The Wheelman Cometh

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Man, went into Drive fully prepared for Steve McQueen to be powershifting through the city, fully psyched for that chase scene from Ronin to get dilated out to ninety minutes, was ready for some Gone in 60 Seconds (the remake) fun, so long as it didn't get as goofy as The Fast and the Furious(es) or xXx. To Drive's credit, too, it never even approaches that level of stunt-ridiculousness. But still, it's called "Drive," right? An imperative sentence, not just a description. I mean, Drive Angry, say—in that, Nicholas Cage really does drive angry, doesn't he? And in Crash, there's a crash. And, yes, in Drive, there is some cool driving, but it's not the centerpiece, it isn't what the story's shaping itself around. As it should be. No, what Drive is arranging itself around is Ryan Gosling's nameless character, a carburetor priest of a stuntman who moonlights as getaway driver for whoever's got the money, and, though the movie opens with his voice, it's minutes before we hear it again. So, yeah, that's some easy to remember dialogue, I guess—at least to this non-actor that's what it seems like—but, too, that's not to say Gosling's not communicating the whole time, with grins, lookaways, his toothpick, his posture, all of it. It's that kind of meaningful silence you always get from the gunfighter who just wondered into town, is now having to set things right. Which is pretty much the case here (thumbnail: this driver's got a crush on his neighbor, signs onto a bad  . . . → → →