The Driver (Ryan Gosling) moonlights as a wheelman in the high-octane thriller "Drive" from Danish director Nicolas Winding Refn.
One of the lasting images of the cinematic year will be Ryan Gosling’s eyes reflected in a rearview mirror, the lights of a nocturnal Hollywood dancing across his million-dollar face. In “Drive,” the latest from Cannes Best Director winner Nicolas Winding Refn (“Bronson”), Gosling plays a stuntman/getaway-driver-for-hire who can maneuver a vehicle like he’s merely an extension of its engine. And what lies behind those steely blue peepers? An antihero for the times: A disconnected, unconsciously apathetic societal outcast whose strong, silent disposition is veiled over a deeper, propulsive need for love and purpose.
Which is not to say “Drive” itself is particularly deep — it’s a movie largely defined by its slick, stylistic surface, which Refn buffs to gleaming perfection. From the unforgettable synth soundtrack to the patterned wallpaper in a motel room to the passing beacon of a lighthouse that illuminates a climactic scuffle, the Danish director, whom Gosling handpicked for the job, is in such consummate control of this tacky-classy-cool production, it’s staggering.
When shocking jolts of gruesome violence erupt (such as a graphic stabbing by a gangster played by a teeth-gnashing Albert Brooks, or the much-discussed stomping of a henchman’s head in an elevator), they achieve an awe-inspiring collision of grit and grace. When Gosling trades dreamy glances with the neighbor (Carey Mulligan) awakening his id, the retro/contempo techno music plays as if neon cosmos were swirling just off screen. And when Gosling drives, Refn pulls you into the car, the sound design so pulsatingly strong you can feel the growl of the motor in your bones.
At once bracingly fresh and hugely influenced by vintage tone and craft, “Drive” — which sees Gosling’s vigilante steer his way through the deadly aftermath of a botched heist — channels everything from “Bullitt” to Travis Bickle to Clint Eastwood to “Vice City.”
Based on the novel by James Sallis, it was initially intended to be a diluted, formulaic tentpole product. But thanks to Refn, who both soups-up and streamlines, it’s something of a small masterwork.
R
Four reels out of four
Opens tomorrow in area theaters
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Available Tuesday
The movie to beat for comedy of the year, “Bridesmaids” is so much more than its common, belittling label of “The Hangover for Girls.” Smart, effortlessly sweet and indecently funny, it features a killer ensemble of ace comediennes (including co-writer Kristen Wiig, Rose Byrne, and scene-stealer Melissa McCarthy) and it’s far too hip to notice that it’s scoring some major points for women in Hollywood. SPR
At last, deadpan queen Kristen Wiig gets the spotlight she deserves in “Bridesmaids,” an indecently funny and surprisingly big-hearted comedythat’s worthy of far more than its reductive tag as “‘The Hangover’ for Girls.” There is an impending wedding, and Vegas and drugs do play pivotal roles in the comic high point (puns!), but it’s more character study than ensemble bash, more zeroed-in narrative than shock-laden farce. And, yet, those latter descriptors shouldn’t be counted out, either. There’s hysterical, airy fun to be had in “Bridesmaids,” with firm ground to plant your feet on. Wiig (who co-wrote the script with Annie Mumolo) plays Annie, a 30-ish, out-of-work baker who proves there’s no set age for a coming-of-age crisis. Burned by the economy, men and her own self-limiting isms, she finally cracks when she’s appointed maid of honor by her newly engaged best friend, Lillian (a perfect Maya Rudolph). Things get ugly — and smelly, and sloppy and violent — with the intro of Lillian’s other maids: Prudish Becca (Ellie Kemper), boorish Megan (Melissa McCarthy), brash Rita (Wendy McLendon-Covey) and sickeningly perfect Helen (Rose Byrne), who’s out to unseat Annie as Lillian’s BFF. On its own, the goldmine of comediennes makes “Bridesmaids” a must-see (every...
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Take Shelter Michael Shannon continues to perfect the art of bringing frightening depth to the mentally unhinged in “Take Shelter,” an impeccably crafted, pseudo-apocalyptic psychodrama from writer/director Jeff Nichols, who casts Shannon as a blue-collar worker plagued by visions of impending doom. In its effortless allegorical brilliance, the film leaves wide open the possible connections between the visions and our own world’s ills, letting the resonant paranoia of Shannon’s on-the-fringes, self-dismantling outcast speak for itself. The Descendants Working from one of the year’s best scripts (which he co-wrote with Nat Faxton and Jim Rash), “Sideways” director Alexander Payne makes a triumphant return after a seven-year hiatus with “The Descendants,” a beautifully humanistic portrait of family and the real ways, both private and public, that people grieve. With a fantastic cast led by George Clooney, the Hawaii-set film makes the grand most of its rare milieu, links its themes with unassuming cleverness, and offers humor and stirring pathos without an ounce of gooey sentiment. Meek’s Cutoff Kelly Reichardt’s elliptical western “Meek’s Cutoff,” which whittles the tale of a parade of Oregon Trail deviators down to three families and one ignorant guide, is a film whose experience truly begins after the credits roll. A slow and sparse...
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