Baby Driver ★★★★½


The smoothest of the smooth. No need to compare Edgar Wright's latest with a Walter Hill joint or One From the Heart or any pretty Technicolor musical laced in artifice; the film seemingly heard such comparisons before it was even conceived, revolting towards impressive new extremes while allowing its pastiche to provide a little razzle-dazzle, a little flavor. Baby Driver is of its own beauty, bravura, and belting extravagance, sizzling off the pavement in whisper-cool form, all while being totally, unabashedly, head-over-heels in love.

And there's nothing but love in Wright's show-tune, grand theft auto delight. For the genre, the girl, the guy, the beat, the rhythm, the tragedy, the romance, the meet-cute, the cars and the gunshots and the money. There's not one iota of a reason to discuss Wright's little cinephile nods, because isn't it obvious? It's like when Nedry points out Dodgson to a Costa Rica cafe: "nobody cares." You're digging for frosting on a birthday cake. What you *should* be licking your chops in ecstasy for is a grand, frolicking marriage of sound and image. And this is their consummation. The only motion pictures that comes close in terms of a soundtrack/sequencing combo is something out of Martin Scorsese's upper filmography echelon or Altman's winding Americana work in the 70s. This is huge, people. Fucking huge.

And once the fire starts in your ears, there's no extinguishing the flame. Emotion becomes grammar, lyrical text pervades the frame, and danger, adoration, adrenaline, connection bubble up with the drop of a needle. It's a toe-tapping, stomach-churning, heart-fluttering joy, and the crime genre is Wright's potpourri for a bubble-gum candy shop of a love story. This movie makes you want to fucking twirl. In circles. While Queen is playing. Never has a movie been so utterly committed and infatuated with, well, everything! Baby Driver has its cake, eats it too, and then offers the audience seconds. The film's graciousness is only one-upped by the biggest, most beautiful heart. Consider the soul stirred.

Random thoughts:

- The IPod Classic is a beauty of a machine.
- Kevin Spacy: one of the seven wonders of the world? Yes? Ok. Which site should we boot out?
- Actually, let's just change the whole system and assign the cast as one giant wonder. Because they are.
- "Mike Myers!"
- I'm probably underrating the whole shebang, but oh well, that's what a re-watch is for.

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