September 16, 2011

By Wesley Morris, Globe Staff

Sometimes a movie knows you’re watching it. It knows how

to hold and keep you, how, when it’s over, to make you want it all over again. Nicolas Winding Refn’s “Drive” is a work of swift, brutal violence, but it’s not the violence − a viciously stomped head, say, or the way a shotgun blast sounds like a bomb − that’s sexy. It’s the confidence to bring off the violence without appearing to break a sweat, to blatantly steal from Michael Mann without fear of being hauled off to movie jail, to deliver a hero whose signature jacket isn’t leather. It’s a white, quilted Starter number with a giant gold and orange scorpion embroidered on the back. On anyone else, it’s a garment that says “karate parent.” On Ryan Gosling, the embroidery’s an advertisement for a poison sting − from both Gosling and Refn.

Gosling’s an actor whose cool, under these circumstances, conflates Steve McQueen’s cockiness with James Dean’s drama. He plays a loner getaway car driver in Los Angeles, and amasses

enough small gestures (a tensing jawline, a flexing fist crinkling in a leather glove, the slight shifts of the toothpick parked in a corner of his mouth) to create a character out of a gaming avatar. The movie has you from its nearly wordless opening sequence, which, just through crisp staging and superb editing, tells us everything we need to know − about what’s going on, what the stakes are, and how immaculately the Driver intends to run his business. It takes half the movie for that jacket to stain.

12 HE BOS N GLOBE EP 16 , 2011

movies friday

EXHILARATING ‘DRIVE’ DELIVERS BRUTAL VIOLENCE WITHOUT BREAKING A SWEATBY WESLEY MORRIS | GLOBE STAFF

DRIVE FILM HOLDINGS

Ryan Gosling plays a Hollywood stunt driver who moonlights as a getaway car driver in Nicolas Winding Refn’s action-thriller ‘‘Drive.’’

SEPTEMBER 16 , 2011 HE BOSTON GLOBE 13

S ometimes a movieknows you’re watchingit. It knows how to holdand keep you, how,

when it’s over, to make you wantit all over again. Nicolas WindingRefn’s ‘‘Drive’’ is a work of swift,brutal violence, but it’s not theviolence — a viciously stompedhead, say, or the way a shotgunblast sounds like a bomb — that’ssexy. It’s the confidence to bringoff the violence without appear-ing to break a sweat, to blatantlysteal from Michael Mann with-out fear of being hauled off tomovie jail, to deliver a herowhose signature jacket isn’tleather. It’s a white, quilted Start-er number with a giant gold andorange scorpion embroidered onthe back. On anyone else, it’s agarment that says ‘‘karate par-ent.’’ On Ryan Gosling, the em-broidery’s an advertisement for apoison sting — from both Goslingand Refn.

Gosling’s an actor whose cool,under these circumstances,conflates Steve McQueen’s cocki-ness with James Dean’s drama.He plays a loner getaway cardriver in Los Angeles, and amass-es enough small gestures (a tens-ing jawline, a flexing fist crin-kling in a leather glove, the slightshifts of the toothpick parked in acorner of his mouth) to create acharacter out of a gaming avatar.The movie has you from its near-ly wordless opening sequence,which, just through crisp stagingand superb editing, tells us every-thing we need to know — aboutwhat’s going on, what the stakesare, and how immaculately theDriver intends to run his busi-ness. It takes half the movie forthat jacket to stain.

The lighting in that introduc-tory sequence and beyond seemsto come exclusively from streetlamps, store fronts, and dash-boards. The synth of Cliff Marti-nez’s score does for this moviewhat Tangerine Dream did forMann’s ‘‘Thief’’: keep the sus-pense tap open. There’s a handfulof well deployed songs by Kavin-sky, Desire, and the Chromatics.It’s electronic music that situatesyou in LA both 25 years ago andfive minutes from now.

