Baby Driver (2017)

Poor Edgar Wright – he’s made his first film since The World’s End in 2013, and all anyone wants to talk about is why he famously walked away from 2015’s Ant-Man. Never mind that Baby Driver is in a sense the anti-Ant-Man, a sharp, original, standalone action flick with nary an Avenger in sight (though Jon Bernthal, soon to grace Netflix in a Punisher series, does turn up for the film’s first heist), or that star Ansel Elgort is a kind of anti-Paul Rudd, terse-lipped and fairly fresh to audiences who sat out young-adult fare like The Fault in Our Stars or Divergent. For my money, Baby Driver is the anti-Fury Road, an automotive action film that gets the audience to care about the characters and their world without once repeating a trick from its arsenal amid a series of high-octane, motor-revving driving sequences.

Ansel Elgort stars as the eponymous Baby, a getaway driver in the employ of heist meister Doc (Kevin Spacey), who’s teeing up the trademark “one last job” for Baby. Baby has driven for bank robbers with the unlikely names of Buddy and Darling (Jon Hamm and Eiza González) and for manic muggers like Bats (Jamie Foxx), but his true passion is his music – piped through his iPod and a standout soundtrack – and his girl, waitress Debora (Lily James).

Baby Driver starts out with a bang-up bank robbery, the particulars of which are never seen; Wright instead focuses his cinematic eye on Baby grooving to his tunes and scoping out the landscape before throwing the car into gear and speeding away to the tune of “Bellbottoms” by the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion. It’s a clever approach to the scene, which most other directors would have set inside the bank, but Wright wisely takes this moment to introduce us to our protagonist, his methods and movements, before opening up his cinematic toolbox and showing us just what he can do with a barrage of edits, practical driving effects, and some first-rate sound design. It’s an opener that aligns us both with Baby and with Wright; having seen the ample capabilities of both, the audience is primed to care about what they do next.

Wright has always been a master of characterization; Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz created exceptionally memorable characters (aided, I grant you, by the superfluously talented Simon Pegg and Nick Frost), and even Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, though I didn’t much care for it, had a cast of strange rangers that I’ve had difficulty forgetting altogether. The good work continues in Baby Driver, with each “debut” giving us a very clear sense of who the character is and how they’ll fit into the larger world of the story. The exception, though, is Debora, who’s put into a kind of trope role of the pretty love interest until she takes a more active role in the film’s third act; I’d love to see Wright make a film that passes the Bechdel Test, for one, because it’s just about the only thing missing from Baby Driver.

One thing that isn’t lacking in Baby Driver is surprise and the visceral charge that goes with it. The screenplay takes a few unexpected turns, such that my plot summary above only scratches the surface of the places Baby Driver goes. Like the sharpest scripts, Baby Driver winds its pieces back together at the end in surprising ways, resurrecting plot elements long forgotten in order to throw the conclusion into sharper relief, and as we might have come to expect from Wright, lines of dialogue recur and accrue meaning, even if it’s just a sly wink to the audience as characters catch up to the references.

I watch a lot of movies; I tend to like a good deal of them, and I’m perhaps too forgiving of ones too close to my heart. As much as I loved Guardians, Vol. 2 and Wonder Woman, Baby Driver is probably the first must-see movie of the summer by sheer dint of its originality; a superhero movie is almost always kin to every other superhero movie, but Baby Driver feels fresher by being unfettered of any genre conventions. Like La La Land, which toyed with the conventions of a musical romance but never allied fully with that genre, Baby Driver orbits the heist/crime film but inflects it with all sorts of other things for a unique and exhilarating experience. The true mark of a film’s success is the reaction it provokes in an audience, and Baby Driver had me gasping, chuckling, and breathless.

Baby Driver is rated R for “violence and language throughout.” Written and directed by Edgar Wright. Starring Ansel Elgort, Lily James, Jamie Foxx, Jon Hamm, Eiza González, and Kevin Spacey.

The World's End (2013)

With The World’s End, we close the door on Edgar Wright’s “Cornetto Trilogy,” a thematic trio held together by blood and ice cream, Simon Pegg and Nick Frost, as well as some fun genre-bending madcap antics.  Surprisingly earnest but never forgetting to have loads of fun with the sci-fi satire, The World’s End is a worthy successor to the inspired Shaun of the Dead and its clever brother Hot Fuzz.

The World’s End finds Gary King (Pegg) “puttin’ the band back together” in an attempt to recreate an abortive pub crawl twenty years earlier, though he encounters resistance from his old mates (Nick Frost, Paddy Considine, Martin Freeman, and Eddie Marsan), who have all grown up and left their childish ways behind them.  Gary’s quest is complicated when he discovers that many of his hometown’s residents have been replaced by alien robot doppelgangers.

