Ryan Gosling (referred to as simply “kid” by others) works by day as a Hollywood stunt driver; by moonlight, he styles himself as a wheelman for organized crime ventures. When a small pawnshop robbery involving his neighbour’s husband, fresh out of prison, goes awry, Gosling is put in a life-threatening position with his neighbour (played by the ever-adorable Carey Mulligan) and their tiny son, Benito. The only way he can get out of it is to put all logic and reason aside and do what he has to do to protect them. In short? Heads will roll and shoes will need replacing.
And through all of it, our hero never has a name.
Drive is not a film about cars, or even driving these cars- Gosling only rarely explains his relationship with the 1978 Chevy Malibu he created from scratch for the production- although Nicolas Winding Refn might want you to think so. It’s understandable; his previous films, like the smaller budget Danish gangster trilogy, Pusher and the Vlad Viking obscurity of Valhalla Rising (both starring Mads Mikkelsen, whose career was launched from the former) were not easy to market to the average birdbrained moviegoer, and Refn’s different style of presentation was bound to alienate some viewers. Drive faces much of the same hurdles of Refn’s former cult-sustained efforts; it’s not easy to describe in one sentence, and since the trailers grossly misrepresent the actual product, even easier to pass it up as something it isn’t. The movie, an adaptation of James Sallis’ 2005 novel of the same name, operates on so many layers- as a humble love story, a bare-knuckle brawler, and a crime thriller with heart and soul- and like a good car, it performs the best when it has a good driver in its seat.
Refn is this kind of driver, for a number of reasons. Firstly, he has a keen understanding of how to build tension. Every scene is drawn out to its absolute maximum, with long lapses and looming silences underscored, even in the quiet moments, with a feeling of dangerous tension. This is a movie that burns the fuse slowly, taking its time to introduce the characters, establish the setting, and play its hand, from the opening scene- a tense car chase shot entirely from within the car, recalling 1968′s Bullit- to its uncertain end. When it explodes (and it definitely does explode) the sudden acts of mega violence are brief and contained, with Refn restraining himself by using a variety of unnervingly close proximity shots and the cold voyeurism of adjacent sharply low angled viewpoints that bring an extra dimension to the ringing aftermaths of gruesome scenes.
Technically, the lighting work is fantastic, as well as the little glints of personality one can see- like the details of Gosling’s wristwatch, the gold scorpion that graces the back of his coat, the toothpick he always has in his mouth, frozen in a slight ‘cool guy’ smirk- and Refn shows that these moving images, working in conjunction with an vibrantly ethereal soundtrack, can deliver just as many ideas and emotions as words can. All the acting is great- Albert Brooks is out of his comfort zone as a convincingly angry Jewish gangster, Mulligan is tender and pixie-like (yet never once feeling fragile) and even Cranston, fan favourite from AMC’s Breaking Bad, is a lovably gruff mechanic- though the central star steals the show. Ryan Gosling brings his best here, portraying a man who speaks very little, and when he does, one that measures his words carefully. It’s somewhere between suaveness and guarded sentimentality, and you can tell our driver clearly is a lonely man. His relationship with Mulligan is a tiny bit underplayed, only reaching past the point of warm cuteness, but it’s still quietly beautiful, enhancing this feeling of very real silences that are encapsulated by human feeling. It’s only when the gloves are off and the gauntlet is thrown down that Gosling becomes a man with a hard edge to his personality, and like the director, he contains himself perfectly.
Among its many influences, Drive is a tribute to filmmaker Alejandro Jodorowsky, and like all of Refn’s other films, examines the concept of “the primal man” when pushed on a consequential bed of razors. Though the director is still a wide-eyed outsider to the American locale, he trades dirty Copenhagen for the orange-tinged streets of Los Angeles and breathes new life into it in the process.
Although I do suspect that the film will be overshadowed by its bigger brethren in the race to attain an Oscar and its associated commercial responses, I also think that Drive might end up being better than most of them. For past all of Drive‘s goriness and scruffiness, you will find a distinct example of film directing beauty that is patient in delivering the goods. Like a bad dream of Cronenberg or Lynch mixed with the disgusting malignancy of Tarantino, Drive is an ugly fairy tale with transcendent cinematography that carries an unnervingly taut closeness on the screen, and an aesthetic of the art house, the noir, the pulp, and the retro, as well as respect towards the intelligent action observer. It doesn’t glorify or shy away from its occasional graphic ultra-violence- most likely it will leave you breathless, transfixed, or horrified- but if you can stand it, you will find a beautifully produced action film that always has one foot to the floor and both hands firmly on the wheel.
Pingback: Year In Review | Literary Musing’s Film Recommendation List for 2011 | Literary Musings