All posts by callen77


The Rider poster

“Cowboy up,” they say. It is a call to “play” through the pain. We’ve all heard it, in other sports (and sometimes war) movies, some of us in real life. Sometimes it comes out “man up,” or “toughen up,” or “walk it off,” or probably dozens of other variations. In Chloe Zhao’s THE RIDER Brady Blackburn (played by Brady Jandreau in basically his life story) faces the biggest “cowboy up” of his young life. A rodeo rider who suffers a near fatal accident when a horse crushes his head, Brady must decide whether to continue to follow his dream, to “cowboy up” despite the seriousness of his injury, or to take the advice of his doctors, not to mention the wishes of his father and sister (played by Jandreau’s real life father and sister), and retire from rodeo riding and horse training forever.

The stage is set for innumerable sports movie cliches, but Zhao has no interest in pursuing a straight forward sports film so when the moments arise where cliche would seem primed to take over, she sidesteps them with naturalness and authenticity. An early example of this comes when Brady’s friends (played again by the real life people), wake him up to go to the desert for a bonfire and male bonding. This is the first time any of them has seen his injury. They are all stunned by its appearance and try to give Brady the requisite hard time, but instead of succumbing to that pressure, which is what most sports films would have him do, he doesn’t even run with them when they are goofing around and call for him to join. Later, sitting around the fire, a friend tries, with little enthusiasm, to play the “cowboy up” card as they all tell stories about various injuries. They know that this situation is different though. They don’t say it but it’s on all their faces. Brady’s puts it simply when he states, “the brain is a lot different than ribs.”

What follows is a thoughtful, quiet film about one man’s journey to come to terms with drastic change and the loss of a dream. One of the side effects of Brady’s injury are,  he learns later, a series of seizures, of which the main visual symptom is a clenching of his fist and an inability to release it. He literally has to pry his fingers apart. It is as good a metaphor as I can imagine for Brady’s situation; his passion for rodeo is so all encompassing, so much a part of who he is, he simply can’t let go. He must suffer setbacks born of his stubborness and love before he can see the truth of his new life. A great help in realizing this comes from his best friend Lane Scott (also playing himself), who also suffered a near fatal injury, one that has left him partially paralized and unable to speak. The two communicated by sign language when Brady visit the facility where Lane lives and receives treatment.

It is clear that Zhao has a special touch with non-actors (I’ve since seen her debut feature, SONGS MY BROTHERS TAUGHT ME, a film about life on an Native American reservation and it is equally moving and adept at using non-actors) and the complex interplay between fictionalization and reality. At any moment a film of this kind is in danger of becoming too much a documentary or exaggerating or embellishing reality to the point of detrimental distortion. Zhao never falters. When she needs moments of reality like the aforementioned campfire scene or the visits with Lane, she intuits the natural power of these moments and doesn’t intrude with the camera but steps back and lets that power speak for itself. Conversely, when the film demands beauty in order to crystallize for us what it is that these young men love about their way of life, she creates that beauty effortlessly with classic western vistas, confident handheld work, and a way of shooting faces and reactions that allows her characters to be quiet and contemplative. I was reminded on more than one occasion of one of my favorite filmmakers, Werner Herzog, perhaps the reigning king of blurring the lines between reality and fiction. Zhao has tapped into his search for “ecstatic truth” and come away with two amazingly graceful films. 

Next up for Zhao? Marvel of course. That’s not a typo. Zhao is currently filming  THE ETERNALS , the second film (after BLACK WIDOW) in phase four of the MCU. I can’t imagine what Zhao’s going to bring. To go from no budget, non actor, on location films to working with some of the biggest names in Hollywood with a Disney budget, on stages and in front of a green-screen, it seems surreal.  Whatever the outcome, and I’m speaking here as neither an MCU hater nor fanboy, I hope Zhao does not give too many years to Marvel. We don’t get a lot of legitimate cinematic poets these days and Zhao fits the bill in my book. It would be a shame to lose her completely to Hollywood so early in her career.

