Drive plays out like it was filmed in the wrong decade. It is a love letter of sorts to a genre of yesteryear echoing earlier films of McQueen and Eastwood. Even the opening credits scrawl flashes by in 80s-esque hot pink that transport you back to a time that relied on practical effects, coherent plots with an emphasis on performance over disorienting cuts meant to muddle the action. Essentially, Drive is the anti-Michael Bay movie, a giant middle finger to the lazy and generic directorial style (McG and Shawn Levy, I’m looking at you) that routinely flood the multiplexes with the same triteness each weekend.
Posted by jacobaquino 
