Irene comes across as sexually inhibited in her relationship with Driver because she knows that her husband will soon return home from prison. However, from the moment that she meets Driver, she relies on him for help.
The alluring femme fatale always played an important part in our Western cinematic history. The archetype of the errant woman was present ever since Theda Bara graced the screen in the silent film era of the 1920s. Nevertheless, it was film noir that polished the archetype. The highly stylized and suspenseful film genre formed the basis of the Hollywood creation of the femme fatales in the 1940s and 1950s. The genre broke the conventional stereotypes of one-dimensional, insecure and dependent women. Instead women were vivacious, captivating, seductive female characters who owned the screen while sashaying through their own created webs of deceit and betrayal (although some would say they were manipulative and cold-blooded with an sexual self-serving attitude). The archetype changed over time, which is intertwined with the modernization of the film industry. The femme fatale is in its essence a tool to help us understand the limits of social and cultural roles surrounding women. The neo-noir Drive (2011) is an homage to the old-fashioned art form of escapism.
It took more than six years before Drive was shot. The film adaptation of the novel by James Sallis initially appeared to be heading in the same direction as the popcorn flick The Fast and the Furious. Hugh Jackman and director Neil Marshall (Doomsday, Centurion) were first attached to the project. When Gosling took the place of Jackman, he specifically asked for director Nicolas Winding Refn. The quirky Danish director debuted with the raw thriller Pusher, and followed it with Bronson with Tom Hardy as lead about Britain’s most violent prisoner and he also directed Valhalla Rising, a Viking movie filled with brutal fights, but ends in silent contemplation. Winding Refn is an unpredictable director with his own peculiar visual style. The film has similarities with an ’80s classic. In 1978, Walter Hill created The Driver with Ryan O’Neal as nameless hero. Similar to the main character in Drive, we will never know his name. They do share a profession: if somewhere in the city a robbery is committed, they are the cold-blooded drivers of the getaway car. In 2011, Winding Refn won the award for Best Director at the Cannes Film Festival for Drive.
Drive centers around Ryan Gosling as a handsome loner, silent, gentle and a master on the road. He works in the garage of Shannon (Bryan Cranston), who gives him criminal jobs and occasionally work as a stunt driver on Hollywood film sets. Shannon wants his most talented driver to start a new career in the professional racing circuit and concludes a deal with two mafia business partners, Bernie Rose (Albert Brooks) and Nino (Ron Perlman). The young driver, meanwhile, gets acquainted with his neighbor, Irene (Carey Mulligan) and her son, Benicio. Irene immediately falls for his charm. Only the scorpion on the back of his jacket recalls the dark aspects of his existence. And that one, beautiful, ominous shot where we see him on a film set as a stand-in with a latex mask over his head.
Irene (Carey Mulligan) and Driver (Ryan Gosling)
Is Irene the modern femme fatale in Drive? One of the interesting aspects of the character is that she’s played by Mulligan. The original character in the script was an Hispanic woman named Irina. In a conversation with Interview Magazine, Winding Refn bluntly states that he gave Carey Mulligan the part because she “seemed pure,” like someone he wanted to protect. Apparently he couldn’t imagine a Latina actress in the part. He picked Mulligan specifically because she fits the mold of the damsel in distress that in Hollywood is synonymous with white.
Irene is described as a beautiful and seductive woman but she’s not a direct danger to Driver. We can see that there’s tension between Driver and Irene, but Irene is more insecure than hyperaware of her sexuality. Irene is the object of sexual desire of Driver and because he becomes intrigued by her, he will do anything to help her. The classic femme fatale is often seen as sexually uninhibited, independent, and ambitious. Irene comes across as sexually inhibited in her relationship with Driver because she knows that her husband will soon return home from prison. However, from the moment that she meets Driver, she relies on him for help.