–Jason Callen


Halloween 2018
Let’s dispense with one thing right from the start: David Gordon Green’s HALLOWEEN is not a return to the aesthetic of John Carpenter’s original. I’m sorry. I’m hearing this a lot and it just couldn’t be further from the truth. The key aesthetic of that classic unforgettable film is an almost complete lack of gore, the very thing that many slasher fans would single out as their favorite aspect of the genre. Had Green truly want to capture the spirit of the original, he would have made a discerned effort to minimize the gore and rely on editing and psychological terror. Not that this film doesn’t employ those techniques as well but, unfortunately, it is mostly as fan service to evoke nearly identical shot from the first film. No, what we have here is something much more akin to the original sequel, HALLOWEEN II (Rick Rosenthal, 1981) which already embraced the gore.  A brilliant creep through the neighborhood reminds us of this as well as cinematographer Michael Simmonds mimics Dean Cundey’s (who shot both the original and and the 81 sequel) Steadicam style and a similar sequence in the HALLOWEEN II.  Beyond that, the key aesthetic forerunner to this film is Rob Zombie’s 2007 reimagining and it’s 2009 sequel.  The brutality that Zombie brought to his two films is on full display, they even lift a “head stomping” kill right from H2 (let’s use that to reference Zombie’s second film).

More essential to both films however, is having its characters suffering from PTSD. In H2 Laurie Strode (Scout Taylor-Compton) is two years removed from the events of the HALLOWEEN ’07 but still suffering from nightmares and seeing a psychiatrist (Margot Kidder) regularly. She is also abusing her prescriptions and has alienated her closest friend, and fellow survivor, Annie (Danielle Harris) who, with her father the Sheriff (Brad Dourif), have taken Laurie in after her parents were murdered by Michael in the remake. Annie’s story here is heartbreaking as she has become a shut-in, playing more mother to both Laurie and her father than she does friend or daughter. But this is supposed to be about the new HALLOWEEN so I save that for the comments section. So the new one then. Jamie Lee Curtis is back to reprise the role of Strode for the 4th time, though as has been well reported David Gordon Green and co-writers Danny McBride and Jeff Fradley have chosen to disregard all the sequels, including the ’81 film that takes place the same night as the original film. What does that mean in terms of narrative? Well, two things primarily: Strode is no longer Michael’s sister. That revelation came in the first sequel and has been disregarded with a cheap throwaway line that claims that “someone said that once but it’s not true.” Okay fine. The other narrative switch is the capture of Michael Myers. In the original film Michael is shot multiple times and falls from a balcony, when Dr. Sam Loomis (Donald Pleasence) looks down Michael is gone. As the 2018 film begins, Michael has been institutionalized for the past 40 years. Wait what? So he was caught that night? Yep, that seems to be the case but the film offers no explanation as to how this occurred. This has the effect of immediately demystifying Myers. He is no longer a mysterious force of nature that can walk away from six shots to the chest (also not explained in this film) but just a man who got busted after a murder spree. Laurie’s trauma here has had decades to fester. She is quite nearly a shut-in, living in a fortified house (that somehow has easy access through a forest but never mind) with an arsenal of weapons, ready for anything. Except, her fear doesn’t really seem to extend outside of Michael Myers. That is to say we do not see her destroyed by nightmares or seeking or getting any outside help. We just see her still afraid. 40 years later with no further incident but still she knows, SHE KNOWS, Michael will be back someday.

Of course that day comes sooner than later as Michael escapes from a transport to another facility. Why is he being moved, and why on the anniversary of his horrific crime? As far as I could tell it’s just so he can escape, but whatever, Michael’s out and guess who he’s coming for? I know you don’t have to guess. You know why? Because Laurie is exactly where he left her, Haddonfield, Il.  Why is Laurie still in Haddonfield? Like I said, she’s waiting. The early scenes here were the strongest in setting up the extent of Laurie’s trauma and the effect it has had on her life and the life of those around her. We learn of her daughter Karen’s (Judy Greer) isolated childhood and see her someone distance (though still living within a stone’s throw) from her mother and resentful of her upbringing. Her daughter Allyson (Andi Matichak) is more sympathetic to her grandmother. In one of the more interesting “throwback” shots we see Allyson in the classroom gazing out the window just as her grandmother did 40 years ago. Instead of cutting to show Michael lurking or an unfamiliar car, Green and editor Colin Patton cut to Laurie standing outside looking into her granddaughter’s classroom, which puts her in the position of traumatizer at an early stage of the film.

