Friday, Great Movies, 11:20pm
Drive (2011) is a neo-noir fever dream wrapped in a sleek, blood-soaked leather jacket. Directed by Nicolas Winding Refn, this adaptation of James Sallis' novel stars Ryan Gosling as the enigmatic Driver—a stuntman by day, getaway driver by night—who navigates the neon-drenched underbelly of Los Angeles with an almost mythic detachment. The film plays out like a Western in synthwave drag, with sparse dialogue, sudden bursts of brutal violence, and a protagonist who communicates more through weighted silence than actual words. It's Le Samouraï meets Grand Theft Auto: Vice City, with a touch of ‘80s Michael Mann cool.
The soundtrack, however, is the real engine of Drive’s hypnotic atmosphere. Cliff Martinez's pulsating, dreamlike score melds perfectly with an inspired selection of electronic and synth-pop tracks that feel like they were ripped straight from a lost VHS-era mixtape. Kavinsky’s Nightcall and College’s A Real Hero define the film’s melancholic, neon-lit aesthetic, turning Gosling’s character into something between a tragic knight and a cyberpunk ghost. Martinez, a former Red Hot Chili Peppers drummer, crafts a score that’s as minimalistic and moody as the film itself, using eerie synth drones and ambient textures to reinforce the protagonist’s emotional isolation.
For all its stylish sheen, Drive is a brutal, existential tale about loneliness, identity, and the fantasy of reinvention. Gosling’s Driver is a man out of time, belonging neither to the real world nor the romanticized world of outlaws and heroes he so desperately tries to inhabit. The film’s mix of quiet tenderness and sudden, shocking violence makes it an unforgettable, almost mythical experience—one that lingers long after the final fade to black. And, thanks to that soundtrack, it’s one of the few movies that can make you feel effortlessly cool just by walking around at night with headphones on.
- Noel Chambers