I’ll admit to a certain degree of apprehension about this movie after Wright’s last directorial outing, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, which had the fun quotient I had come to expect but literalized its video-game roots with a distancing lack of irony.  But in Wright’s filmic homecoming (he’s been making movies with Pegg & Frost for almost ten years, and their Spaced collaboration on TV goes back even further), he recovers his unique directorial voice with a project that’s equal parts heartwarming and hilarious.

The key is Wright’s deft ability (with cowriter Pegg) to navigate tonal shifts without compromising his film’s own unique identity.  In a summer blockbuster season that’s seen empty characterization (Pacific Rim) and tonally schizophrenic tilt-a-whirls (Kick-Ass 2), it’s a relief to see a film like The World’s End, which manages to juggle satire, spoof, comedy, nostalgia, genuine science-fiction, and moving character drama all in one bundle.  As scene-stealers go, it’s hard to do better than Eddie Marsan’s turn as Peter Page, who handles his sad sack role with aplomb; in a key bathetic monologue, he reveals his feelings of finitude, but his giddy one-liners fit perfectly within the bounds of his character because the film takes the time to get us to care about him before making him narratively significant.

It’s a weird, almost perfunctory moment when the film switches from beer-guzzling comedy to ooky sci-fi, as though Wright remembered halfway through editing that he needed to satirize a film genre as he had in Shaun and Fuzz.  But it’s not a requirement that impinges on the film; indeed, Wright’s greatest success is convincing us to care about his characters long before asking us to follow them on an insane journey.  He’s given an assist by some really capable performances; Pegg and Frost switch roles for this film, with Pegg as the loser and Frost as the blue-collar worker, and it’s a role reversal that works better than expected, allowing each actor to remain fresh in a new role.

It doesn’t quite pass the Bechdel test, but The World’s End manages to be tons of fun with an equal serving of well-written heart.  There are plenty of winks and nods to devotees of the genre or just to Cornetto Trilogy aficionados (the ice cream appears, as does the fence), but even taken solely on its own The World’s End is really just a solid movie all the way around.  It does everything a movie ought to do – entertain, amuse, move, provoke – and is a much finer cap to the summer movie season than I was expecting.  If this is how the world ends, bring on the afterlife.

The World’s End is rated R for “pervasive language including sexual references.”  You know the drill:  it’s comparable to Shaun and Fuzz in quantity of F- and C-bombs dropped.  The blood in this one is almost entirely blue (literally, the color blue) and played for comic effect.  We see a man’s bare buttocks once, and the men describe offbeat sexual acts in-depth (the “marmalade sandwich” – two blondes and a redhead – being a tame example).

Shaun of the Dead (2004)

This review has probably been a long time coming. Edgar Wright's first filmic collaboration with Simon Pegg, Shaun of the Dead has been referred to more times on this blog, I would estimate, than any other non-reviewed film herein. Well, no more. Here below, for your reading pleasure, is a treatise on why I love Shaun of the Dead.

In a film that calls itself "the first rom-zom-com" (romantic zombie comedy), Pegg stars as the titular Shaun, who's grappling with a lackluster job as an electronics salesman and a precarious relationship with girlfriend Liz (Kate Ashfield), who wants more out of life than nights out at local pub The Winchester with Shaun's coarse roommate Ed (Nick Frost). Then zombies attack, and Shaun is forced to deal with his possibly-infected stepfather Phil (Bill Nighy) while attempting to win Liz back amid a mob scene of bite-happy undead.

It's no secret to loyal readers of this blog that I'm absolutely mad about Shaun of the Dead - in an all-encompassing delirious love sense of the word (appropriately, the British definition). The film remains Edgar Wright's finest hour (or hour-forty, to be precise), rambunctiously entertaining and unflinchingly satirical without ever becoming distractingly parodical (I'm looking at you, "Reference Movie" crowd). Blame the airtight screenplay by Wright and Pegg, which teases zombie film conventions while foreshadowing its own plot growth. The script's greatest virtue, though, is its repetition of memorable dialogue and eye-popping (sometimes literally) visual gags that get funnier each time they're executed.

The performances are also credible, with the players doing their parts without relying on comedy crutches like mugging or pandering. Because the cast takes itself seriously while simultaneously recognizing the absurdity of their situation (the epitome of this being Shaun's heated exclamation, "Oh, give us a f---ing break!" as a second wave of zombies encroaches on his position), the comedy is played for more than just a knowing chuckle. Instead, we're treated to great rolling-in-the-aisles fits of laughter which comes not in small doses but in almost every scene. Pegg leads the cast, but it's Frost who will elicit the most laughs from filmgoers, with his gruff yet endearing portrayal of the unpolished Ed; if nothing else, his impression of "Clyde" (it'd be spoiling to tell who Clyde is) will get a few giddy giggles. Even Bill Nighy takes his droll self and drags it out into a plausible caricature of the unlikeable survivor with a heart of gold.

Where the film really succeeds, though, is in its childlike enthusiasm for its subject matter and the gleefully chaotic way in which it plays out, non sequitur humor amplifying the already farcically absurd nature of the film. Who else would think that Queen fits perfectly with a zombie invasion? (Spoiler: it does.) Where else would ice cream and smoking be priorities while surviving a zombie attack? (Spoiler: only in Ed's mind.) And where else would you find a zombie invasion film where the invasion itself happens off-screen and is only a MacGuffin around which the characters can chase each other?

I'm inclined to say that Shaun of the Dead is my favorite zombie movie ever (sorry, Zombieland, but it takes more than a Twinkie to win my heart), and I'm even more ready to claim that it's one of the better films overall made in the last ten years. It's certainly one of the most entertaining.
Shaun of the Dead is rated "R for zombie violence/gore and language." The zombies themselves are grotesque enough, but there are bludgeonings and arterial sprays all over the film, prompting the unforgettable one-liner, "You've got red on you." F-bombs and C-words abound, all played for laughs but nonetheless fantastically inappropriate.

Scott Pilgrim vs. the World (2010)

I can say this for Scott Pilgrim vs. the World - it is unlike any other movie director Edgar Wright has brought forward.

Scott Pilgrim (Michael Cera) is a 20-something Canadian vagabond whose life is filled with his garage band Sex Bob-omb and his 17-year-old girlfriend Knives Chao (Ellen Wong). One day, though, Scott meets the literal girl of his dreams - Ramona Flowers (Mary Elizabeth Winstead), who rollerblades through his dreams because there's a superhighway shortcut in his subconscious. But as Scott and Ramona grow closer, she clues him in to the fact that, to continue to date her, he'll have to defeat her "seven evil exes," a league of former flames that includes a Bollywood-esque sorcerer, a model-turned-action-hero (Chris Evans), a vegan bassist (Brandon Routh), an angry ninja (Mae Whitman, formerly Cera's girlfriend Ann on Arrested Development), Japanese musican twins, and the big one - record mogul Gideon Graves (Jason Schwartzman).

What Scott Pilgrim does very well is create many memorable characters that have, at the very least, spin-off potential if not a direct sequel. I can't speak for the movie's relationship with the graphic novel series by Bryan Lee O'Malley, but the characters in the movie have got real personality. The supporting characters, that is; the main characters aren't very lively. Scott is, unfortunately, still more of the same Cera character - a gangly, awkward, "if that's okay with you" type who mumbles and falls in love with a girl far out of his league - but at least Cera is still doing a good job; I'm very curious, though, what the right director could do with him. And Winstead, as a thematic sequel to Kate Winslet's character in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, falls flat without very much enthusiasm; she's pretty and therefore easy to fall for, but I think supporting player Anna Kendrick (who's charming and involving as Scott's sister Stacey) might have done a better job - but that's probably, as I've said before, because I'm a little bit in love with that girl. At the very least, Cera and Winstead are no Simon Pegg and Nick Frost, Wright's previous collaborators.

Fortunately the supporting cast is very entertaining - not the best ensemble, but the supporting talent is more talented, I'd say, than what Cera and Winstead demonstrate here. The standout supporting cast member here is Alison Pill as world-weary drummer Kim Pine, a variant on the Juno brand of snarky; Pill is a scene-stealer, with deadpan delivery of memorable lines like, "Scott, if your life had a face, I would punch it" as well as signature moves like her clacking drumsticks and her feigning suicide by pistol with only her fingers and a dramatic flourish. Chris Evans, too, as Ex #2, is probably my favorite Ex, a gleeful caricature of the action star who can't actually act; he growls his dialogue - all of it puns - with a tongue firmly in cheek. And Jason Schwartzman, as the seventh and final Ex, is suitably smarmy and deftly loathsome.