Not much after that first job,there’s a cut to Gosling in a cop’suniform. It’s a gag. This guy isalso a Hollywood stunt driver,and when, after work, he findshimself sharing an elevator with

the terminally sad-looking wom-an down the hall, Irene (CareyMulligan), then having a look ather broken-down car in a su-permarket parking lot, there’sreason to suspect he’s still on theset. Irene has a cute son (KadenLeos) who’s among the closestthings live-action has to rivalJapanese animation. Irene alsohas a cute husband (Oscar Isaac),who’s in prison, and soon to bereleased. Before he gets out, theDriver, Irene, and the kid spendtheir days looking at each other.The long drags these three takeon each others’ faces approxi-mate the panels in some comicbooks.

The bond among them makesit impossible for the Driver toresist a new job that will help thehusband erase a debt he owes toa gangster. It’s worth noting thatthe screenplay — by HosseinAmini, adapted from JamesSallis’s novel — has anticipatedwhat we’re tempted to think: Thehusband first name is ‘‘Stand-ard.’’ But that job — a pawnshoprobbery — occasions anotheroutrageous, alarming couple ofset pieces that climax in a motelroom and feature two gunshotsthat made me feel as if my headhad just been blown off. Theviolence here is exciting but itisn’t cheap, either.

That job lands the Driver inboiling water with two verydifferent but closely connectedgangsters, played by Ron Perl-man and Albert Brooks. Brookswears nice shirts and has had hishair straightened in a way thatlends him a new, low-rent grav-itas. He embraces his killer men-ace so much you believe him —it’s a part Bill Murray would have

had as much fun with but wouldhave been less of a shock to see.Brooks’s character, Bernie Rose,says he produced movies in the1980s, action movies, prettymuch like this one. He also hap-pens to be the same man whojust put several hundred grandinto a race car to be driven by theDriver for the Driver’s boss (Bry-an Cranston) at an auto repairshop. Regarding the news thatthe Driver is also a mechanic:Apparently, this is how muchcrime doesn’t pay?

Nonetheless, Refn even mag-netizes the cliches. Is Irene wortheverything the Driver risks forher and the kid? Only in themovie playing in his head.‘‘Drive’’ is not much about othermovies. It’s about Refn’s percep-tion of the movieness in life. Thedirector is a 40-year-old Dane,who, before this, had made ahandful of strong, visual, mood-oriented films — a crime trilogy

called ‘‘Pusher’’; ‘‘Bronson,’’ agrand character study of a flam-boyantly psychotic English in-mate; a dreamy Viking epiccalled ‘‘Valhalla Rising.’’ Theywere all uneven, but they’veearned Refn a cultish devotionthat this movie is likely to expandexponentially.

He has a big, thick style. It’simpasto filmmaking and it bene-fits from a conventional scriptand an established genre. In‘‘Drive,’’ Refn finds about a half-dozen ways to disturb with thecombination of utter stillnessand grisly violence. When a manhas his hand manically ham-mered backstage at a strip club,the dancers sit topless and lookon with the detachment that youimagine Refn used to film thescene. He’s described ‘‘Drive’’ as afairy tale, which sounds disin-genuous (Refn is sure to becomeas notorious for his statements tothe press as his countryman Lars

von Trier). But he’s not wrong.‘‘Drive’’ has moments of magic, inwhich he dares to nudge thetiniest bit at the limits of timeand space. In one elevator ride,the second before the Driverbeats a man senseless, he steals amoment of romance that, impos-sibly, lasts for an eternity. Noth-ing. A kiss. Then stomp-stomp-stomp. The absurdity is exhila-rating. The exhilaration isabsurd. This is such a visuallymuscular movie that you have tolaugh at the bravado. If he wantsthe job, Refn could become ahero to a generation of kid mov-iegoers the way Tarantino did fora previous one: as a controversialpop-artist.

There will be those who’ll saythey liked this movie better whenit was ‘‘Thief,’’ Jean-Pierre Mel-ville’s ‘‘Le Samouraï ,’’ WalterHill’s ‘‘The Driver,’’ or any verygood Hong Kong action thriller.But Refn’s version produces asimilar high. A friend who hated‘‘Drive’’ complained that it’s aEuropean telling us what hethinks American movies are: Kisskiss bang bang. I see her point.We do more than kiss and bang.But this is just a genre Europe —OK, the French — used to excel atand no longer do. Refn won thedirector’s prize at Cannes in May,and France’s enthusiasm sug-gests what they’re missing fromtheir movies. Meanwhile, ‘‘Drive’’confirms that the smooth, bluntRefn is exactly what’s been miss-ing from ours.