“Trouble ahead”
Irene’s husband asks Driver for help when he comes back from prison because of an outstanding debt. Driver wants to protect Irene and as a result he becomes entangled in a criminal job to raise the money, and that’s eventually his downfall. Irene never explicitly asked Driver for help. Instead of the so-called “evil seductress who tempts the man and brings about his destruction,” Irene seems more a passive, innocent woman who indirectly without intent, will perish the man.
Irene seems to be a combination of the femme fatale and the femme attrapée. The femme attrapée is, according to Janey Place in “Women in Film Noir,” a woman who “offers the possibility of integration for the alienated, lost man into the stable world of secure values, roles and identities. She gives love, understanding (or at least forgiveness), asks very little in return (just that he come back to her) and is generally visually passive and static.”
Driver is here the alienated, lost man and Irene gives him love and understanding. Both characters seem lonely and find solace in their relationship. Irene comes across as a passive, brave, and sweet woman but functions in the story as a femme fatale. Her innocence ensures that Driver makes the wrong choices. In film noir, the male protagonist would make the wrong choices because the femme fatale has instigated him with her sexuality, but Drive allows Driver to make these choices to save Irene. Drive has an open ending so the future of Driver remains unclear.
The femme fatale in the modern neo-noir films from the 1960s, 1970s and onward transformed into a more passive role, rather than active and manipulative. We see elements of Irene herein. Irene doesn’t fit the classic description of the femme fatale. She’s no Gloria Swanson, Marlene Dietrich, Barbara Stanwyck or even a Sharon Stone. It’s not the loss of control by a seductive woman that resulted in the downfall of Driver but instead taking the rains, coercion and protective instinct. The archetype will pop up in films in years to come since it always captures our imagination.
The tight script was penned down by the Academy Award-nominated screenwriter Hossein Amini. Amini was hesitant at first because of the non-linear structure of the novel but he definitely made the transition from page to screen work. Cinematographer Newton Thomas Sigel neatly used wide-angle lenses instead of handheld camerawork to capture Winding Refn’s visual style. The film was shot digitally and Winding Refn was able to capture evocative, intense images of Los Angeles. The film has a 1980s atmosphere which comes true via the cars, music, clothes, but especially with the architecture in downtown Los Angeles. It all reflects the art house approach of Winding Refn.
Wending Refn follows the beat of his own drum. As a result, Drive isn’t your run of the mill action flick. The emphasis in Drive lies first and foremost on the characters, accompanied by the speed, and the wonderful soundtrack. Winding Refn managed to create an enigmatic film that engages, shocks, and surprises–old fashioned escapism and inescapable at once.
Tarantino has created dynamic and interesting female characters throughout his cinematic career, celebrating their strengths, personalities, and never presenting gender as an obstacle—instead, being a woman in his stories is often an advantage.
It’s exhausting to consume any media as a trans* person. It’s not really a matter of if I will become a punchline, but when. This goes triple or quadruple for comedy, and Louis C.K., for all his good qualities, is no exception.
So, yes. Raleigh Becket is a Strong Female Character. Sure, he’s not female, but as far as our understanding of SFCs goes–which here means well-written female and feminine characters–he’s aces. Raleigh Becket is supportive, sweet, intuitive, and loving, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. Not a damn thing.
And in a society where male revelations about abuse, physical, emotional, or sexual, are still considered a mark of weakness, it’s fantastic that such a successful figure is willing to set an example. Especially when that person is Captain Jean Luc Picard, a super smart, sexy, sensitive, nerves-of-steel spaceship captain. I have a feminist daydream of Kirk (Shatner), Janeway (Mulgrew), Sisco (Brooks), and Picard (Stewart) doing a women’s rights PSA: I would make it my ringtone forever.
Adelle, Willow, Zoë, Natasha–you name her, Joss Whedon offers a multitude of heroines with a wide range of diverse identities. A topic as extensive as this, regarding a person with as much output as Joss Whedon’s, would serve to fill entire volumes.