It’s these early moments that also showcase the best of what David Gordon Green brings to the film with his understanding and empathy for rural America, something present in all his best films. This is best embodied in Sheriff Frank Hawkins played by veteran character actor Will Patton as an officer who was “there that night” 40 years ago.  Patton’s hound dog expression goes a long way in carrying the town’s trauma but unfortunately Green doesn’t have enough time to really explore that trauma as a whole so it’s all on Patton. This is a great disadvantage to a film that is trying to take PTSD seriously. A little more to indicate the town’s ongoing trauma would have went a long way, but HALLOWEEN ’18 isn’t really interested in trauma beyond using it as a surface motivation. It’s much more concerned with being a badass slasher film. So is it that? Mostly yes, thanks again to the brutality that Zombie brought to the franchise and to the reworked and revamped soundtrack by John Carpenter, Cody Carpenter, and Daniel Davies which had the unenviable task of not only living up to the greatness and effectiveness of the original score but overcoming the cheap tweaks and bastardizations it’s endured since the second film. I can’t be 100% sure that some of the chills I got while hearing weren’t the result of nostalgia but nonetheless it’s a tremendous score that elevates the movie.

Unfortunately, by the third act, the film could use some elevating as it deteriorates in to a pretty average slasher, better than a lot of recent entries in the genre but ultimately not able to rise above the genre in the way it handles its noble themes. There is just too much that is inexplicable, too many silly or down right stupid decisions to take the film seriously as an exploration of trauma or cycles of violence. Too much happens solely to propel the increasingly nonsensical plot until finally “the twist” arrives and it’s the most predictable and dull moment in the entire film, amounting to nothing.  At this point the film is pillaging the entire series for scraps and has pretty much abandoned its thematic conceit. When the inevitable climax brings the three generations together it’s meant to be a cleansing moment for Laurie, purging her of that old trauma, but it plays more like a validation of the continued trauma she has inflicted on her family, complete with a cutesy cat and mouse game between Karen and Michael. Turning Laurie’s trauma and the trauma she inflicts into a positive is about as unsatisfying a conclusion as I could have imagined, complete with a final shot that says, hey, let’s remake HALLOWEEN 4!

And yet, despite all the thematic confusion and narrative disappointments there is a great deal of satisfaction in seeing Laurie Strode getting to confront Michael. Not so much because of what this films is or does but because of the absolutely atrocious ending her character got in Rick Rosenthal’s HALLOWEEN RESURRECTION (2002). That was no way to treat the greatest icon the genre has ever seen and at the very least Green has redeemed that bit of poor decision making. In the end HALLOWEEN 2018 is a mixed bag. As an attempt to return to the spirit of the original, it fails miserably.  As a slasher it has effective moments and some atmosphere, but it all seems borrowed.  As an examination of PTSD and cycles of violence it is too muddled and rushed to say much of anything, too dependent on the tropes and beats of the genre too rise above them (in contrast H2 abandons the genre in favor of a more surreal, dream like approach). It tries to be all things for all people and ends up just another sequel. Is it a disaster? Not at all. Is it the greatest thing since the original? Not at all.

–Jason Callen



Guillermo del Toro makes beautiful films, let’s just make that clear. His craft is impeccable. With a variety of collaborators he has created some of the most brilliant productions, sets, and practical effects in all of modern cinema. Here he blends practical and computer generated effects better than any film I can think of (I think he’s still trying to redeem himself for that awful CG fight in BLADE 2).  His massive monster muse Doug Jones, who has been featured under heavy make (yet still somehow always recognizable?!) in six of del Toro’s eleven features, creates a performance that is hard to judge because of this mixture. The creature this time is credited as both “The Asset” and “Amphibian Man” and really has to be seen to be believed. The obvious inspiration is, which del Toro heartily acknowledges, THE CREATURE FROM THE BLACK LAGOON, but del Toro and his crew go beyond simple movie monster and create a character of depth and sympathy, so much of which lies in its eye, as is the case with all film performance. These eyes are fixed black orbs but the blinking is all CG. Given this is a story of two mute characters, Sally Hawkins’ Elisa was injured as a child, the importance of their eye contact cannot be understated. Make no mistake this is an inter-species love story, complete with consummation, so if at any point we stop believing the reality of the creature, the whole thing falls apart. Because of the great effects and both legitimately wonderful performance we believe every moment: the “meet cute”, the courtship, the physical attraction, all of it. Unfortunately not all the other performances, or characters, live up to this standard.

