The Gosla-thon Part Two: Drive

This film makes me feel very happy. That may be worrying, considering the amount of violence in it. It’s not out of sadism though. It makes me happy because I feel safe in the knowledge that someone out there can still make mind-blowingly good noir films.

I was a bit suspicious when the pink curly Footloose-esque font came up on the screen. I rolled with it though, and I think in hindsight it works. The synth-pop soundtrack of the film (despite being a little clunky in parts) and the knowledge that Bernie used to produce cheap 80s thrillers added to the mad lettering and gave the film a unique undertone without it becoming overpoweringly stilted.

That’s the thing about noir; you risk becoming bogged down in the genre and ending up with a copy of what has come before. Drive takes a classic noir location, Los Angeles, and extends the genre by locating it in a different era and by taking on different characters.

I’d finished reading James Ellroy’s Brown’s Requiem a couple of days before watching this film, so I think my head is still in the seedy underbelly of L.A. I recognise the brutality of it from Ellroy, and the problematic morality of it as well. I have heard criticisms that Drive is too superficial, possibly because The Driver doesn’t say much. I think his actions are perfectly suited to his environment though.

I think one of the best things about noir is the fore-fronting of questions of morality. Raymond Chandler’s classic character Phillip Marlowe upheld his morals throughout the corruption he saw around him, usually getting beaten up and fucked over in the process. Ellroy’s novels also are full of corruption and people questioning their personal morality in such a destructive world. The Driver doesn’t necessarily question in that way, but he is single-minded in his protection of something he loves, something which represents goodness and happiness.

Of course, how could I forget to mention the Gosling of the Gosla-thon, the man that inspired the quest. Pure delight. Sizzling. Brutal. It is incredible how well he can move between selfless, caring and strong to utterly cold-blooded and brutal. A true noir hero. He can even make a quilted silver jacket look good.

Drive is definitely a film to watch over and over and over again; and not just for Ryan Gosling. It is a fantastic example of noir in a new era.

Touch of Bronzer

Orson Welles’ 1958 film Touch of Evil is fantastic. Except for one thing; Charlton Heston. It’s mostly not his fault. It’s the make-up.

I assume it is the make-up because with black and white there is that ambiguity of what the colour of things actually was. I was too busy trying to guess whether he had a really strong natural tan, or whether the man was heaped with make-up to concentrate much on his performance. He plays a Mexican detective in the film, Mike Vargas, which is why I assumed the semi-blackface make-up. It’s off putting.

So is his thick American accent, mind you. The other Mexican characters in the film seemed to be played by South American or Hispanic actors, so Heston stands out like a sore thumb. I guess in that regard casting was a star vehicle; they probably didn’t have an option to cast someone better suited to the part.

Welles is deliciously ugly as the corrupt cop Quinlan. Even though her scenes are brief, Marlene Dietrich oozes... well, I can only think of clichés, but whatever it is she oozes makes me weak at the knees. That woman was a goddess.

Welles as a director is incredibly good. I hate to sound like a wanky film nerd but Touch of Evil is why films should be made. The choreography of that opening scene is just masterful, as is the lighting, the angles at which characters are shot and the editing. This is one of the last noir films to be made, but unquestionably one of the best.

If truth be known it makes me feel quite bourgeois. That is, it makes me want to discard all the lowly second rate films and books and TV around and only watch the best. The best of the best of the best, the classics, those things that have lasted and are still loved and worshipped; the epitomes of genre and the revelations of changes in style. None of this reaching the end of something and saying, ‘It was okay, but....’ That *meh* kind of feeling you get when something turns out to be not as awesome as you first thought. No More Meh! Who’s with me!