Set in a dark, dreary L.A., far removed from the glitz and glamor we're used to seeing when the City of Angels is used as a backdrop, Drive is in red-line mode from the opening minutes, in which we're introduced to Gosling's stoic hero, a stuntman who moonlights as a getaway driver. He speaks at most 30 words throughout the opening half hour, but we understand him better than we could through the wisecracks and exposition used in most action films.
The understated first act doesn't have the bloody action violence that underlines the rest of the movie, but nothing feels safe. Gosling's character, whose name we never come to know, is quietly paranoid and with good reason. The filmmakers knew what they were doing, injecting a heavy dose of dread into the seemingly docile landscape, foreshadowing a relentless bloodbath that will knock the breath out of even the most desensitized moviegoers.
Perlman, Cranston and Brooks, perennially reliable character actors, chew up the scenery even when Gosling is on screen - no easy task. Carey Mulligan is wasted, always looking as though she is about to burst out laughing or crying, unable to make the most of her character's stoicism the way Gosling does.
The action scenes are superb, and the drama rings true. Director Nicolas Refn's economy of style serves him well here; despite not knowing much about the characters, we care about them. It's hard to say whether Drive is an existential drama masked as an action film or an action film masked as an existential drama. Whichever it is, you won't be able to take your eyes off the screen.