Michael Shannon can do menacing while sipping tea and reading Better Homes and Gardens. It’s just his thing. Here his does MENACE! Or more specifically GOVERNMENT MENACE! and it’s all cartoon and caricature. You believe he’s scary, you believe he is dangerous, you just don’t believe he’s human. Octavia Spence suffers a similar fate as SUPPORTIVE FRIEND! This wouldn’t even be an issue if the film was a strict fantasy. Hell, I love watching actors find nuance in timeworn character types. For my money one of Michael Shannon’s best performances is as MENACE WITH A BADGE! in David Koepp’s underseen, highly entertaining PREMIUM RUSH. But I digress. I should clarify “strict fantasy” I think. I’m obviously not referring to elves and fairies and what have you. What I mean is a story set sort of out of time, where things are, in varying degrees recognizable, but not really discernable in regards to era and sometimes locations, and often distorted or exaggerated. EDWARD SCISSORHANDS and SEVEN are a couple films that leap to mind. But THE SHAPE OF WATER goes out of its way to place in a very specific time: American in the 1965. How do we know this? Because at one point Elisa is at her neighbor Giles’ (Richard Jenkins) apartment and she turns on the television and we see footage of the Selma marches. More specifically we see violence against the marchers. I can’t recall if it was them being hosed or attacked by dogs, it is only a brief glimpse. Giles, who happens to be gay, reacts by waving his hands and insisting that Elisa “turn it” and that he “doesn’t want to see this.” Elisa turns the channel to a musical and Giles sits down responding “isn’t that lovely.” I have never in my life felt the energy sucked out of a theater like I did at that moment. I saw this on a Tuesday morning with a full theater and diverse audience and I don’t think there was a single patron that didn’t either gasp or groan (I was a groaner). It is a callous and inexplicable moment, particularly when you consider the film is supposed to be a metaphor for inequality and forbidden love. Pro tip (ok, fine, amateur tip), when creating a cinematic metaphor don’t  put it directly next to images of real people with real struggles, and if you must then for fuck sake don’t treat that image like someone just put a plate of something disgusting in front of you. It is rare that a single, quick moment like this can deflate an entire theater but there was definitely a marked difference in my audience after this. No one reacted to much else for the remainder of the film, except another groan during a scene where, believing he has a mutual attraction, Giles, hits on the cashier at a local pie store (were there really pies stores in the 60s?), but has taken the cashiers customer service training as affection and is promptly told to leave, but kicking him out is not enough, as he is being asked to leave an African American family enters and is also kicked out.

The story moves on, the plot unfolds, but the magic has gone. The metaphor, which had been working, seems flippant and petty by comparison. The rest of the film is basically a well-staged heist film with Amphibian Man as the ultimate prize. Elisa enlists her friends and a Russian spy (Michael Stuhlbarg) whose character I won’t even get into but to say that it is a character that the film doesn’t know what to do with or how it wants us to feel about him. He’s Russian so he has to be coded “bad guy” but he’s also the only person outside her immediate circle who sympathizes with both Elisa and The Asset. There’s a complexity to his motivation that could have really been interesting to explore but instead his stand alone scenes feel more like cut-aways to a different film, the international intrigue and cold war representation a pointless sheen over the bizarre love story that is the heart of the film. Bizarre and otherworldly is where Del Toro shines. Not just in this film but throughout his career it has always been the fantastic that he seems most comfortable with, but it is only here where I’ve felt the real world setting a crutch to his story and themes. He should have let these two beautiful characters do their dance and trusted his audience to understand the metaphor.

