Drive
Cert 18
In cinemas now.
Anyone who has driven for any length of time will know that driving is a tedious, bumper-to- bumper, brain haemorrhaging act of sadism. The simple task of getting from A to B has become a battle of Mad Max proportions, at the end of which you thank God, Buddha or Dawkins that you made it to your destination without being bludgeoned to death by a man infected with that most contemporary of ailments – road rage.
If this is true in London, Birmingham or Basingstoke then it is certainly true of Los Angeles. In fact, as a quick search on Google confirms, drivers in LA spend more time in traffic jams than anyone else in the US. Thankfully, Drive, directed by Nicolas Winding Refn, is here to redress the balance and make driving sexy again.
Drive sees Ryan Gosling’s nameless driver cruise down empty LA freeways bathed in a sleazy but super-cool glow of neon lights. The LA streets lack a human presence; instead they’re sparsely populated by cars – that ultimate (but now contradictory) symbol of American freedom. The fantasy of the open road, and the bond between man and machine, is one of American cinemas greatest constructions and Refn plays on this to great effect.
Drive pays homage to cinematic offerings as diverse as Taxi Driver, Days of Thunder and even Grease; a playful nod to the importance of the automobile in contemporary American cinema. The film has much in common with Michael Mann’s Heat but while Mann’s film is cold and slick, Drive is a little rougher round the edges, a little sleazier. It is a neo-noir flick that revels in the pulpiness of the crime novel it’s based on.
Gosling’s character, who stunt drives in the day and moonlights as a getaway driver, befriends his neighbour Irene (Carey Mulligan) and a tender relationship develops. When Irene’s husband returns from a stint in jail things take a decidedly different turn and the film kicks into a higher gear. What started as a tender love story develops into a nightmare of blood, guns and gears. The existential musings of man and machine are put on hold in exchange for a story of pure survival.
Drive’s aesthetic is addictive from the start, a cocktail of chrome, car chases and ever increasing violence creates a heady atmosphere that’s intoxicating. This celluloid stimulant peaks in a breathtaking but gut-retching scene set within the claustrophobic environment of a lift – a scene that will leave you feeling euphoric or hungover, depending on your constitution.
Drive has a great ensemble cast (although Carey Mulligan is a little under used) and both they and Refn deliver the familiar heist gone wrong narrative with originality and conviction. Gosling’s character is unnerving but strangely likeable, a protagonist who, for all intents and purposes, is a psycho, but one that will become (like Travis Bickle) a hero for a generation of cinema goers.
For many, this will be a troubling trend. As an audience we seem to be transfixed by the hero as vigilante, unable to avert our gaze from the uncompromising figure that lives in a world of black and white. Watching Gosling’s driver is a visceral pleasure, a transgressive act that, put simply, is just damn exciting. Our loss of innocence is set to continue.
The violence in Drive means that it is unlikely to achieve mainstream success. But, if you can stomach the gore, a genuine edge of your seat story will have you hooked, and you’ll be hard pressed to find anything as exciting playing at your local cinema this month. Get ready for a thrilling ride.
[Rating:4]
