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He seems to split his time into three jobs: Hollywood stuntman, mechanic, and getaway car driver. One pays better than the others. He works with people with whom he’s had little to no prior contact, and he has some rules. He gets his way, because he truly is a terrific driver with pinpoint reflexes. He says little, listens much, and does his job. Sort of the perfect employee, except for the times when one of his little rules is violated. But if they aren’t, he will deliver your package on time.
The Driver’s life experiences no real bumps until he meets one of his neighbors, Irene (Carey Mulligan), who’s apparently a single mom/waitress. They become friends, but nothing more. He helps her when her car breaks down, and she – what luck! – brings it to the garage where he and his boss Shannon (Bryan Cranston) work. Irene confesses that she’s not single; her husband Standard (Oscar Isaac) is in jail for reasons unknown. It is giving nothing away to mention that in short time Standard is released and confronts The Driver. But then they become friends, because why not? The Driver likes Irene, and she digs him, as does her kid, but he intuits that Standard, although full of bluster and machismo and probably running with the wrong people, isn’t a terrible person. The Driver has no real need to rescue Irene. But, as he quickly learns, Standard does need to be rescued.
It appears that The Driver does more than just drive. He cares. He’s deadly with his hands and other objects. He can break into cars and elude police. He’s tough but reticent. Very reticent, willing to let others dig their own holes before he dives in. He acts without telegraphing his move to everyone, particularly the audience. He’s still wildly existential, but now it seems he exists as a man playing by rules of which only he is truly aware.
Gosling is really something. Rather than giving us the impression that, because of his silence, he is dim witted or vulnerable, he shows us that there is much beneath his handsome exterior. We never know his motives other than a desire to help Irene, Standard, and their little boy – in fact, that motive alone seems to a new one on The Driver himself. Does it enrich him? Yes, but only because he mentions it himself; otherwise, he’s the same cipher he’s always been. Gosling’s Driver isn’t just a blank-faced object of desire; one can tell he’s thinking about something, forming a plan, keeping it hidden deep within. I kind of wish he’d garnered an Oscar nom out of this performance.
But he’s not alone. Mulligan is excellent as the haunted, torn Irene – much better than she was in the ill-fated Shame from last year or even from An Education. She’s sweet and cute but not naive and not the proverbial sex bomb. Cranston and Ron Perlman have showy roles as good and bad guys. But stealing the show – almost the entire movie – is Albert Brooks, yes, the comedian who has dabbled in dramatic acting in the past, who is unbelievable as Cranston’s mob contact. He’s terrifying but methodical, a horrifying combination if ever there was one.
Drive is a work of art in many ways. It’s meticuluously edited by Mat Newman, and the sound is blended perfectly by the team of Lon Bender and Victor Ray Ennis, with the latter two earning Oscar nominations for themselves. Nicholas Winding Refn’s direction is crisp, unyielding, confrontational, and engaging, particularly for one’s first Big Movie. There’s much to like in The Driver if you’re a fan of adrenaline-enhanced experiences that don’t bludgeon you with CGI and other fakery. The level of realism is just right, both in the action scenes and in the person-to-person scenes.
Drive: ***1/2
