Drive

Cutting to the chase (or something like it) right off the bat, Nicholas Winding Refn's sleek cinematic masterpiece Drive introduces its unnamed protagonist (Ryan Gosling) doing what he does best. He's a getaway driver who will wait precisely five minutes for a heist operation to begin and end, after which the thieves will jump into his current car and he'll drive them to precisely navigated freedom. It's an instantly engaging opening during which Gosling's mysterious character gracefully earns our attention. We don't know who he is, but we know what he does. In the darkly lit exotica that is Refn's intoxicating vision of a Los Angeles underbelly, that knowledge is more than enough to make a lasting impression.

The opening sequence involves Gosling's driver using a police scanner and his dedicated understanding of Los Angeles streets to evade the police and ensure that he completes his mission. It's a gripping sequence that oozes tension. Every single aspect of the sequence is carefully tuned. The editing is tight, the look on Gosling's face is a portrait of startling calm, and the sound is smoothly mixed to accentuate the low hum of the vehicle and the sudden squeal of hot pursuit. But what makes the whole sequence really unique and so meticulously effective is that Refn shoots the entire getaway from within the car.

One of the grand freedoms of car chases in movies is that the camera is able to provide action coverage in the exterior space around the showcased vehicle. But Refn wants to highlight the claustrophobia of the situation, the fear of possible failure. After all, we know very little about the driver, so it's difficult to determine whether or not he is in over his head or simply in the midst of a getaway situation that is like every other night on the job. By restricting the geography of the sequence, Refn forces us to become a passenger in the car, where we can experience the adrenaline and the danger in such supreme suspense that we're practically relegated to being accomplices.

It's a fascinating way to open the movie and a delicious taste of what lurks around the narrative corner. The nearly mute protagonist has shown his worth and Refn has established a pace, a flavour, and a tone. Drive's identity is further carved out when the title credits are displayed in pink cursive text and sweetly sensational synth pop tunes provide matching aural accompaniment. It suddenly feels as though Refn's movie is some lost relic from the 80s, dusted off with a contemporary brush. But as it hearkens back to a bygone era, it finds equal footing in a modern setting that pits Gosling's gifted driver against a few local gangsters who won't go down without a fight.

The 80s inspirations and contemporized style allow Drive to move like a brand new cinematic vehicle. Refn's direction is so slick that the picture is practically wrapped in plastic. The glossy sheen heightens the thrills and shines the juicy imagery without ever sacrificing the impact of the onscreen drama. When the driver's charming neighbour Irene (a tender Carey Mulligan) and her son Benecio (Kaden Leos) enter his life, a dramatic edge comes into focus. As performed by the pitch-perfect cast and handled by screenwriter Hossein Amini (adapting the novel by James Sallis) and director Refn, this subplot is never hokey or forced or contrived. The emotions count for something here and the dramatic arc gives Gosling's character an outlet through which he can slowly reveal his humanity while protecting his image as a stone-cold professional.

Gosling's actions and facial expressions speak considerably louder than words here, since the driver approaches every conversation as an opportunity to exchange the necessary information with the least amount of words imaginable. Why respond with a whole sentence when you can slowly dole out just two syllables? The driver seems to have perfected the art of controlling a conversation through silence. When he chooses to actually speak, he does so in such a soft, quiet manner that he might as well be related to the Low Talker from Seinfeld. Gosling's performance is so cool and collected that we hang on his every word, knowing that each utterance is worth the wait and effort.

All other performances crackle with intensity or bleed authenticity. Probably both. Bryan Cranston is solid as a defeated car expert who carries around the physical effects of his poor decisions. He has ties to Gosling's protagonist, as well as a pair of nasty local gangsters played by Ron Perlman and Albert Brooks, the latter appearing on screen as the result of some deeply, darkly inspired casting. Perlman and Brooks are both completely convincing as two very different villains whose individual explosions of rage and violence serve to further entrench themselves in the conflict. They're short on redeeming qualities, but Perlman and Brooks ensure that their characters do not devolve into mere antagonistic caricatures.

Since the movie is called Drive and we're given no other way to identify Gosling's character, the car action continues to surface throughout the narrative. A more traditional car chase with exterior camera work offers a massive adrenaline rush as Gosling's driver performs richly conceived stunts, including a lengthy trek in reverse. It's another stunning mixture of art house class and nostalgic car flick mania. Refn powers this potent combination with verve and excitement. The score by Cliff Martinez throbs with enigmatic intensity. Every shot is a celebration of composition. There is so much to enjoy here and the deliberate pace gives us time to comfortably soak in every detail. From the cars to the people to the violence to the pink text to the synth pop, Drive is a wild success. Gosling's protagonist is the epitome of contemporary cool. He'll only give you five minutes, while Refn offers a few more than that. Every second counts and not a single one is wasted.