DRIVE

Yes, Baby Goose rides off into the night with his sweet-ass Scorpion jacket and leather riding gloves to the sound of sweeping 80s synths and a gently purring muscle car... This is a twilight world where bubble gum and face-stomping go hand in hand, where silent stares are at once touchingly romantic and unsettlingly tense.

AND ITS BEAUTIFUL

In a recent interview for BBC Radio 4's The Film Programme (you can get the podcast here), Nicolas Winding Refn stated that he wanted to make the first half of the film like a John Hughes movie, all sweet romance and meaningful looks, and the second half..."what I would do to protect my wife"...

That statement is heavily loaded if you consider Refn's back-catalogue of films about violence, gangsterism, and psychopathy. And skinhead maniacs.

Note: One of these images is not from a Nicolas Winding Refn film.

I've been following Refn for a while now, ever since I downloadedlegally watched Pusher some years ago (look, it wasn't on DVD at the time, ok?), and I'm really happy to see him succeeding in Hollywood after the mis-fire that was Fear X.

It's also great to see a gradual move from the gritty handheld aesthetic of the Pusher Trilogy to the highly-composed, glossy images he presents in Bronson and Drive. I think he's cleverly moved with the times, realising that the pared-down aesthetic worked well as a shocking counterpart to the high-gloss of more formulaic cinema in the 90s, but now that Hollywood has caught on to this it feels fake and as though realism is to be used as a technique rather than a form of expression.

I also think it's smart to portray violence using pulchritudinous imagery. In the past, this has been described as crypto-fascist and exploitative, fetishising violence for the purposes of manufacturing cool and superficial beauty (this is certainly the case with Zack Snyder's irritating masturbatory slow-mo shots of people being shot/punched/stabbed in the face etc.). Here, at least in my opinion, it's so clearly stylised that it renders the violent acts both absurd and shocking, like a knife puncturing a mickey mouse balloon filled with blood, a mixture of kitsch and sudden gore. This is very much reminiscent of the forays into sexual violence seen in Blue Velvet, where the Disney-like sheen of suburbia is peeled back to reveal primal erotic thrills bubbling underneath.

Most shocking in Drive is the soon-to-be infamous face-stomping scene. According to the Kermode podcast he consulted Gaspar Noe of Irreversible fame, where Albert Dupontel stoves in a man's face with a fire extinguisher. No cutaways. Apparently, they used a combination of traditional latex and CGI to give it the finishing touches...

Incidentally, I've included a link to said fire extinguisher scene here, but I advise you not to watch it unless you're feeling like you haven't been profoundly traumatised enough of late.

I would warrant that a majority of so-called extreme cinema that presents violence in a truly disturbing and insightful manner is primarily made by well-educated upper-middle class men, who most likely have never been overtly violent or aggressive themselves. Think David Lynch, David Cronenberg, Gaspar Noe, Alan Clarke, Martin Scorcese, Andrew Dominik (I'm aware that many don't fit this mould, i.e. Sam Fuller, John Ford, etc...) All these directors provide excellent insights into the true nightmare hiding behind masculinity: It's empty, desparate, impotent, and only fully effective without empathy for others.

I don't know why it tends to be the educated not-so masculine men making such films, and they clearly are not just parodying the image of man that they don't measure up to, as many of their films simultaneously fetishise and satirise male violence. Perhaps it's a way of dealing with their own evocative daydreams of repressed sexual and violent urges. It is also possible that they are not willing to wholly condemn male violence, as they understand that these alpha-males are simultaneously victims: victims of socio-economic deprivation (e.g. Seul Contre Tous; Made in Britain), as well as simple respondents to a culture that rewards psychopathy (e.g. A History of Violence; American Psycho). For more on this, refer to my previous post on the London Riots.

LE LOOK

I think it's unfair to make a comparison between Refn and Tarantino, as many have made. Yes, both directors lovingly reference the tropes and narratives of Hollywood genre films, and this certainly is a film concerned with cool. But, as I just spent several paragraphs frothing at the mouth about, there's a big difference between the two.

As Refn himself said in a recent interview in Sight & Sound, there's a difference between a film that is stylised (for the sake of it), and one that is stylish. And Drive is one stylish movie.

