Drive - (searching for) a real hero

Everybody loves a hero. There's something patently honest about a good hero. It's a concept that in equal measure, is stupid and stoic and cliché and heartfelt. All stories are about heroes, usually one that is present, and often more interestingly, one that is not. Drive treads a fine edge, asking us what kind of a hero we truly deserve.

Drive belongs to a thematic genre of film and literature I describe as 'cinematic oblivion', a characterisation I bestow on those pieces of art that get so lost in its own style and panache in a manner of nonchalance, that is only born out of brilliance and truth. To call Drive's stylistic beauty pretentious, is just reductive and ignorant; instead, it is a vision executed with sheer integrity by Winding Refn, the emphatic ensemble and the dedicated technical crew.

The Driver

Taking centre stage in this discourse, is Ryan Gosling's Driver, the real hero. The object of my philosophical deliberations of late, this pragmatic and sombre wanderer who drives across the neon-laden streets of Los Angeles. A stunt driver by day and a getaway driver by night, all-too-familiar with the thrills and perils of his secret life.

The Driver is almost always quiet; with each spoken word, his silence attains all the more meaning. His actions are equally measured and forced, as he does what he must with a sense of detachment and extreme care, that fluently subverts our expectations. He is what he has to be, to survive these dark and despicable worlds that he steps in. But most of all, the Driver is alone.

That is, until he finds something real. He grows to care about his neighbour, Irene and her son, Benicio, the former of whom is wonderfully portrayed by Carey Mulligan. The central narrative revolves on his connection with this stranger. In his largely void existence, are the few moments of serenity and genuine happiness that he shares with her. To protect the value of those memories, the Driver must accept that he cannot reconcile the different worlds that he lives in with the life that he wants to have.

"Wow, what a happy bunch of people. Sure hope nothing bad happens to them!"

Ryan Gosling has become this paragon for reserved, shy, lonely characters who seem to experience a sincere happiness with an unforgiving rarity. In doing so, he has carved his niche with exquisite seemliness, while portraying a breadth and variety of characters so far apart in setting and circumstance, bound together by this inherent sinew of characterisation.

As the Driver, his silence isn't a facade but a reality of his softness and vulnerability. In his quiet, he breeds a sense of control but also longing for a life he doesn't have as he is stuck in one he doesn't actually want. He is loyal to those he loves beyond reproach, willing to do anything for them, even if it needs resorting to extreme violence and dangerous situations. The question I ask myself the most is whether his demeanour, the clothes and the music, even his driving is a mask, or indeed the real him, and if it all they can be distinguished.

For what is a man, what has he got; if not himself, then he has nought

Albert Brooks plays the next most interesting character in this treatise on what drives us to be who we are, as Bernie Rose, the antagonist and foil to our Driver. A man most self-assured and narcissistic in his pragmatism, Bernie is poetically similar to the man he faces off against, just trying to survive in these gritty and abominable horizons. Only, he chooses himself and his interests, where the Driver chooses to protect the good.

One of the most fascinating scenes for me in this excellent film, is when it can be gleaned of our villain, that he has a code to abide by too. Besides humanising and giving an unusual form of empathy to a mobster like Bernie, what a comedy professional like Albert Brooks does by playing an against-type character is add a dimension of ordinary to a villain. What could induce more fear than greed and evil from just another everyman whose motivations and behaviour you might understand, or worse, even relate to.

First date

I'd be remiss to not include a short essay on Carey Mulligan's Irene, the purest character in this world of unsavoury individuals and violence. An analogue to the Driver, her warmth, and helplessness, which seems to be standard fare for an action flick, actually guises a well-formed female presence. She struggles choosing between her husband and the love she once had, and the mysterious and quiet but good Driver, with whom she connects instantly.

I have not even addressed that Bryan Cranston, who plays Shannon, the Driver's boss and closest friend, was simultaneously starring as Walter White in Breaking Bad as the film was produced and released. He fits perfectly in this Michael Mann-esque rendition of a coarse and vehement Los Angeles. The incredibly beautiful and charming Christina Hendricks, of Mad Men fame, is also present but only for a few fleeting yet memorable frames.

An uncertain rendezvous

The texture of Los Angeles serves a big component of the narrative journey that Drive takes you on. Writers would clamour to capture so effectively the murky and infested streets of LA which so believably metastasises into this war-zone of cars and hammers. Hossein Amini's screenplay and Winding Refn's stylistic virtuoso merit commendation of the highest order for making Drive this incredibly fun and violent action-thriller-drama.

Filled with sufficiently gritty and gory deaths, neon title sequences and flashing lights, and pumping car chases, Winding Refn's arthouse sensibilities do him credit. Breaking down the references and the verve, or the infinite influences that comprise Drive would take me a lifetime, assuming I could even thoroughly do it justice. Not to mention the breathtaking photography and the cinematography worthy of laborious dissection.

Each frame, costume, and set piece, deserves exquisite praise for its value in building the composition of Drive's artistry, showing once again that in filmmaking, mise-en-scène and production value are an utmost priority. From the Driver's iconic scorpion jacket, to electric pop-synth, even music and fashion are paid strict attention. It works too: the golden scorpion is a symbol, and the music effectively poises the atmosphere of the LA that we're thrust into.

A real human being

Drive wants us to choose if we want a hero like the Driver. I don't know what you or I, let alone this world, deserves as a hero. All I can say with certainty, is that a real hero is just as human as the rest of us. To be human is to face unfounded nothingness and certain defeat, and still try to be brave despite the circumstances. Silently suffering between being what we want to be and who we really are. If nothing, Drive is just the story of a real human being.