But unlike Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz, Scott Pilgrim takes itself seriously - perhaps too seriously. Where Wright's previous films had a satirical bent and often acknowledged incredible plot turns with characters exclaiming, as Simon Pegg did in Shaun, "Oh, for f--k's sake!" Scott Pilgrim has none of this self-conscious edge. Characters don't bat an eye when "extra lives" or swords of love and self-respect appear out of thin air, and only Scott's roommate Wallace (a wonderfully droll Kieran Culkin) expresses incredulity at the increasingly improbable fight scenes with dry murmurs of "Scott, fight, go." There's a shameless showiness in the film that's doubtless an homage to the story's comic book nature, but it's all bang and very little substance. The very premise is built on thinness - Scott must fight these characters because he must - and it never attempts to be anything more than shallow eye candy. Where the scenes with Scott and his friends are clever and well-written, the battle scenes which dominate the film play out like watching someone else play a video game. It's a bit like watching a Quentin Tarantino film in German (no, not Inglourious Basterds); there's a sense that there's a lot of flair going on that other people can appreciate, but for the immediate audience in the moment, something's lost.

There's also a problem with pacing. The first Ex battles don't begin until about an hour into the film - when little more than half of the film remains. Consequently the film feels bisected - a comfortable and cutesy comedy with quirky characters, followed by the video game montages to which I just couldn't connect. By treating the audience to so much of the avant garde "quirky" plotline - directed with innovative quick-cut flair and punctuated by thought bubbles and floating onomatopoeia - Wright practically spoils his audience to the point where the second half just doesn't live up to the first. Indeed, the second half feels bloated and over-long, as though so much action is being thrown at the viewer because the filmmaker realized halfway through that there was still the matter of the seven evil exes to cover in about an hour's time.

But I think the other half of the movie - the one that doesn't have you grabbing for a joystick that isn't there - is worth seeing. It's got Wright's comedic sensibilities with an American edge, and it's got some of the cleverest dialogue and editing gags (like Lisa Miller, who swears but has the ability to somehow censor herself with a black box and a record scratch). Maybe you'll want to go for popcorn during the combat scenes, because it's not as though Scott isn't going to win. Spoiler warning?
Scott Pilgrim vs. the World is rated PG-13 "for stylized violence, sexual content, language and drug references." There's some canoodling in underwear, as well as mild talk about sex and the problems of and with dating a minor. The combat scenes are visually dynamic, with no blood but with plenty of people hitting each other, some of whom explode into coins. Drugs and alcohol are mentioned, but only abused once; the F-bombs in the film are all comedically censored.

Hot Fuzz (2007)

I've been an unabashed fan of Edgar Wright since taking the advice of a dear friend and renting - later purchasing- his zombie (the Brits call it "the Zed word") spoof masterpiece Shaun of the Dead. So when Wright decided to go for the cop film's jugular, I was more than willing to go along for the ride.

And the team doesn't disappoint, although it's not as inspired a venture as Shaun was. Hot Fuzz is the story of Nicholas Angel (Simon Pegg), a cop who's so good at his job that he's reassigned to a small hamlet for "making us all look bad." There he meets Constable Danny Butterman (Nick Frost, "Ed" from Shaun) and Danny's dad, Chief Frank Butterman (Jim Broadbent, who's as creditable a casting choice as he always is). As a series of grisly murders seize the town, Angel begins to believe that these are not, as the rest of "the fuzz" believes, mere accidents (for instance, the florist may not have actually fallen throat-first on her enormous shears). He finds Simon Skinner (a delightfully suspicious Timothy Dalton), a local supermarket baron, to be Suspect Numero Uno.

Like Next, Hot Fuzz tries to be two things - simultaneously a cop film and a dissection of that genre. Unlike Next, Hot Fuzz succeeds in its endeavor to keep one foot in each sandbox, only it doesn't do it quite so well as its "Zed word" predecessor. Hot Fuzz, you see, certainly leans more heavily toward cop film than satirization. Though that's not to say the film suffers for it - Hot Fuzz is a great cop film; it's just not as funny as Shaun of the Dead. That's my lament. (Look for a parallel observation when I review the Pirates of the Caribbean trilogy.)

The cast is superb, from its aforementioned headliners to cinephile's-dream cameos from Bill Nighy, Martin Freeman (Tim from The Office UK), and even Cate Blanchett (apparently a big Shaun fan). As the exasperated Angel, Pegg does a firstrate job of bouncing between understandable frustration and guffaw-inducing cliche-bashing. Frost is more than comfortable in the shoes of dimwitted but lovable Danny; although at times he seems more like an overeager Ed than a totally new character, he's adorable - and funny - enough that it doesn't really matter.

Wright's direction is showy, calling more attention to itself than I remember in Shaun (maybe it's time to re-view and review?), though again - and here I invoke Jerry Seinfeld - not that there's anything wrong with that. Cop films are often showy spectacles, so why should this one be any different? The editing deftly works with Wright here, delivering an adrenaline shot of chuckles from a well-placed cut.

I've pointed out that the movie takes itself seriously - but fortunately not too seriously. That's why Hot Fuzz works at being of two minds and - oh, let's keep kicking Nic Cage - Next didn't.