Drive

A haphazard mishmash of brutal Scorsese-ish violence, David Lynchian weirdness, slow-paced Michael Mann-inspired tony urban melancholy, and saccharine sentimentalism out of a Nicholas Sparks film adaptation, Nicolas Winding Refn's Drive (2011) is so aesthetically schizophrenic that it can’t even provoke pleasure in the recognition of a skillful hand rearranging (or regurgitating) old tropes. The 80’s synth-pop revivalist soundtrack contributes to the muddle and gives off a whiff of hipper-than-thou detachment. Aside from Ryan Gosling's godawful monotone non-performance performance, the cast is excellent with brave scenery-chewing courtesy of Ron Perlman, Bryan Cranston, and Albert Brooks. The cinematography and costume design are also lush. Yet to me, this is a film on par with Boondock Saints in how transparently it tries to be cool and fails to simply work.