The Beat Behind the Wheel: A Review of Baby Driver

“You know when you’ve been in a song, and it’s a song you love, and you know every beat, every note — that’s how I live my life.” — Baby, Baby Driver (2017)

There’s a moment early in Baby Driver when the city itself seems to hum to the rhythm of The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion’s “Bellbottoms.” Tires squeal in sync with snare hits. A windshield wiper keeps time with a hi-hat. A coffee cup lands on a counter in perfect sync with a trumpet flourish. From that instant, it’s clear: Baby Driver isn’t just a film — it’s a meticulously orchestrated symphony of motion, a cinematic mixtape that blurs the boundaries between sight and sound, chaos and control.

Director Edgar Wright transforms the typical heist film into something kinetic and euphoric — a film that moves not at 24 frames per second but at 120 beats per minute. With its heart-thumping soundscape and razor-edged editing, Baby Driver becomes a living, breathing playlist; a pulsing, pedal-to-the-metal music video that somehow never loses its emotional core.

Story: A Song of Speed and Redemption

At its core, Baby Driver is a modern outlaw fable. Baby is a gifted young getaway driver who suffers from tinnitus, the constant ringing in his ears a cruel reminder of a tragic car accident that killed his parents. To drown out the noise, he scores his life to a carefully curated collection of songs — a personal soundtrack that keeps him calm, focused, and in rhythm.

Baby works for Doc (Kevin Spacey), a calculating criminal mastermind who uses him as the wheelman for a rotating crew of heist specialists. Every job is a new “track” in Baby’s dangerous playlist: Griff (Jon Bernthal), Buddy (Jon Hamm), Darling (Eiza González), and Bats (Jamie Foxx) each bring a different tempo — chaotic, seductive, violent.

But when Baby meets Debora (Lily James), a kind-hearted waitress who shares his love of music and the open road, he begins to dream of escape. The film becomes a duel between rhythm and ruin — Baby’s dream of freedom clashing against the dissonant world of crime he can’t quite outrun.

The plot may sound familiar — the driver who wants out, the girl who represents redemption — but Wright transforms it into something transcendent. Every scene is scored to Baby’s internal playlist, every gunshot and footstep timed to the beat. It’s not just clever; it’s storytelling through rhythm, a cinematic ballet of cause and effect.

Music: Scoring A Fantastical Reality

Edgar Wright didn’t merely use tracks as background wallpaper — he built the movie around songs. The initial creative spark came from a single track (Jon Spencer Blues Explosion’s “Bellbottoms”), which Wright heard years earlier and envisioned as the backbone for an entire chase sequence; that seed eventually grew into the idea of a film scored by a mixtape of songs that double as storytelling devices. From pre-production on, songs informed blocking, camera movement, stunts and editing — the soundtrack existed before many scenes were shot. Motion Picture Association

That creative decision has three consequences that shape everything you experience:

1. Diegetic-first soundtrack — most music is what Baby himself is hearing through his earbuds (diegetic). You are inside his head.

2. Rhythmic plotting — beats determine timing of action: door slams, gear shifts, gunshots, and even laughs fall on the same meter as the music.

3. Emotional shorthand — songs are compressed character psychology: a mood, an aspiration, or a memory in 2–4 minutes.

The tinnitus engine: why the sound mix matters

Baby’s tinnitus is not a gimmick; it’s the film’s emotional metronome. Sound designer Julian Slater and the mixing team use a low, persistent ring whenever Baby isn’t listening to music, then duck that ring under the chosen track when he’s wearing earbuds. As Baby gets more stressed, the tinnitus is dialed up, so the soundtrack functions as both relief and control — music calms him and literally allows him to perform. In terms of audience technique, this creates auditory empathy: when the music cuts, we flinch. Motion Picture Association+1

Editing to the beat (and why that’s revolutionary here)

Editors Paul Machliss and Jonathan Amos cut the film as if they were assembling a DJ set. Their job wasn’t only trimming dramatic beats — it was timing the cuts to sync with the songs so that the visual rhythm mirrors the musical rhythm. Entire action sequences were storyboarded to a specific track, then shot and trimmed so that turns, shifts and close-ups hit on particular notes. The result is that the film’s tempo often is the tempo of the track — more than metaphor: literal synchronicity. deadline.com+1

Song-by-song: what the main tracks do in the film

Below I pick the film’s most narratively significant songs and explain why they were chosen and how Wright & team used them.