Canadian-born Ryan Gosling is a talented actor, charismatic movie star and global sex symbol. The Notebook (2004) made Gosling a romantic screen icon but he has also, of course, given a number of inspired, thought-provoking performances in both independent and mainstream movies. His roles have been mostly varied and complex, but if you want a general sketch of his screen persona, I would say it’s a potent mix of melancholy, vulnerability, romanticism and sensuality. There is also an aggressive side. While they may retain a vulnerable aspect, he has played quite a few violent men. A seductive presence on the screen, Gosling is also an object of desire for multitudes of women around the world.
Vedder has spent his career fighting for a modern world that accepts and promotes women–he’s fought for reproductive rights, spoken out against sexual assault, and worked for worldwide safe pregnancy/childbirth.
Caroline somehow knows that Adam is not a typical young man simply working for minimum wage at a local diner in Minnesota; he is a heavenly catalyst sent not to offer completeness in Caroline’s life, but to remind her that she is worth loving, even in his absence.
… Kang seems to be a strong advocate for feminism in film. Though South Korea cinema (and the country as a whole) clearly needs far more women in off-screen positions of power, Sunny seems like a small but hopeful step towards equality, and may well inspire girls in today’s high school cliques to one day demand those positions.
When you think about feminism in television, The OC and teen soaps in general are probably not the first example to come to mind. If you’re not familiar with The OC, it’s about a troubled youth named Ryan Atwood (Ben McKenzie) who is taken in by the Cohens, a very wealthy family, after his own family has abandoned him. I’m very passionate about The OC and it is much more than that, but I shall not digress (or at least try not to). The Cohens are comprised of Kirsten (Kelly Rowan), a wonderful mother as well as a successful architect and businesswoman, Seth (Adam Brody), the awkward and endearing pop-culture-referencing son, and Sandy (Peter Gallagher), a righteous public defender, father, and husband.
My first introduction to Matt Damon was the same as many movie viewers – Good Will Hunting, a film that he starred in and co-wrote with Ben Affleck. It was my favorite film of 1997 and still holds a special place in my heart for its humor, poignancy, and moving portrayal of the lasting effects of abuse.
So what’s feminist about it? Although the word “feminist” is never uttered, Michael plays Dorothy as a bold, liberated woman. At the audition, slimy director Ron Carlisle (Dabney Coleman) tells Dorothy she’s too “soft and genteel” and “not threatening enough” for the part. Dorothy replies: “Yes, I think I know what y’all really want. You want some gross caricature of a woman. To prove some idiotic point, like, like power makes women masculine, or masculine women are ugly… Well shame on the woman who lets you do that.” Right out of the gate, Dorothy not only speaks her mind, but also openly protests sexism.
Canadian-born Ryan Gosling is a talented actor, charismatic movie star and global sex symbol. The Notebook (2004) made Gosling a romantic screen icon but he has also, of course, given a number of inspired, thought-provoking performances in both independent and mainstream movies. His roles have been mostly varied and complex, but if you want a general sketch of his screen persona, I would say it’s a potent mix of melancholy, vulnerability, romanticism and sensuality. There is also an aggressive side. While they may retain a vulnerable aspect, he has played quite a few violent men. A seductive presence on the screen, Gosling is also an object of desire for multitudes of women around the world.
A typical “Feminist Ryan Gosling”
Written by Rachael Johnson as part of our theme week on Male Feminists and Allies.
Canadian-born Ryan Gosling is a talented actor, charismatic movie star, and global sex symbol. The Notebook (2004) made Gosling a romantic screen icon but he has also, of course, given a number of inspired, thought-provoking performances in both independent and mainstream movies. His roles have been mostly varied and complex, but if you want a general sketch of his screen persona, I would say it’s a potent mix of melancholy, vulnerability, romanticism, and sensuality. There is also an aggressive side. While they may retain a vulnerable aspect, he has played quite a few violent men. A seductive presence on the screen, Gosling is also an object of desire for multitudes of women around the world.
