To live is to drive. At least,
that’s the impression you get watching Nicolas Winding Refn’s film. Our (anti)
hero, who has no name but is played by the increasingly impressive Ryan
Gosling, feels at home only when behind the wheel. After driving the getaway car during a thrilling opening car
chase, he arrives back to his sparse apartment, lit only by the neon of the
city outside. Standing alone in his room, his shadow beamed on the bare walls,
he surveys his surroundings briefly before walking out. For him, the road is
where he belongs.
There have been many films over
the years that speak of a yearning for the open road. Easy Rider and Thelma and
Louise both feature vistas of wide open spaces and use the road as a
metaphor for a feeling of disconnection from the outside world. Drive
differs in that we don’t see those vistas; instead we are there in the car with
Gosling. We are the passenger, glimpsing our hero from side-on or in the rear
view mirror.
Drive is
littered with so many movie references that it reads like a film student’s wet
dream. The comparison to a western is an obvious one – a lone ranger fighting
injustice and saving the innocent woman and child from the bad guys. The frothy
pink font of the credits and the bright lights of L.A. bring to mind ‘80s
Michael Mann, as well as the monotonous synth-pop beats of the soundtrack. One
particularly strong scene in an elevator is reminiscent of In the Mood for Love, as is the frequent skulking in hallways.
Partly what I love about
filmmaking is the craft itself. I love seeing a director’s vision, and this
film feels as if it’s been storyboarded to death. Not one scene on the screen
is accidental –Refn has planned every shot and lighting set-up with such
thought and attention to detail that it feels beautiful in its exactness.
Finally shirking off the
poster-boy image he acquired with The
Notebook, Gosling rounds off a trilogy of mature turns in Half Nelson and Blue Valentine with a performance of brooding intensity. He manages
to bring a little soul to what could have been an empty and two-dimensional
character. Gosling is an actor who can do so much with minimal effort; there
are no theatrics here. Carey Mulligan and Christina Hendricks put in decent efforts
as the token females, respectively playing the underwritten mother in trouble
and femme fatale roles with reliable skill. Male supporting performances are
also stellar from Albert Brooks, Ron Perlman and Bryan Cranston.
Yes, this film is violent. Whether
it is gratuitous is the topic of another discussion entirely, but personally, those
scenes don’t remain with me. However, they are not without consequence, as the
aforementioned elevator scene demonstrates (no plot spoilers here).
With Bronson, Nicolas Winding Refn proved he had promise. With Drive, he manages to create a pulp noir
that succeeds in being slick and stylish, but without selling its heart and
soul. He might just prove to be the filmmaker Tarantino could have been.