“Bellbottoms” — The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion

Why chosen: the raw, stop-start energy of the track suggested a breathless chase.Role: It opens one of the film’s signature sequences; the song’s surging brass and jagged guitar articulate Baby’s skill — tight, explosive, controlled chaos. This track literally became the blueprint: Wright imagined the camera choreography listening to this song first, and the editing and stunt driving were later fit to its crescendos. Its jaggedness also emphasizes Baby’s edge: he’s talented but living on the brink. Motion Picture Association

“Harlem Shuffle” — Bob & Earl

Why chosen: a walking, swinging groove that translates to human movement.Role: Wright uses it for the long opening walk sequence and for Baby’s public, composed persona. The song’s shuffle rhythm stages a long take in which the city, pedestrians, and mise-en-scène sync into a choreography around Baby — we see his life arranged as a groove, and the song telegraphs his internal steadiness amid criminal entropy. (Wright has talked about how “Harlem Shuffle” makes normal life feel like choreography.) rollingstone.com+1

“Egyptian Reggae” — Jonathan Richman & The Modern Lovers

Why chosen: playful and slightly off-kilter.Role: Used in lighter, character-building moments; its buoyancy underscores Baby’s childlike quality and the film’s affection for retro eclecticism. It’s a palate cleanser between heavier set-pieces and keeps the soundtrack’s tone wide while still maintaining rhythm as storytelling glue. Wikipedia

“Smokey Joe’s La-La” — Googie René

Why chosen: percussive, succinct, evocative of old-school cool.Role: Short, rhythmic tracks like this are used to punctuate transitional cuts and to accent tiny actions — a nod to the film’s love of groove as punctuation.

“Tequila” — The Champs

Why chosen: three-note motif, immediate recognition.Role: Wright uses this classic novelty horn riff as a comedic/kinetic counterpoint — small riffs can shift the audience’s emotional register instantly, which is crucial when a scene needs to oscillate between tension and absurdity.

“Easy” — (Commodores; Sky Ferreira cover in film)

Why chosen: thematically explicit — “easy” as aspiration and lullaby for escape.Role: The Commodores’ original is a tender, yearning track that underscores Baby’s desire for a simpler life. The Sky Ferreira cover deployed on the soundtrack album (and in elements of production) is a modern reinterpretation that keeps the emotional content while aligning the film sonically with contemporary listeners. This song frames Baby’s longing; it’s the emotional anchor for his dream of leaving crime behind. Wikipedia

“Debora” — T. Rex (and “Debra” references)

Why chosen: directly ties to Baby’s romantic subplot.Role: Naming a song after Debora (the film’s love interest) is almost literal musical symbolism — it marks love as a motif and binds the soundtrack to the character relationship. The glam pop shimmer signals 1970s soft-romance and injects romantic desire into the film’s sonic palette. Wikipedia

“Brighton Rock” — Queen (Brian May guitar solo)

Why chosen: virtuosic guitar work and operatic scope.Role: The Queen piece (or its guitar stylings) is used in the climactic stretch to escalate stakes — a virtuosic, shredding solo overlays furious driving, translating adrenaline into heroic musical vocabulary. It’s the film’s operatic moment: speed meets virtuosity.

“Baby Driver” — Simon & Garfunkel (end credits)

Why chosen: titular resonance; wistful, reflective.Role: Playing the song that shares the film’s name during end credits reinforces the idea of music as identity. It’s not used as a cue inside action; it’s after the story, a capsulizing elegy that reframes the film as a musical identity piece.