Wesley Morris can be reached atwmorris@globe.com. Follow himon Twitter @wesley_morris.

PHOTOS BY RICHARD FOREMAN JR./FILM DISTRICT

Gosling befriends a young mother (Carey Mulligan), whosehusband is in prison. Below: Gosling in a shootout scene.

MOV I E R E V I EW

!!! ÆDRIVE

Directed by:NicolasWinding Refn

Written by: Hossein Aminiadapted from

James Sallis’s novelStarring: Ryan Gosling,

CareyMulligan, Bryan Cran-ston, Ron Perlman, Oscar Isaac,

and Albert BrooksAt: Boston Common,Fenway, suburbs

Running time: 100minutesRated: R (all manner of

grisly violence and salty lan-guage, plus some nudity)

September 16, 2011

The lighting in that introductory sequence and beyond seems to come exclusively from street lamps, store fronts, and dashboards. The synth of Cliff Martinez’s score does for this movie what Tangerine Dream did for Mann’s “Thief”: keep the suspense tap open. There’s a handful of well deployed songs by Kavinsky, Desire, and the Chromatics. It’s electronic music that situates you in LA both 25 years ago and five minutes from now.

Not much after that first job, there’s a cut to Gosling in a cop’s uniform. It’s a gag. This guy is also a Hollywood stunt driver, and when, after work, he finds himself sharing an elevator with the terminally sad-looking woman down the hall, Irene (Carey Mulligan), then having a look at her broken-down car in a supermarket parking lot, there’s reason to suspect he’s still on the set. Irene has a cute son (Kaden Leos) who’s among the closest things live-action has to rival Japanese animation. Irene also has a cute husband (Oscar Isaac), who’s in prison, and soon to be released. Before he gets out, the Driver, Irene, and the kid spend their days looking at each other. The long drags these three take on each others’ faces approximate the panels in some comic books.

The bond among them makes it impossible for the Driver to resist a new job that will help the husband erase a debt he owes to a gangster. It’s worth noting that the screenplay − by Hossein Amini, adapted from James Sallis’s novel − has anticipated what we’re tempted to think: The husband first name is “Standard.” But that job − a pawnshop robbery − occasions another outrageous, alarming couple of set pieces that climax in a motel room and feature two gunshots that made me feel as if my head had just been blown off. The violence here is exciting but it isn’t cheap, either.

That job lands the Driver in boiling water with two very different but closely connected gangsters, played by Ron Perlman and Albert Brooks. Brooks wears nice shirts and has had his hair straightened in a way that lends him a new, low-rent gravitas. He embraces his killer menace so much you believe him − it’s a part Bill Murray would have had as much fun with but would have been less of a shock to see. Brooks’s character, Bernie Rose, says he produced movies in the 1980s, action movies, pretty much like this one. He also happens to be the same man who just put several hundred grand into a race car to be driven by the Driver for the Driver’s boss (Bryan Cranston) at an auto repair shop. Regarding the news that the Driver is also a mechanic: Apparently, this is how much crime doesn’t pay?

Nonetheless, Refn even magnetizes the cliches. Is Irene worth everything the Driver risks for her and the kid? Only in the movie playing in his head. “Drive” is not much about other movies. It’s about Refn’s perception of the movieness in life. The director is a 40-year-old Dane, who, before this, had made a handful of strong, visual, mood-oriented films − a crime trilogy called

SEPTEMBER 16 , 2011 HE BOSTON GLOBE 13

S ometimes a movieknows you’re watchingit. It knows how to holdand keep you, how,

when it’s over, to make you wantit all over again. Nicolas WindingRefn’s ‘‘Drive’’ is a work of swift,brutal violence, but it’s not theviolence — a viciously stompedhead, say, or the way a shotgunblast sounds like a bomb — that’ssexy. It’s the confidence to bringoff the violence without appear-ing to break a sweat, to blatantlysteal from Michael Mann with-out fear of being hauled off tomovie jail, to deliver a herowhose signature jacket isn’tleather. It’s a white, quilted Start-er number with a giant gold andorange scorpion embroidered onthe back. On anyone else, it’s agarment that says ‘‘karate par-ent.’’ On Ryan Gosling, the em-broidery’s an advertisement for apoison sting — from both Goslingand Refn.

