As screen romances go, the one in Drive starts out really quite sweet.
Mostly-silent lonely guy (Ryan Gosling, pictured) takes a shine to apparently solo mum in apartment next door and her young son. Except her hubby comes back from prison.
What's mostly-silent lonely guy to do? Especially when the ex-con gets in a money bind? Help him in a heist? Hey, he's a stuntman who has already moonlighted as a getaway driver. What could go wrong?
The answer to that last question is, well, spectacular. Brutally so. It's but one outburst of nasty violence that punctuates Drive's minimalist sheen and jars you out of a happy extended game of spot-the-influence - and this is a film which owes much to the synthesised crime sagas of Michael Mann; to all those movies where a life of a crime has induced an existential crisis; to movies where it's clear the director wished he had been born decades earlier.
Like Tarantino was with 70s B-flicks, it seems Cannes-winning Danish director Nicolas Winding Refn is with the 80s, whether it is with the music, the titles or the sheer downtown Los Angeles-ness of it all. You really have to wonder if the involvement of Mad Men redhead Christina Hendricks for a brief episode is because Molly Ringwald got too old in the meantime.