“Chase Me” — Danger Mouse ft. Run the Jewels & Big Boi (original for the film)

Why chosen: to create an original, bespoke piece that nods to the film’s themes while functioning as modern pump-up music.Role: This original composition interlocks with the licensed material to give the soundtrack an auteur’s signature — a bespoke fight/escape anthem that anchors the modern hip-hop/production side of the score. Pitchfork

Why the specific era-hopping matters

The soundtrack spans decades (60s soul, 70s glam, 90s alt-rock, contemporary hip-hop). That variety isn’t scattershot nostalgia — it paints Baby as a character whose identity is constructed from other people’s songs: stolen iPods full of other lives. Each era carries distinct emotional freight: doo-wop tenderness, glam swagger, punk urgency, and modern rap defiance. The collage mirrors Baby’s fractured past and his attempt to compose a functional life from thrown-away pieces.

Musical leitmotifs & character mapping

Think of the soundtrack as leitmotifs:

• Baby = carefully curated, melodic tracks that stabilize him (e.g., “Easy,” “Debora”)

• Debora = warm, vocal-forward songs that suggest open-road possibility

• Doc = music that’s unemotional, utilitarian, calculated — orchestral function more than feeling

• Bats = harsh, abrasive, fast cuts; his choices ratchet tension and drop the tempo into violence

Wright uses recurring textural associations (a brass hit, a hi-hat click, or a vocal riff) to cue emotional responses and to reintroduce motifs throughout the film. It’s not Wagnerian leitmotif in the classical sense, but it’s close: certain sounds echo at structural moments to remind you who’s playing which role in Baby’s life.

Technological & production choices that make the music sing

Three technical choices are central:

1. Pre-scoring & previs to music — Wright pre-selected many tracks and blocked scenes to them before filming, so camera moves, stunt timing and choreography were made to match the music’s tempo. This is why the cuts feel inevitable rather than slapped on. Motion Picture Association

2. Diegetic mixing & tinnitus layering — sound design places music inside Baby’s skull, while tinnitus is layered when he’s not actively listening to maintain audience alignment with his sensory reality. This keeps the music as a character-level device rather than a cue track. Motion Picture Association

3. Edit-to-beat discipline — editors timed cuts and action to specific beats and accents, not just the music’s overall tempo. That means micro-edits—blinks, gear changes, footwork—sit on downbeats or backbeats for maximum rhythmic clarity. deadline.com

The emotional payoff: why it matters for story

Because the music is Baby’s primary interface with the world, the soundtrack does more than set mood: it explains him. When music is taken away (earbuds removed, the track interrupted), chaos follows. When the music is restored, he regains control. Thus songs become instruments of agency and identity. The payoff: the audience doesn’t just watch the plot — we feel Baby’s internal economy and stakes through sound.

Characters: Human Instruments in a Perfectly Tuned Ensemble

The cast of Baby Driver is like a band — each character an instrument contributing to the overall sound.

Baby (Ansel Elgort) plays the reluctant prodigy, a man whose innocence contrasts his criminal skill. Elgort’s performance is quietly magnetic; he communicates volumes through silence, letting the music express what he can’t. His physicality — the way he moves to the beat, drives with precision, or subtly conducts traffic lights — gives the impression of a musician in motion.

Debora (Lily James) represents the pure melody to Baby’s complex rhythm. She’s a dreamer grounded in realism, the only person who sees Baby not as a criminal, but as someone worth saving. Their chemistry feels soft and melodic, echoing the tone of Sam & Dave’s “When Something Is Wrong With My Baby.”

Doc (Kevin Spacey) operates like a conductor — cold, precise, yet oddly paternal. He’s the bassline: steady, controlling, unrelenting. Even in his moments of kindness, there’s menace behind the metronome.

Bats (Jamie Foxx), meanwhile, is pure chaos — the dissonant jazz solo in an otherwise tightly composed piece. Foxx’s performance crackles with unpredictability, adding danger and intensity to every frame.

Buddy (Jon Hamm) and Darling (Eiza González) bring an intoxicating dynamic — lovers and killers intertwined, a Bonnie and Clyde remix for the digital age. Hamm’s descent from charming criminal to vengeful monster in the final act is one of the film’s most thrilling emotional arcs.

Setting: Atlanta as a Living, Breathing Soundtrack

Unlike the sterile urban jungles of most heist films, Baby Driver thrives in a warm, sunlit Atlanta. The city becomes a character — its streets, bridges, and diners pulsing with rhythm. Wright films the city as if it were a living record, each intersection a groove in vinyl.

