as a reunited Baby and Debora drive off in a roadster, pop cinema and pop music returning back to the roots on some dusty southern back road. It might not prove the best film of the year, and yet Baby Driver left me with the feeling that it might well be the only one they’ll be teaching in film schools in twenty years.

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