The star’s off-screen image is also engaging. There is a welcome lack of smugness and he comes across as charming and good-humored in interviews. In his personal life, he seems to have a refreshing preference for women older than him. Thanks to the “Feminist Ryan Gosling” tumblr, the actor has also become a sweetheart of online 21st century feminism. For people who have not yet heard of Danielle Henderson’s site, it features funny memes that couple photos of Gosling with gender studies quotes. The man, himself, has also exhibited a certain feminist awareness in public life. When Blue Valentine (2010) was given an NC-17 rating by the MPAA for a scene showing his character giving his wife oral sex, Gosling slammed the decision as sexist. He pointed out that it is “okay” to show sexual violence in American movies but not “a woman’s sexual presentation of self.” Mixing the romantic and the progressive as well as the courtly and the hip, Gosling’s star persona is attractive to female and feminist audiences. Any appraisal of Gosling’s feminist reputation should, therefore, not only consider his online image, star persona and political opinions but also reflect on his roles and performances. How is masculinity embodied in his screen characters and how do his films represent gender? Let’s first look at that site.
Ryan Gosling in Blue Valentine
Danielle Henderson started “Feminist Ryan Gosling” in 2011 when she was a graduate student. As she explains on her site, the blog was started as an academic joke. Her internet memes typically feature shots of the star–paparazzi, publicity and film stills–accompanied by quotes by feminist cultural and intellectual figures. They reference Gosling’s romantic appeal and the source of the humor, of course, comes from the mismatch between text and image. Although an essentially humorous site, “Feminist Ryan Gosling” is actually a pretty important pop cultural phenomenon. First, it is an entertaining example of the democratic potential of online culture. It shows that we do not have to be mere passive consumers of the Hollywood star product. We can, moreover, appropriate the image of the star for our own purposes. This is a quite subversive thing, of course. It may even be dangerous in other contexts–imagine a right-wing, homophobic appropriation of a star’s image–but “Feminist Ryan Gosling” is a positive, good-natured tribute with progressive aims. A gender studies student has contributed to the shaping of a male Hollywood star’s persona while advancing feminism in a way that is seductive to a mass audience. “Feminist Ryan Gosling” was, incidentally, turned into a Running Press book in 2012.
Gosling’s good looks play a starring role in all of this, of course. Although the actor is perhaps not classically handsome, he is an exceptionally good-looking guy with a classically desirable Hollywood body. His slim, muscular form is, in fact, part of his star persona. In the comedy-drama Crazy, Stupid, Love (2011), it is even the object of humor. Here, Gosling plays a womanizer who gets involved with a young law school graduate played by Emma Stone. When she first sees his buffed body, she protests, “Fuck! Seriously? It’s like you’re photoshopped!” It is a nice send-up of a certain side of his image. Gosling may not display his body or express himself sexually on the screen like Michael Fassbender–few do–but he has shown interest in thought-provoking sexual themes. He is also not frightened of being the object of the camera’s gaze.
Handsome and charismatic, Gosling, of course, fulfils the norms and ideals of Hollywood stardom. For more than a decade, however, he has been one of the more interesting younger male talents in American cinema. Gosling has, in fact, made some fascinating choices and many of have been conspicuously atypical. He’s never really been a boring pretty boy and he’s rarely played it safe. In the controversial The Believer (2001), Gosling plays a young Jewish man who becomes a neo-Nazi. That was his first major role. Gosling is not frightened of playing unconventional male roles. In Half Nelson (2006), he plays a charismatic history teacher with a drug habit. Many of his characters also complicate our ideas of American manhood. In fact, he’s played men who destabilize traditional norms of masculinity. I’m going to look at a couple of roles that offer complex, subversive portraits of masculinity–Blue Valentine and Lars and The Real Girl (2007)–as well as one that is more typical of his more conventionally or mythically masculine roles, the part of the stuntman and getaway driver in Drive (2010).
