#Drive 2011 jacket movie
Drive is a movie with power but is still directionless the acceleration is great, but the steering needs looking at. "I'm 59 years old!" A world of humiliation and despair is cleverly contained in that. Brooks and Perlman have some crackling dialogue, especially Perlman who complains that east coast gangster bullies still pinch his cheeks as if he's a kid. Hendricks brilliantly transmits pure, elemental fear. Christina Hendricks almost steals the picture as a mysterious woman called Blanche – suitably white-faced with terror at the awful fate she correctly suspects awaits her when the heist goes wrong. That said, there are some great cameos with very nice Leonardesque lines. The naivety and absurdity sit uncomfortably with all that super-cool violence.
#Drive 2011 jacket driver
What do this movie's creators imagine a robbery involves? It's like having a cab driver who says he'll drive you really really fast in the direction of your house, but only for five minutes. What on earth is the point of a jobsworth getaway driver who downs tools after five minutes? A getaway guy surely has to get the robbers to their pre-arranged safe house, no matter what. When the five minutes is up, no matter where they are, he parks and leaves them there. He will drive the robbers as brilliantly as they could ever wish. Then there is Gosling's rule, supposedly a mark of his hyper-strict professionalism. A bit of a rash killing in this era of CSI and CCTV and door-to-door inquiries. At another stage, someone gets horrifyingly stomped to death in an incautious location, with the body airily undisposed of.
At one stage, somebody kills someone else while chillingly cooing reassurance, yet what he's after is more or less under his is nose, and it doesn't occur to him to look for it. Is this a facet of his personality? Or just a style accessory for the film in general? So many people in this film seem to have the same capacity, and often the violence rips holes in the plot, as well as the bodies. Now the catastrophe of this last job seems to unlock a psychopathic capacity for extreme brutality. Gosling's driver had until this moment seemed like a basically sympathetic, romantic guy – involved in crime of course, but who made a point of not carrying a gun. Here is where is this tense, taut drama takes a lurching left-turn into ultra-violence and chaos. But then Irene's man gets out of the joint, still mixed up in rough stuff, and just for Irene's sake, Gosling does one last driving job on his behalf, which of course goes horribly wrong. He is, moreover, joining a legit business, a speed-racing show Shannon is setting up with his mobster buddies Bernie and Nino – terrific performances from Albert Brooks (a rare bad-guy part) and Ron Perlman. She's a single mom with a little boy who likes Gosling: her husband Standard (Oscar Isaac) is an incompetent crook now in jail, and it is evidently Gosling's tough, unspoken decency that keeps this relationship platonic. Gosling's life looks as if it will be turned around when he falls quietly in love with his next-door neighbour Irene, played with dignity and tenderness by Carey Mulligan. The idea is that Gosling's impassive driver gets his Hollywood stunt gigs and maybe also his criminal engagements through a garage owner, a cheerful crook called Shannon (Bryan Cranston) with mob connections. Yet I can't quite join in the widespread critical enthusiasm that has greeted this film, and on the two times I've seen it, I couldn't join in the nervous shrieks of audience laughter that its ultra-violence provokes.
Gosling has charisma and presence, although his facial expression is often set to "sardonic". More of that in a moment.ĭrive is a good film with great visual flair, in the style of Elmore Leonard or Quentin Tarantino, and with a little of their natural gruesome gaiety and gallows humour. However, he has one super-special rule that the robbers must agree to, but which makes zero narrative sense. With no fear, he can drive at terrifying speeds with extraordinary manoeuvrability he has a sixth sense for cop cars and police helicopters.
Secretly, he also works for scary criminals as a wheelman, a getaway specialist he gets top dollar, because he's the very best. He's a Hollywood stunt driver with a toothpick in the corner of his mouth, wearing a sleek bomber jacket with a scorpion on the back. It arrives here on an eddy of editorial hype there is hardly a male pundit or columnist in Britain under 70 who hasn't declared a simpering man-crush on its star, Ryan Gosling, playing the permafrost-cool hero with no name. N icolas Winding Refn's Drive is an LA pulp thriller, very brutal, very slick.
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