by Jason Callen


Star Wars The Last Jediby Jason Callen

Rian Johnson has accomplished something remarkable. He has taken a sprawling space opera that encompasses 8 feature length films, hundreds of hours of animation, and dozens of books, comics and video games and created a story about intimacy and connection. Given the nature of the force as the “thing that binds us and holds the universe together,” you’d think something along these lines would have been attempted before, and certainly there have been moments throughout the series that highlight the connections the force can create, but it always felt more in service of plot then any kind of exploration of the force’s potential. Through the simple, time honored technique of cross cutting between two characters Johnson creates that connection between Rey (Daisy Ridley) and Kylo (Adam Driver). It is the first time we’ve seen two characters communicate with each other via the force. I know, it seems ridiculous right, like this has happened repeatedly, but no, all other moments of force communication (I’m making these terms up as I go) have always been between “ghosts” and the living or been just a word or a feeling between living characters, never a conversation. (And yes, I realize that technically the connection is manufactured by a third party but I don’t think it changes the impact at all). Big deal you say. What’s the difference you say? I know, I felt the same way at first but as Johnson persisted in its use it became clear he wanted to give the force a more important role. So we get this expanded connection and we get Leia’s amazing force moment, which was so necessary and about damn time, but beyond that we get connections between non force wielding characters. Not telekinetic connections but human ones. I’m speaking obviously of Finn and Rose who end up separated from the main action but vital to it nonetheless. With no one else to trust, they must rely on each other. This would seem a fairly straight-forward side mission, something abundant in the Star Wars universe, but when Johnson goes back to Rey and Kylo, the parallels between the two budding relationships become clear.  Neither Finn nor Rose is force aware in any sense we are familiar with but their connection is clear and clearly meant to enrich the potential of the force. The “force binds and connect everything,” it is not simply a tool for the Jedi and Sith but something that anyone one has the potential to tap into. As it should be.  And while Finn and Rose didn’t exhibit any force powers, I would not be surprised to see them emerge in later episodes.

Luke’s belief that it is “time for the Jedi to end” takes on a different meaning if we accept this. We don’t have to assume a Jedi genocide or more (always more!) self-imposed Jedi exile. Instead the end of the Jedi might simply mean the end of Jedi elitism. People no longer need the Jedi to inform them on the ways of the force or to restrict them in the ways in which the might use it with religious tenets. Put simply, the force is for everyone. You don’t bring balance to the universe by hoarding the force among a select few. You bring balance to the universe by imbuing all with the force.  Children abandoned to slavery, former Storm Troopers who grow a conscious, lowly maintenance workers who have only ever dreamed of battle, broom boy…any one could now end up the greatest wielder of the force the galaxy has ever seen. Couple this new potential with Luke’s evolution to a celestial being and it’s safe to say Rian Johnson has blown up the Star Wars mythos, and while many have and will disagree, I’ve found those moments that have garnered the most ire (I won’t list them, you know them) to be the moments that set this film apart from the rest and give the audience something richer than we’ve come to expect. The future of the franchise has never been so wide open or exciting.

Will any of this potential be realized in upcoming films? Sadly I hold out little hope for the next episode since it will be returning to the pedestrian, TV aesthetic inclined, J.J. Abrams who is half the director and a third the writer that Johnson is. But fear not, Disney has already green-lit Johnson a new, non-episode trilogy so there is reason to rejoice and believe he’ll get a chance to move his vision forward, and if we’re really lucky (and if Disney has any brains at all) perhaps he’ll be involved at least in the writing of the next episode. Whatever happens, they better be bold, because the bar has been raised. This is the best live action STAR WARS.


Over the Edge poster

It’s odd when a nearly forty year old film comes with high expectations, but such is the case with Jonathan Kaplan’s 1979 film OVER THE EDGE. For years I’d heard this was one of the best representations of teenage life/angst to be put on film. Such bold statements always leave me weary but seeing as it was co-written by Tim Hunter, who would go on to direct RIVER’S EDGE (1986) which is one of the best such movies, I was willing to trust the cult status of this film.

