The raves for Drive began at Cannes, continued in Los Angeles (where our own Ryland Aldrich caught the fever), rolled on through the summer and into Toronto, where it received a gala premiere screening. Critics were generally quite favorable, but in his review, Scott Weinberg isolated one element of the buzz that might mislead potential viewers: "Early press out of various film festivals led one to believe that this was some sort of hyper-kinetic, non-stop action-fest. Please allow me to set things straight: Nicolas Winding Refn's Drive is not an action movie."
Now that the film has finally arrived in U.S. theaters, the popular reaction has been ... underwhelming. The film finished third, earning an estimated $11 million over the weekend, Box Office Mojo reports, compared to $29 million grossed by the re-release of The Lion King in 3D. The audience, according to Bob Berney of distributor FilmDistrict, was "primarily young male, though there was also a mix of older arthouse and genre fans." The film received a C- score from audiences sampled by market research firm CinemaScore, though Box Office Mojo notes "that's not entirely surprising for an ultra-violent arthouse movie." For comparison's sake, The Help received an A+ score, joining Soul Surfer as the only two movies this year to receive the highest score possible.
Is there any wider meaning to be gleaned from the underwhelming response? Are European filmmakers, like Nicolas Winding Refn, Joe Cornish (Attack the Block), and Edgar Wright (Scott Pilgrim vs. the World), making movies that are "too cool" -- or "European" -- for America?
Maybe. But it has nothing to do with nationality.
A few years ago, at the conclusion of an interview with a European director, I asked if he happened to know a fellow countryman / filmmaker. