Only God Forgives

Two years ago, Nicholas Winding Refn burst into mainstream consciousness with Drive. It's a neatly crafted, absorbing thriller, short on plot, long on violence, oozing style from every frame. The excellent supporting cast and moody score help, but its greatest success comes in reinventing Ryan Gosling as heir to the Eastwood-McQueen throne of laconic cool.

Now Only God Forgives. How? Sadly it's that all-too-common phenomena we recently examined: an ambitious artist letting praise go to his head, thus producing a grandly ambitious disaster. Everything that made Drive enjoyable warps into a black hole of pretension and nauseating violence.

Julian (Ryan Gosling) is a Bangkok boxing impresario/crime boss. When his brother Bobby (Tom Burke) is murdered, Julian seeks vengeance - but finds the culprit acted at the behest of Police Lieutenant Chang (Vithaya Pansringarm). Julian's mother Crystal (Kristin Scott Thomas) shows up, hiring goons for her own strike at Chang. Much blood is gruesomely spilled, with Julian debating whether to side with his domineering mother, to stay aloof, or maybe to blink once in awhile.

Arguably, Only God Forgives aspires to be the greatest B Movie ever made. It's got the laconic criminals of Jean-Pierre Melville, the deliberate pacing of Sergio Leone, the setting of a million kung-fu/yakuza flicks, even the gauche colors of Dario Argento. Heck, the title explicitly recalls a Terence Hill-Bud Spencer Spaghetti Western. One's reminded of Quentin Tarantino, but even QT's weakest flicks have a tongue-in-cheek self-awareness. Refn has nothing resembling a sense of humor, trying to will his kaleidoscopic mishmash of homages and gore into high art.

And what art! Refn's aesthetic sense demands that every scene, however banal or trivial, be filtered through a primary color or framed by a doorway. Splice in jump cuts and fantasy scenes, regardless of contextual appropriateness or coherence. Employ the Kuleshov Effect to an absurd degree: characters are constantly shot in close-up, ostensibly staring at each other, even when miles away. Fade out diegetic sound at will. Refn abuses these gimmicks worse than a second year film student, hoping that stealing from some Godard flick might salvage his grade.

Groggy's no shrinking violet, but even I found God's violence obnoxious. From frame one characters sloppily eviscerate each other, like refugees from Texas Chainsaw Massacre, producing only cheap shock. Characters get dismembered, disemboweled, slashed in two, machine gunned and savagely beaten, all lovingly photographed by Refn. It's not offensive so much as egregiously tasteless. Drive closely skirted this line, but at least our investment in the characters gave moments like the elevator scene a jolt. That film's not Shakespeare, but on some level you cared about The Driver and friends.

By contrast, God's protagonists spend so much time elaborately posing they might as well be mannequins: their presence is aesthetic not dramatic. These guys only show emotion when getting pinioned by hair pins. You'd expect Julian might react to his brother dying or thugs beating him to a pulp, but he remains expressionless throughout. After being informed of Bobby's proclivities, Crystal muses that her son "must have had his reasons." With a little push in this direction, God might edge into self-parody.

For all the awfulness - Chang's karaoke scenes, Crystal's nauseatingly Freudian farewell - one set piece stands out. About 70 minutes in, Julian and Chang face off in a martial arts slug fest. Refn choreographs this scene with the elaborate ritualization of a Sergio Leone duel; all that's missing is Ennio Morricone. Yet it's style without effect. Leone spends Once Upon a Time in the West, say, investing his gunslingers with mythic grandeur; they embody a bygone era where even villains observe a certain chivalry. Without such gravitas, God's antagonists are just thugs walking around slowly.

Ryan Gosling takes his Alain Delon impression to its logical extreme, showing no emotion at all. Well, except for one scene where it's hysterically inappropriate. Kristin Scott Thomas spends so much time posturing she's less Lady Macbeth, more chain-smoking lawn flamingo. Combining sadistic violence with bad karaoke, Vithaya Pansringarm chillingly invokes Kahn Souphanousinphone's father-in-law. Rhatha Phongam fingers herself and scowls in a masterful turn.

Ultimately, Only God Forgives disappoints even as a failure. With just a little more tackiness, it could have been the worst movie of 2013. Sadly for Nicholas Winding Refn and Co., that honor still belongs to The Great Gatsby.

Drive

Drive is the best movie I've seen in theaters since True Grit. There's probably some deep existential meaning to it all, but I just enjoyed it as a stylish, superbly crafted action film.

The Driver (Ryan Gosling) is a garage mechanic and part-time stunt man who serves as the getaway driver for some small-time hoods. Shortly thereafter, his boss Shannon (Bryan Cranston) gets him mixed up with film producer/crime boss Bernie (Albert Brooks), who wants to sponsor him as a stock car driver. The plot thickens when the Driver gets involved with his neighbor Irene (Carey Mulligan), whose husband Standard (Oscar Isaac) was just released from prison. To held Standard escape a loan shark's wrath, Driver agrees to take part in a $1 million heist, which lands him in deep trouble with Bernie and his underboss Izzi (Ron Perlman).

Drive is a first-class production all around. Nicholas Wending Refn makes a unique-looking film, from the moody urban mis-en-scene to the expressive editing scheme, with its slow-burn dissolves and non-linear sequencing. Refn stages impressive set pieces, especially the curtain-raising getaway drive and an exciting chase scene halfway through, and some unexpectedly graphic violence gives the action a real kick. Occasional artistic ostentation - a groan-inducing scene where a bemasked Driver walks slow-motion into a carefully framed window comes to mind - does not detract from Refn's superb direction.

What really sets Drive above its peers, however, is Hossein Amini's script. Elliptical in plot and character motivations, it smartly transcends cliche by building on familiar material. The well-drawn ensemble cast helps immensely: the Driver-Irene romance is sweet and avoids a cliched love triangle. Characters are largely drawn by relationships: Irene's affection for her husband and son and attraction to the Driver; Bernie and Izzi's tense partnership; Shannon's pathetic toadying. A leisurely pace immerses the viewer in the story, a welcome change from fast-cutting shakycam blockbusters. The climax feels a bit rushed but the ambiguous ending is a perfect coda.

Ryan Gosling gives a knockout performance. In Gosling's hands, the Driver becomes a fascinating protagonist, a deconstruction of the standard Hollywood action hero. He's likeable enough in his early scenes with Irene, but his effortless transition into a vengeful murderer is chilling. Gosling's controlled, monosyllabic performance makes both sides of his character credible: a character so emotionless and nonexpressive could be hiding anything. It's been a big year for Gosling, and this film should catapult him into the top tier of Hollywood stardom.

Gosling is backed by an interesting supporting cast. Albert Brooks steals the show as the psycho crime boss with a knife fetish, quite a turnabout from his usual comedy roles. Carey Mulligan (Public Enemies) is sweet and quietly vulnerable. Oscar Isaac (Robin Hood) handles a difficult role with sensitivity: he avoids the temptation to make Standard a cranky cuckold or a sad sack. TV favorites Brian Cranston (Breaking Bad), Ron Perlman (Sons of Anarchy) and Christina Hendricks (Mad Men) feature in key supporting roles.

Drive is an excellent film all around. If nothing else, this and The Debt prove that an action movie doesn't need lots of CGI robots or explosions to be fun.