Mesmerizing exercise in pure cinema

Rating: 9/10 (19 April 2012)

Not since "Taxi Driver" has there been so glorious a paean to the poetry of driving as the appropriately titled "Drive," a film that received a standing ovation when it was unspooled at the Cannes Film Festival in 2011. Indeed, the film is an homage of sorts to Scorsese's 1976 classic as well as to its iconic lead character, Travis Bickle.
As Ryan Gosling's unnamed character cruises hypnotically along the streets of downtown L.A., he seems all of a piece with his vehicle - almost as if it were an extension of him or he of it. For Gosling, driving is clearly both an obsession and an art form and he brings to it all the finely-tuned grace and immersive concentration of a symphony conductor or a prima ballerina. Taciturn almost to the point of inarticulateness, Gosling's character only comes fully alive when he's behind the wheel of a car. Indeed, almost a full quarter-of-an-hour of running time elapses before he speaks a word, and even then - and indeed throughout the course of the film - it's only to utter some banal commonplace or half-articulated thought. Language cannot convey his feelings, the sense of who he is; only driving can. Speech serves a strictly utilitarian function for Gosling, but driving speaks to his soul. And, appropriately, both his jobs - that of an assistant mechanic at a local repair place and a daredevil stuntman for the movies - involve working with cars to one extent or another. And, oh yes, he also sells his services as getaway driver for an assortment of sleazy armed robbers willing to pay his price and play by his rules.
This last fact is what winds up causing problems for the character, when he falls in love with an attractive neighbor (Carey Mulligan) whose husband gets paroled from prison early on in the movie. But the direction the story takes with this plot turn is not what you might expect, thanks to an intelligent screenplay by Hossein Amini based on James Sallis' novel of the same name.
Gosling's character fits comfortably in the mold of Travis Bickle - a morally ambiguous yet righteously angry antihero who defends innocent women and children against the evils of the world while freely crossing over that line himself. And at times he seems almost as mentally unhinged and psychotic as Bickle himself does. Yet, Gosling also runs the risk of inadvertently endangering both himself and those he cares about with his actions. The dual nature of the character is evident throughout the picture in the radically different ways in which he treats the various people in his life. Indeed, it is only with Irene and her young son, Benicio, that Gosling can be unconditionally and stoically tender - in stark contrast to the methodical brutality with which he dispatches the numerous enemies who are out to get him (be forewarned: the violence in the film can be unnervingly graphic at times).
Perpetually clad in a silver racing jacket - its collar turned up and a giant scorpion printed on the back - Gosling delivers his most indelible screen performance to date. Largely denied the tool of dialogue to define the character, Gosling is forced to rely almost exclusively on facial expressions and body language to convey the man's thoughts and feelings at any given moment. And he does an award-worthy job, for he commands our attention every split second of the time he is on the screen - which is virtually always. He's like a muted vortex drawing us into the heart of the character.
The superb cast is rounded out by a hirsute Bryan Cranston ("Breaking Bad") as the owner of the shop where Gosling works; Albert Brooks and Ron Perlman ("Sons of Anarchy") as mob bosses looking to hire Gosling to be the driver for a stock car they're planning on purchasing; and a barely recognizable Christina Hendricks (from "Mad Men") as a moll who gets in over her head on one of Gosling's "jobs." Heck, even Russ Tamblyn, of "West Side Story" fame, makes a cameo appearance!
Those who criticize the film for being too arty and Gosling's character for being too taciturn seem, to me, to be missing the point entirely. First, he is inarticulate precisely because he has found a means of expressing himself (i.e. driving) that doesn't require conventional language. (In fact, wouldn't that criticism eliminate all silent movies automatically?) And, second, like a fine wine, the movie can be savored strictly on the basis of its aesthetic qualities ("The New World" is a similar film that comes to mind). We are transported to a different world through the sheer beauty of the imagery and pacing, the mesmerizing performances, the hypnotic and smoothly flowing tracking shots (kudos to cinematographer Newton Thomas Sigel), the haunting score (more kudos to Cliff Martinez) and canny soundtrack choices.
As a director, Danish-born Nicolas Winding Refn is clearly a filmmaker to the manner born, demonstrating a command and mastery of the medium that leaves one breathless with admiration and awe. For "Drive" is a movie that revels in its own being. And that makes it a special treat for anyone sophisticated and savvy enough to appreciate its cinematic richness.