middle cyclones and other references

Procrastination Theatre: September 26 & October 10, 2011

I have now seen this twice. I might be ready to talk about it.

First, this is nothing less than one of the most formally and stylistically coherent films I’ve ever seen. Refn deserves to get all the press possible for this. And I’m breaking my anti-adapted screenplay rule, because even if this was a novel? That novel has nothing to do with why Drive is so brilliant. And here’s why.

Refn has created a fascinating formal and stylistic throwback to the 1980s. And he’s done it in the only acceptable way that one can do something like this: which is to actually have a formal project intersecting the current historical moment. The first time I watched this, somewhere during the second half of the movie I leaned over to the Boyfriend and whispered, “Wait, am I wrong or is he a nostalgic Patrick Bateman?” And that’s exactly what it is. I’d almost like to herald Drive as the first step in a different direction: we’re all quite used to Fordist nostalgia by now, I think (“I miss when I worked with my hands! Let’s go watch Man vs. Wild!”) but the Driver in Drive looks like a nostalgic post-Fordist figure (who admittedly still gets to use his hands a fair bit). He’s like Patrick Bateman with a heart of gold, guys. It’s fascinating. From the cheesy (but oh-so-awesome) music, to the fact that his day job literally entails his wearing the fleshy masks of other people, to the way violence at first just leaks through his quietness and then spurts through - it’s all very Patrick Bateman. But a Patrick Bateman I want to do things to. And that’s really, really interesting.*

So that’s what I got on the first viewing. And then on the second viewing, the Boyfriend and I got to really appreciate some of the subtleties that this film presents to us - another reason why Refn should win things, if not just your respect. Refn is playing with smarter things than most directors. For example, we noticed that when he walks through a dressing trailer to steal a fleshy mask he wore earlier in the film, he walks past three progressive fleshy masks that could arguably have been made for a character who is killed very graphically in the middle of the movie. In other words, he walks past the props for the movie Drive, for the deaths he’s seen around him already. Another neat moment is when, after watching the Driver play a blinking game with the oh-so-adorable son of Carey Mulligan in the happy first half of the movie, Refn makes us play that same blinking game with the Driver at the end.

Anyway, it’s probably the best movie of the year. My Ryan Gosling love is full throttle. He’s frighteningly talented, you guys. He didn’t create his own natural Brando accent for nothing. He’s so good in this I can’t even talk about it. So….the Boyfriend and I have also started just saying the lyrics to “Nightcall” to each other. Bryan Cranston is just … is just too good. I couldn’t watch his last scene the second time. I actually hid in the Boyfriend’s shoulder and plugged my ears. Ron Perlman is awesome as the most vulgar person in a quiet, refined movie. He walks in and he’s all “fuck” and “pussy” and you’re like GTFO Ron Perlman but really it’s perfect, he’s this perfect abrasive sandpaper in the middle of the Driver’s near-total silence. Carey Mulligan is also great, and I don’t often say that. Honestly, the one person I wasn’t totally blown away by was Albert Brooks, and apparently he’s the one I was supposed to like the most?