Gosling’s an actor whose cool,under these circumstances,conflates Steve McQueen’s cocki-ness with James Dean’s drama.He plays a loner getaway cardriver in Los Angeles, and amass-es enough small gestures (a tens-ing jawline, a flexing fist crin-kling in a leather glove, the slightshifts of the toothpick parked in acorner of his mouth) to create acharacter out of a gaming avatar.The movie has you from its near-ly wordless opening sequence,which, just through crisp stagingand superb editing, tells us every-thing we need to know — aboutwhat’s going on, what the stakesare, and how immaculately theDriver intends to run his busi-ness. It takes half the movie forthat jacket to stain.

The lighting in that introduc-tory sequence and beyond seemsto come exclusively from streetlamps, store fronts, and dash-boards. The synth of Cliff Marti-nez’s score does for this moviewhat Tangerine Dream did forMann’s ‘‘Thief’’: keep the sus-pense tap open. There’s a handfulof well deployed songs by Kavin-sky, Desire, and the Chromatics.It’s electronic music that situatesyou in LA both 25 years ago andfive minutes from now.

Not much after that first job,there’s a cut to Gosling in a cop’suniform. It’s a gag. This guy isalso a Hollywood stunt driver,and when, after work, he findshimself sharing an elevator with

the terminally sad-looking wom-an down the hall, Irene (CareyMulligan), then having a look ather broken-down car in a su-permarket parking lot, there’sreason to suspect he’s still on theset. Irene has a cute son (KadenLeos) who’s among the closestthings live-action has to rivalJapanese animation. Irene alsohas a cute husband (Oscar Isaac),who’s in prison, and soon to bereleased. Before he gets out, theDriver, Irene, and the kid spendtheir days looking at each other.The long drags these three takeon each others’ faces approxi-mate the panels in some comicbooks.

The bond among them makesit impossible for the Driver toresist a new job that will help thehusband erase a debt he owes toa gangster. It’s worth noting thatthe screenplay — by HosseinAmini, adapted from JamesSallis’s novel — has anticipatedwhat we’re tempted to think: Thehusband first name is ‘‘Stand-ard.’’ But that job — a pawnshoprobbery — occasions anotheroutrageous, alarming couple ofset pieces that climax in a motelroom and feature two gunshotsthat made me feel as if my headhad just been blown off. Theviolence here is exciting but itisn’t cheap, either.

That job lands the Driver inboiling water with two verydifferent but closely connectedgangsters, played by Ron Perl-man and Albert Brooks. Brookswears nice shirts and has had hishair straightened in a way thatlends him a new, low-rent grav-itas. He embraces his killer men-ace so much you believe him —it’s a part Bill Murray would have

had as much fun with but wouldhave been less of a shock to see.Brooks’s character, Bernie Rose,says he produced movies in the1980s, action movies, prettymuch like this one. He also hap-pens to be the same man whojust put several hundred grandinto a race car to be driven by theDriver for the Driver’s boss (Bry-an Cranston) at an auto repairshop. Regarding the news thatthe Driver is also a mechanic:Apparently, this is how muchcrime doesn’t pay?

Nonetheless, Refn even mag-netizes the cliches. Is Irene wortheverything the Driver risks forher and the kid? Only in themovie playing in his head.‘‘Drive’’ is not much about othermovies. It’s about Refn’s percep-tion of the movieness in life. Thedirector is a 40-year-old Dane,who, before this, had made ahandful of strong, visual, mood-oriented films — a crime trilogy

called ‘‘Pusher’’; ‘‘Bronson,’’ agrand character study of a flam-boyantly psychotic English in-mate; a dreamy Viking epiccalled ‘‘Valhalla Rising.’’ Theywere all uneven, but they’veearned Refn a cultish devotionthat this movie is likely to expandexponentially.

He has a big, thick style. It’simpasto filmmaking and it bene-fits from a conventional scriptand an established genre. In‘‘Drive,’’ Refn finds about a half-dozen ways to disturb with thecombination of utter stillnessand grisly violence. When a manhas his hand manically ham-mered backstage at a strip club,the dancers sit topless and lookon with the detachment that youimagine Refn used to film thescene. He’s described ‘‘Drive’’ as afairy tale, which sounds disin-genuous (Refn is sure to becomeas notorious for his statements tothe press as his countryman Lars

von Trier). But he’s not wrong.‘‘Drive’’ has moments of magic, inwhich he dares to nudge thetiniest bit at the limits of timeand space. In one elevator ride,the second before the Driverbeats a man senseless, he steals amoment of romance that, impos-sibly, lasts for an eternity. Noth-ing. A kiss. Then stomp-stomp-stomp. The absurdity is exhila-rating. The exhilaration isabsurd. This is such a visuallymuscular movie that you have tolaugh at the bravado. If he wantsthe job, Refn could become ahero to a generation of kid mov-iegoers the way Tarantino did fora previous one: as a controversialpop-artist.

There will be those who’ll saythey liked this movie better whenit was ‘‘Thief,’’ Jean-Pierre Mel-ville’s ‘‘Le Samouraï ,’’ WalterHill’s ‘‘The Driver,’’ or any verygood Hong Kong action thriller.But Refn’s version produces asimilar high. A friend who hated‘‘Drive’’ complained that it’s aEuropean telling us what hethinks American movies are: Kisskiss bang bang. I see her point.We do more than kiss and bang.But this is just a genre Europe —OK, the French — used to excel atand no longer do. Refn won thedirector’s prize at Cannes in May,and France’s enthusiasm sug-gests what they’re missing fromtheir movies. Meanwhile, ‘‘Drive’’confirms that the smooth, bluntRefn is exactly what’s been miss-ing from ours.

Wesley Morris can be reached atwmorris@globe.com. Follow himon Twitter @wesley_morris.

PHOTOS BY RICHARD FOREMAN JR./FILM DISTRICT

Gosling befriends a young mother (Carey Mulligan), whosehusband is in prison. Below: Gosling in a shootout scene.

MOV I E R E V I EW

!!! ÆDRIVE

Directed by:NicolasWinding Refn

Written by: Hossein Aminiadapted from

James Sallis’s novelStarring: Ryan Gosling,

CareyMulligan, Bryan Cran-ston, Ron Perlman, Oscar Isaac,

and Albert BrooksAt: Boston Common,Fenway, suburbs

Running time: 100minutesRated: R (all manner of

grisly violence and salty lan-guage, plus some nudity)

SEPTEMBER 16 , 2011 HE BOSTON GLOBE 13

S ometimes a movieknows you’re watchingit. It knows how to holdand keep you, how,

when it’s over, to make you wantit all over again. Nicolas WindingRefn’s ‘‘Drive’’ is a work of swift,brutal violence, but it’s not theviolence — a viciously stompedhead, say, or the way a shotgunblast sounds like a bomb — that’ssexy. It’s the confidence to bringoff the violence without appear-ing to break a sweat, to blatantlysteal from Michael Mann with-out fear of being hauled off tomovie jail, to deliver a herowhose signature jacket isn’tleather. It’s a white, quilted Start-er number with a giant gold andorange scorpion embroidered onthe back. On anyone else, it’s agarment that says ‘‘karate par-ent.’’ On Ryan Gosling, the em-broidery’s an advertisement for apoison sting — from both Goslingand Refn.

Gosling’s an actor whose cool,under these circumstances,conflates Steve McQueen’s cocki-ness with James Dean’s drama.He plays a loner getaway cardriver in Los Angeles, and amass-es enough small gestures (a tens-ing jawline, a flexing fist crin-kling in a leather glove, the slightshifts of the toothpick parked in acorner of his mouth) to create acharacter out of a gaming avatar.The movie has you from its near-ly wordless opening sequence,which, just through crisp stagingand superb editing, tells us every-thing we need to know — aboutwhat’s going on, what the stakesare, and how immaculately theDriver intends to run his busi-ness. It takes half the movie forthat jacket to stain.