The cult got it half right. The first portion of this film does indeed create a realistic depiction of teenage malaise. Stuck in the newly developed suburb of New Granada the listless teens spend most of their time in the “rec center” or out performing a series of misdemeanors that range from mostly innocuous to might get someone killed. Wisely the film does not attempt to turn these Junior High students (remember when there were Junior Highs?!) into monsters but simply bored teens, desperate to find something worthwhile to occupy their time. For the majority of the film anyway. The “worst” among them is Richie White (Matt Dillon in his film debut) whose petty criminal record puts him on the radar of the Doberman (Harry Northup), the local sheriff (I assume, the never really specify), who of course sees him as a major threat to the community, as he does all the teens. He uses any infraction to harass and intimidate the teens, eventually shutting down the one place the have, the teen rec center. Run by Julia (Julia Pomeroy), the center consists of a pool table, a Foosball table, a ping pong table, some chairs and a playground. In other words, about 30 minutes of fun before boredom sets in again. As ineffective as the center is, Julia is the only adult presented who is willing to listen to the teens and try to understand them.

This type of film insists that a “good” kid be caught up in the wake of the trouble maker, and in this case that good kid is Carl (Michael Kramer). Smart and resourceful, Carl gravitates toward Richie because of his confidence and humor, and their relationship creates a balance that helps us sympathize with the disenchanted youth. But just as that sympathy is reaching its peak and we think the film is going one way (to a greater understanding between the adults and children), the film creates an incident that changes the tone of the film and leads to a finale that while nicely shot and edited, seems reductive to the purpose of the film. The chaos and violence of these final moments are so extreme and exaggerated that it belies not only the emotional realism of the early portions of the film but also what we’ve come to believe about the main character. We watch Carl grow and come close to bridging the generation gap, only to see him (and EVERYONE else) become exactly what their parents and the law feared. It is a truly demoralizing end.

I imagine if I had seen this as a teenager I probably would have championed it as a huge success and window into the frustrations of confined youth. As an adult, far removed from the angst and rebellion of youth, the film seems more interested in confirming the fears of adults than looking seriously at the causes of juvenile crime. A real shame considering how great it started. An interesting, frustrating, and ultimately disappointing “cult classic.”

by Jason Callen

mother! – a reaction by Jason Callen


Art is the most selfish act of all, and the most consumptive.  The artist, compelled to create, consumes all around them. No one, and nothing, is safe. Nature, industry, culture, politics…all are ingested and processed in the desperate need to express that inner voice. Love too. Love is the tastiest morsel of all. With love, with a muse, the artist can transcend, reach heights once thought unattainable. Unfortunately for the muse they don’t always survive the process, as the artist is prone to discard them once they’ve served their purpose. The muse’s needs are of no concern to the artist in the midst of creation. The muse does not control its own power. The muse is activated when necessary, otherwise lying dormant. Their heart crystalized and preserved until the next desperate need strikes the artist. Sometimes the muse malfunctions, provides no fruit for consumption. These are dangerous moments for the artist, who must now distract themselves while waiting for the return of their inspiration. At these times the artist can become aware of their own selfishness, their gluttony.  This may trigger a spasm of altruism. In an attempt to balance hour upon hour of forced isolation, the artist may open themselves up, inviting people into the process and sharing with them their passion. But the artist is compulsive and often doesn’t realize when this “altruism” again becomes a part of their consumption. Soon the artist begins to feed again on those they have brought close, turning their lives into part of the work. A side effect of this is adulation. Feeling connected to the artist, the mob begins its own feeding. The artist can thrive on this adulation as much as they do the muse’s love. Sometimes it supplants it entirely. Having claimed partial ownership of the artist, the mob feels threatened by the muse. They fear its ability to return the artist to isolation. And so they destroy it, pummel it, dissect it. The artist is impotent to act. “It’s all because they love me,” he chants as his love dies and ego grows. The muse’s attempt to reignite the artist’s passion cause sparks that ultimately just burn everything to the ground. Undeterred, the artist simply changes medium. Now they work in ash.



