If the neon pink and script-like font of its title generally evoke the aesthetics of the early 1980s, it's for good reason. With its pulsing, trance-like soundtrack, Drive approximates the music-video chic of Michael Mann's 1980s output, including Miami Vice and Manhunter. But the film it most closely resembles in style, pacing and art direction is Mann's 1981 Thief. That film (a must-see) also featured a guarded loner (perfectly played by James Caan), a criminal partnership gone bad and bloody revenge.
And as with its predecessor, Drive's protagonist is reluctant to give his trust and is meticulous about his profession. Or in this case, related professions, all of which converge in his skill behind the wheel of a car. Ryan Gosling's laconic Driver (a variation on Eastwood's Man With No Name from Sergio Leone's Spaghetti Westerns of the 1960s) is a full-time mechanic, part-time stuntman and freelance getaway driver who knows all the ins and outs of the L.A. streets. With rehearsed precision, he tersely tells his clients they have a window of five minutes — with a slight cushion on either side — and then he's gone, with or without them.
After an engrossing opening set piece that effectively introduces the main character, Drive unfolds as neo-noir of uncommon intensity. Through acts of kindness, Driver establishes a cautious friendship with his neighbor down the hall, Irene (nicely underplayed by Carey Mulligan). Just as their relationship takes a romantic turn, Irene's husband, fresh out of prison, runs afoul of some tracksuit-clad thugs who want their enforcement money. In order to protect Irene and her son, Driver lends his assistance to set things right, to do the obligatory "one last job." But things first go very, very wrong.
In Drive's intricate but uncomplicated structure, Driver soon finds himself at odds with a pair of mid-level Jewish mobsters, one very business-minded (Albert Brooks, convincingly playing against type) and the other a muscle man with a chip on his shoulder (the always interesting Ron Perlman). Bryan Cranston (who stars in the incredible TV series Breaking Bad) provides fine supporting work as Driver's boss and father figure at the garage and critical link among the adversaries.
Director Nicolas Winding Refn (Bronson, Valhalla Rising) infuses his movie with a dreamy quality that is mesmerizing. While Drive moves slower than most modern commercial films, it's also far more intense for the effort and is sure to send audiences for a loop. A long kiss between Gosling and Mulligan in an elevator is one of Drive's most memorable scenes, whose payoff I won't spoil. Refn knows that we know what's coming, so he milks it with a care and patience that I can't imagine most of today's working filmmakers or studio execs would countenance. His beautifully composed shots and measured pacing are quite unlike anything we've come to expect from this kind of movie. Occasionally, Refn's deliberateness borders on self-parody, as Gosling and Mulligan's long considered looks are a few beats too long, comprised of half-smiles during silences that linger and linger before one of them finally speaks. But those missteps aside, Refn proves that stylishness is a matter of artistic sensitivity toward the subject matter, not treating the camera like it's attached to a Tilt-A-Whirl or messing indiscriminately with lens filters and film stock.
Gosling's nuanced performance holds Drive together and is very much in sync with Refn's calculated, surreal approach. His Driver floats through the world, virtually untouchable and touching no one. Even when he takes an interest in Irene, he does so warily, circling her cautiously before extending himself beyond his introverted nature.
When his sense of right and wrong is breached, Driver unleashes with a fury that leaves him shaking and those around him stunned. What's extraordinary about Driver isn't his physical prowess or professional skill so much as his bravery and relentless determination — his "drive," to be blunt about the title's double meaning. When he decides to do right by his neighbor, we know that nothing will stand in the way of his trying to protect those he cares for. What we don't expect is that this quiet, unassuming, near-autistic outsider harbors a merciless avenger.
Gosling's Driver is not made in the mold of the robotic, wise-cracking protagonists to which we're so often subjected. His heroism is all the more potent precisely because of his self-discipline and circumspection. The same composure that allows him to excel behind the wheel of a car also informs his bravery and resolve.
Likewise, Drive is unique — a very American thriller that dares to also be an art film. Under Refn's guiding hand, it's accessible while simultaneously resisting the tropes of today's action flicks. If it were made by the standard-issue Hollywood hack, Drive would have been all about pyrotechnics and visceral pulp thrills. One of Refn's many achievements in this film is that Drive never fetishizes the realistic, disturbing violence it depicts. That serious approach to the dirty work of justice, protection and sacrifice is what allows Driver to emerge as a real hero you won't forget.
This article appears in Sep 15-21, 2011.