Ryan Gosling in Crazy, Stupid, Love
Directed and co-written by Derek Cianfrance, Blue Valentine is one of the great love stories of the Millenium. Intimate, intense and naturalistic in style, it is a world away from The Notebook. While The Notebook is a distinctly old school affair, an epic romance steeped in sentimental clichés, Blue Valentine is an inventively structured drama that depicts both the ecstasies of sexual and romantic love and the painful collapse of a marriage. It’s the story of Dean (Gosling), a house painter and Cindy (Michelle Williams), a nurse. When they first meet, she is a student and he is a furniture mover. Cindy’s background is middle-class and Dean is the son of a janitor. They fall in love and Cindy becomes pregnant. It is not certain if Dean is the father as Cindy has had a recent relationship with a fellow student. He accompanies her to the abortion clinic but Cindy decides to keep the child. They start a family together.
Blue Valentine is a riveting, heartbreaking tale, and both actors give powerful, first-rate performances. Dean is, in many ways, characterized as an average, heterosexual working-class guy. In terms of physical appearance and dress, the character conforms to conventional masculine norms. Thankfully, he’s not a working-class type conceived by Hollywood. His portrait is well-drawn, persuasive and sympathetic. A contented beer-drinker and chain-smoker, he is generous, caring, feisty and romantic. Note that Gosling’s character is not a traditional patriarchal figure. He is capable of sexual jealousy, it is true, but because of his love for Cindy, Dean is willing to embrace the child of another man as his own. Biological paternity, paternal ‘ownership’ of a child has, of course, been integral to patriarchy and his generosity of spirit goes against these conventions. Dean’s lack of ambition- ambition in the conventional sense- also defies cultural expectations of gender. He’s quite happy with his situation. Being a father and husband, he says, is more important to him than work.
Danielle Henderson’s Feminist Ryan Gosling book (Running Press, 2012)
Dean ultimately comes across as the more vulnerable of the two. He clings to their dying relationship, refusing to believe that Cindy has fallen out of love with him. Interestingly, Dean rages against traditional conceptions of mature masculinity. When Cindy says she’s ‘more man’ than Dean in a heated argument, he asks her what being ‘the man’ means. It is Cindy who is unhappy with her position in life although she is proud of her nursing: she planned to study medicine before falling pregnant. It is, you sense, the source of her unhappiness despite her love for her child and husband. Blue Valentine accepts the messiness of love and life, and neither character is judged. What is interesting is that it shows a man perfectly content within the domestic space and a woman who feels suffocated and unfulfilled. Cindy’s understandable frustrations are sensitively addressed and Dean’s characterization is distinctly non-masculinist. In these ways, Blue Valentine could, therefore, be said to have a progressive take on the needs and desires of men and women today.
The portrayal of sexual love in Blue Valentine is intimate, authentic, and sometimes raw–too intimate and authentic, it seems, for the MPAA who gave it an NC-17 rating for a cunnilingus scene. Gosling rightly read the decision as “a product of a patriarchy-dominant society.” He criticized the MPAA for “supporting scenes that portray women in scenarios of sexual torture and violence for entertainment purposes” but not allowing “a scene that shows a woman in a sexual scenario which is both complicit and complex.” The ruling reflects unhealthy, archaic sexual attitudes but we should not be surprised by it. Hollywood still sanitizes sex and love, and it is still misogynist: oral sex should only be given to men, of course, and if cunnilingus is permitted, it must be stylized. Thankfully, the decision was overturned on appeal and the film was given an R rating. Gosling came off as impassioned and genuine in the debate.
In the comedy-drama, Lars and The Real Girl, Gosling also plays a man who destabilizes conventional notions of masculinity. He plays Lars, a deluded young man who has chosen to have a romantic relationship with a life-size sex doll named Bianca. It may sound downright creepy but Lars is effectively portrayed as sweet-natured, troubled guy much loved by his family and supported by his community. It is actually quite funny and moving to watch his loved ones and neighbors play along with the fantasy. It is the unspoken hope that he will one day not need his plastic girlfriend. Suffering from a childhood trauma, the vulnerable Lars fears physical intimacy. Note also that there is no sex between Lars and the doll: Bianca’s a missionary.
