I don’t know about you, but I love those theatrical films where the stage is set for a concentrated drama. Just a few characters, three to five locations, consistent music. And colours, ah, the colours; the play of light and shadow! As you can see, it preconditions me for being sucker for the noir and neo-noir genre. And sucker I am, indeed. How did it happen I haven’t seen Drive any sooner, then? I was probably too obsessed with the classics and the cyberpunk incarnation of the idea. Anyway, I’m atoning for my negligence now by sharing my absolute adoration for this movie. Perfect in every way – the picture and the sound. But there’s something else. I must admit, never before has Ryan Gosling made such an impression on me as in Drive. In none of his many brilliant roles. There was just something so seamless, focused, multifaceted and believable about his character… He definitely knows how to act without talking, too. Rare talent. He just IS there and it’s so moving.
There was one thing that struck me immediately while watching it – Drive is essentially about the great mythos of man. Not in the ‘human’ sense but rather in Mr. Man sense. It brings together all the archetypical roles of man and all the sources of glory you can find in heroic stories since the beginning of civilisation. I don’t mean the children bed time stories always ending in happily ever after, though…
No Guts, No Glory
Talking about how the protagonist (let’s call him ‘Driver’, since he remains nameless) embodies the man mythos, I should probably start with the three very distinctive jobs he does for living. Car mechanic is his ‘official’ job, along with being part-time car stuntman for movies. There’s also that third job: a getaway driver. The Driver is a risk taker. He risks it for the money driving criminals. He risks it for art doing unbelievable stunts. He risks it for the thrill of it. He will also risk it for the safety of a woman and child as well as in the name of male solidarity.
Of course, as everything in Drive, his life circumstances are a bit intense and over exaggerated, as is usually the case with heroic stories. And so, the character feature dominant in men – risk-seeking – although exaggerated, is the first important characteristic that builds every legendary guy. Not being afraid to risk your safety, life or even general peace for what’s right/glorious/profitable. After all, you don’t become a legend by sitting about, right?
Lone Rider
With all that risk, the Driver has also his ‘everyman mode’ of operating. In his everyday edition, the Driver is a responsible man with a down-to-earth stable job (which still fulfils his interests in some way). He can obviously take care of himself enough to have a place to sleep, juggle three jobs including criminal career and to make some friends. Sure, he eats poorly and ruins his eyesight working with bad lighting, but let’s not expect too much from a bachelor 😉
Somehow this dualism of roles is present especially in the modern culture; the undistinguished man, just doing his job, being a decent citizen who turns superhero vigilante when the clock strikes midnight. Diego de la Vega/Zorro, Clark Kent/Superman and even Tyler Durden of the Fight Club embody that need of balancing two natures in a man. All those character types also teach us that violence has it’s place and we can’t afford to try to purge it out of the society. Rather, we need to rediscover this place and channel accordingly.
What Needs to Be Done
The Driver is a quite peaceful person. He doesn’t bother anyone and doesn’t want to be bothered in return. He’s a man of few words but of much emotion, it seems. Although rather silent and non-obtrusive, he doesn’t have any emotional issues and bonds easily. He exhibits the Universe-old protective instinct towards Irene and her son, Benicio, even though he has hardly any ‘gain’ form it. And so the moment those two become endangered, Driver knows it’s not the time to broadcast pacifist views. He doesn’t try to find a philosophical excuse, he doesn’t run away or look for someone else to burden with the dirty and dangerous task. He goes forth and kicks asses. And heads, if need be. He’s prepared to use any tool to do unlimited types of harm, because the situation is dead serious. He just does what needs to be done. He’s also man enough to overcome any jealousy and help Standard Gabriel out instead of trying to take advantage of the situation and do him in for good, so that he could take his place.
The Atlas
The protagonist couldn’t be the full embodiment of the great Mr. Man if he wouldn’t take the Atlas role. One of the most archetypical roles, carrying the weight of the world upon one’s shoulder, but also in more Christological sense – taking the sins of the world upon oneself. Which basically brings together two elements that lie at the foundations of the Western civilisation. The Driver won’t stop until every single person threatening the lives of Irene and Benicio is VERY dead. He’s not bailing out after the gas station run goes south and Standard Gabriel gets shot. He doesn’t simply grab the girl and the kid and run. He finishes what he started instead. Never asking Irene for permission, never confiding in her, he takes it upon himself. HOWEVER, there’s communication going on between them all the time and he does tell her what’s happening, knowing he owes her the truth as an adult person; a subject rather then object. The way she reacts to his brutality is understandable, she’s not thrilled to see the raw brains of her would-be assassin. And this is the hard part – sometimes, there are no happy endings. The Driver knows this and decides to leave when it’s all done, even though he was the hero here, not the villain. There are no wailing women, no sentimental music playing, no great speeches. The hero is done, probably mortally wounded and he’s riding off into the sunset. Except, he’s actually riding off into the night, precisely because the sunsets are for the new beginnings and there can be none for him.
Ebb & Flow 