a hum in the drum
by Douglas Messerli
Edgar Wright (screenwriter and
director) Baby Driver / 2017
Who’d a thunk that a gangster film
with stick-figure-like characters, a young “hero” who reluctantly works as a
getaway driver, and a plot that revolves mostly around car chases could be
brought together in an absolutely delightful work, the surprise hit of the year
to date.
The reason this film works so well can be expressed in three words:
“Ansel Elgort” and “music.” Both the central actor and the music he listens to
while driving a host of seasoned criminals to the sites of their heists and,
after, out of harm’s way, not only define the rhythm of this film but its
actions—including the ambient gun-fire and conversations of everyone involved.
They call me Baby
Driver
And once upon a pair
of wheels
I hit the road and I'm
gone
What's my number?
I wonder how your
engines feel
(Ba ba ba ba)
Scoot down the road
What's my number?
I wonder how your
engines feel
This film, is also very much about
hearing and the lack of it. Despite his earbud infatuation, the ear-budded Baby,
at one point is called by gang leader Doc (Kevin Spacey) to reiterate the
instructions he’s just given, which Baby does with complete accuracy. It may
help, of course, that Doc and his cohorts themselves often speak in a kind
rhythmic patter that comes terribly close to rap, rhymes included.
Bats: This one, they say that
listens to the music all the time?
Griff: I mean, is he retarded?
Doc: 'Retarded', meaning slow? Was
he slow?
Griff: No.
Doc: He had an accident when he was
a kid. Still has a hum in the drum. Plays music to drown it out. And that's
what makes him the best.
In short, listening is what it takes
to survive in this world. Yet strangely, Baby’s loving foster father, Joseph
(CJ Jones) is deaf (both on-screen and off), with whom Baby communicates
through signing. By the end of the film, Baby himself has almost lost his
hearing, after Buddy fires guns up close to the young man’s ears.
Baby is “the best,” that is until he is
tired of being used by Doc, from whom, years before he has stolen a car with
important “merch” in it—that’s about as close that any of these criminal
monikers come to plausible plot—and now wants to escape on an endless road trip
with his new found love Debora (Lily James), a waitress in a nearby Atlanta
diner. But plot, fortunately, in this film hardly matters, and it’s only when
Baby has temporary ditched his car and earbuds that the movie bogs down and
hardly matters, when, in a kind of weak imitation of Die Hard, Baby has to kill the villain Buddy over and over again.
From that moment, in fact, the movie and
its hero have lost meaning. Incarcerated and rehabilitated, the baby driver
loses all his steam, along with, we gather, the rhythm of his music-obsessed
life. We catch a glimpse of him in prison, his ears being checked by a doctor,
who apparently is able to relieve Baby’s tinnitus or, perhaps, confirm that the
young man is now completely deaf. And by the time of the final scene, when Baby
is released, now under his real name, Miles, this car flick has been
transformed into a romance. The only hope is a slim possibility that he and
Debora get on that road and drive off into the sunset into a life that has none
of the urgency it previously did.
Los Angeles, July 20, 2017
Reprinted from World Cinema Review (July 2017).
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