Ryan Gosling in Lars and the Real Girl
Written by Nancy Oliver and directed by Craig Gillespie, Lars and the Real Girl is an unusually warm-hearted, offbeat experience. Gosling is happily unglamorous in the role. The pale, mousy-haired Lars sports a moustache and distinctly unsexy sweaters. Gosling’s body is slacker, softer and fleshier than usual. In short, Lars is the antithesis of the hard, hyper-virile Hollywood hero. There is, ultimately, the blissful promise of real love for Lars with a real girl. Does this promise celebrate the romantic union of equals or does it actually indicate a conservative undercurrent at work in the film? In other words, does normalization mean masculinization and marriage? Or does it merely present a benign case for benevolent masculinity? In one scene, Lars asks his brother how he knew he was a man. He answers, “You grow up when you decide to do right…and not what’s right for you, what’s right for everybody, even when it hurts.” However you read the film, what Gosling gives us is a quite courageous portrayal of unconventional, non-hegemonic masculinity. In that sense, it is a feminist performance.
Drive is typical of the more conventionally and mythically masculine roles Gosling has embodied, especially most recently. In Nicolas Winding Refn’s ultra-stylish thriller, he plays a mechanic and Hollywood stuntman by day, and a getaway driver by night. He displays qualities that have been traditionally celebrated as masculine: physical strength, coordination, control and bravery. He is also, of course, a great risk-taker. He remains nameless throughout the film; he is only known as “the driver.” An outsider and loner, the driver befriends his neighbor, Irene (Carey Mulligan) a waitress with a young son to support and a husband in jail. The driver himself is drawn further into the criminal underworld when he agrees to race stock cars for a malevolent crime lord. When Irene’s husband is released, things get even more complicated. The driver takes it upon himself to protect the family from the mobsters.
Ryan Gosling in Drive
Gosling’s character combines archaic and modern attributes. He is a simultaneously romantic and dangerous figure, an unsettling blend of seductive melancholy and extreme brutality. Protecting the woman he loves, as well as her family, the driver plays the ancient role of a knight. His spirit of self-sacrifice is also evocative of the enigmatic protagonist of the classic Western Shane (1953). The drifter Shane is an outsider who protects a family who loves him from wicked men. The driver is also, however, capable of acts of extraordinary sadistic violence. In a scene set in an elevator, we watch the driver kiss Irene in Golden Hollywood fashion, guide her gently into a corner with a protective hand, and then kick the head of an assassin to a bloody pulp.
The driver is a man of few words and Gosling’s cool, minimalist turn brings to mind Steve McQueen’s performance style. Gosling’s role in Drive could be said to be mythically masculine. Unfortunately, the film does not have complex, charismatic female roles. Although she is also portrayed as a romantic figure in this chivalric romance, Irene’s character is just too insipid and asexual. The function of Christina Hendrick’s character, it seems, is to betray the driver and get her head blown off by a hired gun. The only other women seen in the film are topless strippers. Drive criminally fails in its representation of women. In terms of its representation of masculinity, however, it is more interesting and ambiguous. If the film does not, perhaps, critique masculinity, it could, nevertheless, be said to consciously comment on cultural constructions of masculinity in its allusions to conventionally masculine genres and ideals, as well as through its meta-characterization of the driver.
Ryan Gosling in The Notebook
What is also remarkable is how much the camera loves Gosling in Drive. Watching him give a master class in getaway driving, with a toothpick hanging from his lips, is a sexual experience. The driver’s gloves, jackets and t-shirted back are all fetishized in the film. This kind of focus serves to eroticize the character. It is an unusual thing still for a man to be looked at with such intensity. This looking undermines traditional representations of masculinity, as self-conscious display is culturally associated with femininity.
