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Saturday, February 17, 2018

The Writer's Life 2/17 - Oh Baby

When Baby Driver (2017) roared into theaters there was good buzz about it on the web. Then a guy who knows a lot about film told me it was dreck, so I didn't know what to expect when I watched it last night courtesy of Netflix. It's a familiar story, exciting and entertaining with a dash of elements that don't make sense. I will refrain citing what I think is its major flaw so as not to be a spoiler. The plot is simple: an intelligent young man is in hock to a crime boss who caught him stealing his Mercedes. He repays by serving as a getaway driver. I was reminded of The Driver (1978) starring Ryan O'Neal, and Drive (2011) starring Ryan Gosling. The big difference is more violence and thrills, and a great soundtrack. I recognized only a few songs. Focus' Hocus Pocus fit perfectly during the climactic heist. In such a movie, acting is secondary to action. Ansel Elgort, with whom I was completely unfamiliar, was adequate in the lead. I wonder how long it will be before Kevin Spacey, who plays the boss, returns to the screen following his harassment banishment. Lily James fits the bill as the love interest. Jamie Foxx dominates every scene he's in, his character menacing and despicable. Eiza Gonzalez, also unfamiliar to me, is wonderfully sultry as a deadly thief. Jon Hamm and John Bernthal (The Walking Dead) are perfect as hardcore criminals. Songwriter Paul Williams does an amusing turn as a gun dealer. Baby Driver was written and directed by Edgar Wright, who has quite a career going, 21 credits at the helm, 23 as a screenwriter. Made on a budget of $34 million, it returned $107+ million worldwide. It runs less than two hours. 266,000+ users at IMDb have rated it, forging to a consensus of 7.7 on a scale of ten, too high in my view. Anyone squeamish about bloodletting should pass. Here are the principal players, absent Bernthal. CJ jones is furthest left, next to the director. He plays the mute guardian of the protagonist:


I've mentioned this before and I know it may sound like bunk, writer's embellishment if you will, but it shows how fascinating the mind is. When I was writing Close to the Edge in the late '70's, I would now and then dream I was a murderer and wake up spooked. That lasted about 15 years - not every night but often enough. Last night it happened again. Perhaps the movie triggered it. I was wide awake at four AM. For some reason, the word "chelated" was part of it. It appears on vitamin bottles. Its meaning is too technical to include here. I don't think the nightmare was induced by anything in my just published novel, Present and Past, although it does contain violence. The source is a mystery, as is so much of life.

My thanks to Jack of Chase, who bought a thriller by Mark Greaney, and to the elderly woman who purchased one by Sandra Brown, and to the one who selected a book in Russian, and to Ralph, who despite being on crutches grabbed Even Warren Buffett Isn't Perfect by Vahan Janjigian. He's a few weeks removed from spinal surgery and already back at work directing his exterminating crew. He spotted Fifty Shades Darker and said his wife had seen the screen adaptation only yesterday and came away with the idea that she needed to be more aggressive in the bedroom. If that doesn't straighten his back out, nothing will. Special thanks to the Ukrainian gentleman and lover of rock n roll, who took a chance on Rising Star, my first street sale of it in ages. His face was red and he smelled of alcohol. He was so impressed by my literary output he asked to take my picture, which he did with a fancy camera. His eldest daughter is doing doctoral work at Princeton - now that's impressive. He is going to a Foghat concert next week. Although his accent is thick, his English is solid. I suggested he take some books to appease his wife, who's been giving him a hard time about his drinking. He took one in Russian and two in English.

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