BABY DRIVER is a tale of two movies. The first is what I can only think to call a near-musical, where a young ace driver performs to tunes of ipod a bevy of death defying maneuvers any one of which could get you killed everyone in the vehicle if inches are missed. The diegetic music and the ways it inadvertently syncs with the driving, turn the driving into a metallic dance. Said driver, Baby, as it where, sees himself as having an equal grace when he’s on two feet. This is not necessarily the case as he his frequently getting told to “watch out” as he, still listening to music that we hear as the soundtrack, dances down the street weaving in and out of foot traffic and performing a little routine. The sequence is reminiscent of both Gene Kelly and Tony Manero. It is screaming out to be a bigger more musical moment, to allow that energy of the opening chase to carry over, to look and feel even more choreographed. Instead, director Edgar Wright stays mostly close on Baby and robs the scene of its potential. Moments later another scene evokes Gene Kelly’s first appearance in AN AMERICAN IN PARIS, where he fluidly moves about a tiny apartment, turning every action into a dance. Here, Baby is making a sandwich for his foster father and moves through the kitchen in much the same way, but instead of a wide shot where we can appreciate that movement and the space, Wright cuts needlessly through the scene, even breaking the 180 degree “rule” for no apparent reason. Here again the scene seems to end before it begins, right when you’d expect a more musical moment. A scene in a laundry mat also seems primed to burst but Wright holds it back. This continues throughout these lighter moments of the film (mostly in the first third of the feature).

The other movie within this movie is a hyper violent, fairly conventional cops and robbers flick about a young man who lost his parents (abusive father, loving mother) in a car accident and becomes a car thief/joy rider in an attempt to control the thing that took the life of the only person who loved him. One day he gets caught by a bigger criminal, Doc, played by Kevin Spacey, and rather than turn him in to the police Doc sees what an incredible driver Baby is and blackmails him into being the getaway driver on a series of robberies. But don’t worry, he’s cool, once Baby pays his debt he’ll be free to go. Sure sure. Doc, despite claims of being extremely careful and smart about the crews he uses, employs on more than one occasion, Bats, played by Jamie Foxx. Bats is a psychotic (Batshit crazy, haha, yeah we get it) whose pretty much kills or wants to kill everyone he meets/works with. In reality he’s the fun killer. As soon as he shows up (far too early in the film), all the joy and musical whimsy that the, let’s say, first 20 minutes of the film promised is overwhelmed by Bats’ personality and Foxx’s one note performance.

During those delightful opening moments Baby also manages to find a love interest in Lily James’ Debora. Perhaps surrogate mother is a better description though, as she works at the restaurant that Baby’s mother used to work at (which he haunts daily), looks vaguely like her, and sings vaguely like her. There budding romance is kept separate from the cops and robbers narrative, until of course it needs to be integrated so that Debora can become a hostage and a reason for Baby to take up the violence that he has personally avoided during his time with Doc. It’s all quite depressing, particularly when circumstances lead Debora to use violence as well. Despite another 10 or 15 minutes of coda, the movie ended for me with that act, which also finally and completely ends the promise of the film’s opening. Sure, Wright continues to use the diegetic music in the later half, but now he cheats it, bringing in a conventional thriller score when he needs to during later scenes. It sure would have been fun to continue using Baby’s playlist during these moments. But alas.

I’ve enjoyed Edgar Wright’s work since I was first introduced to the show SPACED, which he directed every episode of. I’ve liked all his previous features as well and make no mistake, BABY DRIVER is made with just as much skill as any of them. His usual energy is there as he works with long time collaborators Bill Pope (cinematography) and Jonathan Amos & Paul Machliss (editing). If this had just been a straightforward heist film I’d probably be singing its praises right now but the open teases a much more interesting genre exploration that never materializes. Or rather, gets crushed by the weight of convention and violence. Wright’s had such success adding humor and pathos to genre films, it would have been so great to see him really attack the musical with the same bravado, even in the karaoke style that takes plays here. Is BABY DRIVER devoid of entertainment? No, but it’s the weakest film from a still young filmmaker whose ceiling is very high.