The lighting in that introduc-tory sequence and beyond seemsto come exclusively from streetlamps, store fronts, and dash-boards. The synth of Cliff Marti-nez’s score does for this moviewhat Tangerine Dream did forMann’s ‘‘Thief’’: keep the sus-pense tap open. There’s a handfulof well deployed songs by Kavin-sky, Desire, and the Chromatics.It’s electronic music that situatesyou in LA both 25 years ago andfive minutes from now.

Not much after that first job,there’s a cut to Gosling in a cop’suniform. It’s a gag. This guy isalso a Hollywood stunt driver,and when, after work, he findshimself sharing an elevator with

the terminally sad-looking wom-an down the hall, Irene (CareyMulligan), then having a look ather broken-down car in a su-permarket parking lot, there’sreason to suspect he’s still on theset. Irene has a cute son (KadenLeos) who’s among the closestthings live-action has to rivalJapanese animation. Irene alsohas a cute husband (Oscar Isaac),who’s in prison, and soon to bereleased. Before he gets out, theDriver, Irene, and the kid spendtheir days looking at each other.The long drags these three takeon each others’ faces approxi-mate the panels in some comicbooks.

The bond among them makesit impossible for the Driver toresist a new job that will help thehusband erase a debt he owes toa gangster. It’s worth noting thatthe screenplay — by HosseinAmini, adapted from JamesSallis’s novel — has anticipatedwhat we’re tempted to think: Thehusband first name is ‘‘Stand-ard.’’ But that job — a pawnshoprobbery — occasions anotheroutrageous, alarming couple ofset pieces that climax in a motelroom and feature two gunshotsthat made me feel as if my headhad just been blown off. Theviolence here is exciting but itisn’t cheap, either.

That job lands the Driver inboiling water with two verydifferent but closely connectedgangsters, played by Ron Perl-man and Albert Brooks. Brookswears nice shirts and has had hishair straightened in a way thatlends him a new, low-rent grav-itas. He embraces his killer men-ace so much you believe him —it’s a part Bill Murray would have

had as much fun with but wouldhave been less of a shock to see.Brooks’s character, Bernie Rose,says he produced movies in the1980s, action movies, prettymuch like this one. He also hap-pens to be the same man whojust put several hundred grandinto a race car to be driven by theDriver for the Driver’s boss (Bry-an Cranston) at an auto repairshop. Regarding the news thatthe Driver is also a mechanic:Apparently, this is how muchcrime doesn’t pay?

Nonetheless, Refn even mag-netizes the cliches. Is Irene wortheverything the Driver risks forher and the kid? Only in themovie playing in his head.‘‘Drive’’ is not much about othermovies. It’s about Refn’s percep-tion of the movieness in life. Thedirector is a 40-year-old Dane,who, before this, had made ahandful of strong, visual, mood-oriented films — a crime trilogy

called ‘‘Pusher’’; ‘‘Bronson,’’ agrand character study of a flam-boyantly psychotic English in-mate; a dreamy Viking epiccalled ‘‘Valhalla Rising.’’ Theywere all uneven, but they’veearned Refn a cultish devotionthat this movie is likely to expandexponentially.

He has a big, thick style. It’simpasto filmmaking and it bene-fits from a conventional scriptand an established genre. In‘‘Drive,’’ Refn finds about a half-dozen ways to disturb with thecombination of utter stillnessand grisly violence. When a manhas his hand manically ham-mered backstage at a strip club,the dancers sit topless and lookon with the detachment that youimagine Refn used to film thescene. He’s described ‘‘Drive’’ as afairy tale, which sounds disin-genuous (Refn is sure to becomeas notorious for his statements tothe press as his countryman Lars

von Trier). But he’s not wrong.‘‘Drive’’ has moments of magic, inwhich he dares to nudge thetiniest bit at the limits of timeand space. In one elevator ride,the second before the Driverbeats a man senseless, he steals amoment of romance that, impos-sibly, lasts for an eternity. Noth-ing. A kiss. Then stomp-stomp-stomp. The absurdity is exhila-rating. The exhilaration isabsurd. This is such a visuallymuscular movie that you have tolaugh at the bravado. If he wantsthe job, Refn could become ahero to a generation of kid mov-iegoers the way Tarantino did fora previous one: as a controversialpop-artist.