The style here serves the purpose of elevating a particular male fantasy to epic, dark, fairy-tale proportions (apparently Refn was partly inspired by the Grimm Brothers fairytales). What I speak of is that particular Western fantasy that most men admire but seldom discuss: the loner who walks the earth without a name, speaks very little, and is highly skilled in a number of abilities that allow him to maintain a withdrawn, nomadic existence.

Gosling's performance is key here as he takes this cool archetype and injects it with a smidgen of borderline autism and extreme nervous tension, something he used to great effect in Lars and the Real Girl. Clint Eastwood certainly never rage-stomped a man's face in and then looked round to stare at his lady with an apologetic look of sorrow!

Here I can understand what Refn means when he describes the second half as "what he would do to protect his wife", as though it were a dirty but necessary job. Traditionally the cool nomad role is seen dishing out harsh but righteous justice, his strict moral code never really put into question. In those films there tends to be some event causing their code to slip briefly at the end, and is used to pithily highlight their humanity (see Le Samourai, and if you really have to, The American).

Here we have a cipher-like character who clearly seeks humanity, but a la Holden Caulfield, can't find it, retreating into a world where his strict code is for the sake of simplicity rather than some higher purpose. When he is finally thrust full-force into the world of humans, his behaviour, while reactive and potentially necessary, cannot be neatly integrated into the kitschy mini-utopia the romantic couple have nurtured during their courthip, and thus the Driver feels a loss of innocence and an exposure of his hidden beast, pushing his dainty belle away from his protective arms. This reminds me of the second half of the Deer Hunter, where the wheelchair-bound vietnam vet cannot face returning home to his wife for fear of disturbing the tranquil idyll of their American small-town existence with the trauma incurred during his tour o' Nam. Basically, just watch the entire Nicholson monologue at the end of A Few Good Men to get the whole "I'm the monster you secretly want me to be" thing.

LE ACTING

As regards the acting in general, Gosling holds the screen with his unblinking gaze that is steely but always teetering on the edge of dreamy and forlorn, sort of a mix of James Dean, Steve McQueen, and Alain Delon. Some have made disparraging comments about his slightly listless eyes (which I had a problem with in Half Nelson), and in fact my fellow cinema-going compatriot next to me thought he looked a bit retarded, but I think he does a great job of burying emotion underneath deep layers of borderline aspergers-like cool.

All the side characters are excellently played, and convey a richness and backstory with very little dialogue. Other Refn films have been more verbose, and its possible the cudos should go to screenwriter Hossein Amini, who I've literally never heard of (nor have I heard of any of his other screenwriting credits).

Albert Brooks is fantastic playing against type; I shall never look at that man's eyebrows the same way again. And as for Ron Perlman, well, I've been a fan of his ever since La Cite des Enfants Perdus.

Even the father of the cute-as-a-button boy that Gosling becomes surrogate protector to is given nuance in just a few choice lines. He's also very well played by Oscar Isaac, who's completely unrecognisable from his role as a massive douchebag in Robin Hood (his British accent fooled me!). His character is clearly a bit of an aggressive dick but smartly isn't reduced to a thuggish latino stereotype.

Then, there's ol' chipmunk cheeks herself. I'm being mean really, as Caret Mulligan is a fantastic actress, as evidenced in An Education. As might be expected, she plays an impossibly sweet, shrinking violet who is a warm and engaging damsel in distress. It's perhaps an unfair role, but she quite honestly gives it all kinds of class and subtlety, and I have to say I love her as an actress despite myself.

I'm not sure what irritates me so much about her. Perhaps it's because she plays such sweet winsome characters when clearly she's cynically dumbing herself down and is clearly as sharp as anything. This can be seen in the way she somewhat overcompensates for the fear of being mistaken for one of her characters in real life by coming across as ever so mature and well put together:

Not that I blame her really, I spent years putting on intellectual airs and being supremely adult in order to compensate for my ridiculously boyish looks. Hitting my mid 20s, I've since realised that A. I don't give a shit how I come across any more, and B. I realised that true maturity and magnanimity doesn't necessarily express itself in carefully composed facial expressions and an assured tone of voice.

Tangents on frighteningly intelligent girl-women aside, I think I've made my point quite clearly here tonight: In opposition to the many critics whose primary conclusion about Drive was "It's great fun and looks good but that's about it", I feel that Drive has substance under the bonnet.

*pause for laughter*


Thank you and goodnight.