Courtesy of Danielle Henderson’s site, Gosling has become a witty symbol of contemporary male feminism. His online feminist persona has, of course, only increased his sex appeal. Gosling has also displayed a certain gender-awareness in both his public statements and roles. His choices often indicate an interest in truthful and challenging representations of gender and sexuality. He has empathetically embodied men who do not conform to conventional notions of masculinity. He has, of course, played traditional masculine characters but even they frequently mask vulnerable qualities and complexities. It’s going to be interesting following Gosling’s career. I hope he becomes more politically engaged in his public life, and even more adventurous in his choice of roles.
The 2011 film Drive opens by plunging the audience into an 80s-insipired neo-noir world, where the beats are hard, the car chases gripping, and the femme fatale seductively leads the real chase. Or at least it seems that simple.
The protagonist, simply named Driver (Ryan Gosling), may not appear to have clear motivations or desires throughout, but he is in control. He’s a stunt driver and auto mechanic by day, and an outlaw getaway driver at night. He seems to be content with this LA life he’s carved for himself.
Until he meets his neighbor, Irene (Carey Mulligan). The name Irene means peace—which could very well describe her disposition, but certainly not her role in Driver’s life. He first spots her carrying a laundry basket, then grocery shopping with her small son, and later helplessly looking under the hood of her stalled vehicle—the archetype of helpless femininity and quiet motherhood. She comes to the garage where he works for a repair and a ride home, and so begins their friendship/romance.
Carey Mulligan as “damsel in distress” Irene
Driver takes on an immediate fatherly role to Irene’s son, Benicio, and the three have idyllic car rides and moments by a river. They are on a journey, but a journey that doesn’t really go anywhere. Irene, always in the passenger seat, places her hand on Driver’s on the gear shift. We see Driver smile at Irene, and Benecio seems protected and comfortable, especially in the scene that Driver carries a sleeping Benecio home while Irene follows, carrying Driver’s bright white satin jacket emblazoned with a gold scorpion.
Irene makes a passing comment that Benecio’s father is in prison.
She fails to mention he’s her husband. And he’s about to come home.
That white jacket doesn’t stay clean for long.
What comes next is a tour de force of quick, graphic violence. (Or, as the New York Times rating more romantically describes it, “gruesomely violent chivalry”—he’s just valiantly protecting Irene, after all.)
The scorpion dances around its prey and its deadliness is swift and unsuspected. It also is a fiercely protective creature, and mothers keep their young nestled on their backs. Driver reminds a victim-to-be of the fable of the scorpion and the frog, in which the scorpion kills the frog (ultimately killing them both) simply because it’s his “nature.” The scorpion, upon first glance, reminds us of Driver. But who holds the “scorpion’s” fate—figuratively and literally—in her arms? Irene.
Of course, even as Driver is driving off with blood on his hands, no money, and no Irene, he calls her to tell her “Getting to be around you and Benicio was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
He has ensured their safety, while unraveling his own life. Unknowing, she stands silently, fingers to her lips.
A.O. Scott, in his New York Times review, says “Ms. Mulligan’s whispery diction and kewpie-doll features have a similarly disarming effect. Irene seems like much too nice a person to be mixed up in such nasty business. Not that she’s really mixed up in it. Her innocence is axiomatic and part of the reason the driver goes to such messianic lengths to protect her.”
In Rolling Stone, Peter Travers says, “Mulligan is glorious, inhabiting a role that is barely there and making it resonant and whole.”
The audience knows nothing about Irene, except that she met her husband when she was 17, she’s a waitress, and she’s pretty. How are we supposed to assume she’s “too nice to be mixed up in such nasty business”? How are we supposed to cling to her innocence and need for protection? How is a character who serves as a catalyst for almost the entire plot “barely there”?
Instead, the femme fatale role is squarely placed on the shoulders of Blanche. Travers writes, “Violence drives Drive. A heist gone bad involving a femme fatale (an incendiary cameo from Mad Men’s Christina Hendricks) puts blood on the walls.” This isn’t untrue—there is a heist gone wrong and it does get bloody, fast. But Blanche is an accomplice, not a seductive force that lures Driver in.