The choreography of everyday life — street signs, graffiti, reflections, car movements — is embedded with musical cues. In the “Harlem Shuffle” sequence, the world literally dances with Baby, from the lyrics painted on walls to the movements of passersby. This is visual world-building through rhythm: Atlanta becomes not just a backdrop but the stage for Baby’s internal concert.

Wright’s choice to use practical effects and real car stunts rather than CGI grounds the film in tactile realism. The result? Every chase feels visceral — you feel the G-force, the tire grip, the drift. It’s an exhilarating symphony of speed and precision.

Production: The Craft of a Cinematic Symphony

Edgar Wright’s direction is a feat of coordination rarely seen in modern cinema. Each scene was storyboarded and scored before shooting — meaning that the soundtrack existed first, dictating the rhythm of editing, blocking, and camera movement.

The film’s editors, Paul Machliss and Jonathan Amos, cut footage to the beat, ensuring that every action synced perfectly with the chosen track. Even the gunfights were choreographed to music — a technique known as “beat synchronization,” reminiscent of classic musicals and MTV-era montage, yet executed with Wright’s signature precision.

Sound designer Julian Slater deserves special mention. By integrating the ringing of Baby’s tinnitus into the film’s mix, he blurs the line between sound design and score. The louder Baby’s life gets, the quieter his music becomes — an auditory metaphor for control and chaos.

Cinematographer Bill Pope (famous for The Matrix and Scott Pilgrim vs. the World) brings kinetic clarity to the frame. His camera dances with the characters, glides through alleys, and captures reflections of neon in chrome. The film’s visual rhythm is inseparable from its soundscape — the editing, cinematography, and soundtrack are all parts of the same orchestra.

Conclusion: The Perfect Mix of Motion and Music

Baby Driver isn’t just a heist film. It’s a love letter to cinema, to sound, and to the pure harmony of art forms colliding. It proves that editing can sing, that characters can move like instruments, and that even a car chase can feel like a perfectly composed piece of music.

In an era of formulaic blockbusters, Wright’s film stands apart as a reminder that movies can still move to a beat. It’s poetic, pulse-pounding, and deeply human — a story that lives in the space between silence and sound.

Like Baby himself, Baby Driver drives toward freedom — and finds it, not in escape, but in rhythm.

Bibliography

• Brody, Richard. “‘Baby Driver’ and the Art of the Mix Tape Movie.” The New Yorker, 28 June 2017.

• Ehrlich, David. “‘Baby Driver’ Review: Edgar Wright’s Car Chase Musical Is the Most Fun You’ll Have in Theaters All Summer.” IndieWire, 25 June 2017.

• McCarthy, Todd. “‘Baby Driver’: Film Review.” The Hollywood Reporter, 28 June 2017.

• Slater, Julian. Interview by Carolyn Giardina. “How Sound Brings ‘Baby Driver’ to Life.” The Hollywood Reporter, 2017.

• Wright, Edgar, director. Baby Driver. TriStar Pictures, 2017.

• Zoller Seitz, Matt. “‘Baby Driver’ Is a Great Car Chase Movie—And a Great Musical.” RogerEbert.com, 28 June 2017.

• Wright, Edgar. Baby Driver – Music from the Motion Picture (soundtrack). 30th Century Records, 2017. (Soundtrack release and tracklisting.) Wikipedia

• “Behind the Music of Baby Driver, With Director Edgar Wright.” Pitchfork, 2017. (Interview/feature on Wright’s process and song selection.) Pitchfork

• “’Baby Driver’ Film Editors On Ultimate Edgar Wright: Sound, Rhythm & Cuts.” Deadline, 5 Jan. 2018. (Interview with Paul Machliss & Jonathan Amos on rhythm-driven editing.) deadline.com

• “Oscar Watch: Baby Driver's Supervising Sound Editor Dissects Movie's Unique Syncopated Style.” MotionPictures.org, Jan. 2018. (Julian Slater on tinnitus and sound mix.) Motion Picture Association

• “Danger Mouse Enlists Run the Jewels and Big Boi for New Baby Driver Song: Listen.” Pitchfork, 2017. (On “Chase Me,” the original composition for the film.) Pitchfork