There will be those who’ll saythey liked this movie better whenit was ‘‘Thief,’’ Jean-Pierre Mel-ville’s ‘‘Le Samouraï ,’’ WalterHill’s ‘‘The Driver,’’ or any verygood Hong Kong action thriller.But Refn’s version produces asimilar high. A friend who hated‘‘Drive’’ complained that it’s aEuropean telling us what hethinks American movies are: Kisskiss bang bang. I see her point.We do more than kiss and bang.But this is just a genre Europe —OK, the French — used to excel atand no longer do. Refn won thedirector’s prize at Cannes in May,and France’s enthusiasm sug-gests what they’re missing fromtheir movies. Meanwhile, ‘‘Drive’’confirms that the smooth, bluntRefn is exactly what’s been miss-ing from ours.

Wesley Morris can be reached atwmorris@globe.com. Follow himon Twitter @wesley_morris.

PHOTOS BY RICHARD FOREMAN JR./FILM DISTRICT

Gosling befriends a young mother (Carey Mulligan), whosehusband is in prison. Below: Gosling in a shootout scene.

MOV I E R E V I EW

!!! ÆDRIVE

Directed by:NicolasWinding Refn

Written by: Hossein Aminiadapted from

James Sallis’s novelStarring: Ryan Gosling,

CareyMulligan, Bryan Cran-ston, Ron Perlman, Oscar Isaac,

and Albert BrooksAt: Boston Common,Fenway, suburbs

Running time: 100minutesRated: R (all manner of

grisly violence and salty lan-guage, plus some nudity)

September 16, 2011

“Pusher”; “Bronson,” a grand character study of a flamboyantly psychotic English inmate; a dreamy Viking epic called “Valhalla Rising.” They were all uneven, but they’ve earned Refn a cultish devotion that this movie is likely to expand exponentially.

He has a big, thick style. It’s impasto filmmaking and it benefits from a conventional script and an established genre. In “Drive,” Refn finds about a half-dozen ways to disturb with the combination of utter stillness and grisly violence. When a man has his hand manically hammered backstage at a strip club, the dancers sit topless and look on with the detachment that you imagine Refn used to film the scene. He’s described “Drive” as a fairy tale, which sounds disingenuous (Refn is sure to become as notorious for his statements to the press as his countryman Lars von Trier). But he’s not wrong. “Drive” has moments of magic, in which he dares to nudge the tiniest bit at the limits of time and space. In one elevator ride, the second before the Driver beats a man senseless, he steals a moment of romance that, impossibly, lasts for an eternity. Nothing. A kiss. Then stomp-stomp-stomp. The absurdity is exhilarating. The exhilaration is absurd. This is such a visually muscular movie that you have to laugh at the bravado. If he wants the job, Refn could become a hero to a generation of kid moviegoers the way Tarantino did for a previous one: as a controversial pop-artist.

There will be those who’ll say they liked this movie better when it was “Thief,” Jean-Pierre Melville’s “Le Samouraï ,” Walter Hill’s “The Driver,” or any very good Hong Kong action thriller. But Refn’s version produces a similar high. A friend who hated “Drive” complained that it’s a European telling us what he thinks American movies are: Kiss kiss bang bang. I see her point. We do more than kiss and bang. But this is just a genre Europe − OK, the French − used to excel at and no longer do. Refn won the director’s prize at Cannes in May, and France’s enthusiasm suggests what they’re missing from their movies. Meanwhile, “Drive” confirms that the smooth, blunt Refn is exactly what’s been missing from ours.

Wesley Morris can be reached at wmorris@globe.com. Follow him on Twitter @wesley_morris.