The classic definition of femme fatale is “an irresistibly attractive woman, especially one who leads men into difficult, dangerous, or disastrous situations…” Scott and Travers would certainly contend that Irene is too pretty and innocent to fit that mold—but someone needed to fit that mold, so Blanche it is.
Instead, Irene’s character is flattened into oblivion, “barely there,” as the reviewer states. Even though we know so little about her and her motivations, we are given clues. While she has an air of subservience (working as a waitress, fetching glasses of water and dinner for her male visitors), she is clearly in control at the beginning of the narrative. She goes to Driver’s work, she touches his hand, she withholds pertinent information about her personal life.
Ryan Gosling as Driver and Mulligan’s Irene–she holds his jacket (a symbol of his character) against the red and blue backdrop
Irene is also presented in a constant mural of red and blue—the bright, dark red of cherries and blood, lust and violence, and the Wedgewood blue of the Virgin Mary’s mantle, innocent and pure. The colors of her apartment and her shirts and dresses mirror this color scheme, challenging us to imagine her as a complex woman, one who could inhabit both worlds of innocence and experience.
In the garage scenes, we’re reminded of the fact that cars get designated feminine pronouns (because they are designed to be owned and shown off), and are tools to attract women. Driver’s car of choice, as Shannon (Bryan Cranston) says, is “plain Jane boring… There she is. Chevy Impala, most popular car in the state of California. No one will be looking at you.”
While Irene isn’t “plain Jane boring”—of course she’s quite beautiful—perhaps her nondescript nature and lack of flash is what kept audiences from noticing her important role.
In the animal kingdom, impalas are largely gender-segregated, except during mating seasons, when males will work so hard at competing for the females that they often get exhausted and will lose their territories; they are showy creatures, leaping and running from prey and for fun. The females isolate themselves with their calves. This speed and agility makes it clear why Chevy would use them as a namesake for a model of car, but we would be remiss at not drawing the similarities between the gender roles in the film.
At the end, no one has gained, only lost. Driver leaves with his bloody, dirt-stained jacket, and Irene silently puts down the phone. They are separate—her with her child and safety, and him with his masculinity and “chivalrous violence” having come out on top, but with no reward but the protection of someone he’d just met. His femme fatale, if we must label.
Christina Hendricks as “femme fatale” Blanche
And in the testosterone-fueled action genre, we must label our women. Even when it’s clear we’re supposed to challenge the virgin/whore dichotomy, even slightly, we cannot be trusted to. Irene and Blanche cannot be full, round characters—they must be caricatures to audiences and reviewers alike.
Much like the color imagery—from the aforementioned blues and reds to the hot pink Mistral font used on posters and in the opening credits—we can listen to the soundtrack to hear women setting the beat for the film, as stereotypically masculine as so many of the themes are. The opening sequence is set to Kavinsky’s “Nightcall,” an intense electro house track, which starts with a gravely male voice and soon switches over to a melodic female singer. The bulk of the singing on the sountrack is by women, and this should remind us that the women are tuning the strings that will make the music of the plot.
Over the climactic shooting at the pizza parlor, the haunting voice of Katyna Ranieri sings Riz Ortolani’s “Oh My Love.” Her voice soars, loudly and clearly over the bloody scene: “But this light / Is not for those men / Still lost in / An old black shadow / Won’t you help me to believe / That they will see / A day / A brighter day / When all the shadows / Will fade away.” She pleads for our protagonist, and she pleads for us, to look beyond the flat facades of what we expect, and to instead find the complexity of characters we think we know.
For the “kewpie-doll” can be the femme fatale, and the femme fatale can simply be an accomplice. Or perhaps the shadows of those labels can be lifted entirely, and we can be left with multidimensional female characters who are recognized for who they are.
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Leigh Kolb is an English and journalism instructor at a community college in rural Missouri, and has an MFA in creative nonfiction writing. She lives on a small farm with her husband, dogs, chickens, and garden, and makes a terrible dinner party guest because all she wants to talk about is feminism and reproductive rights.
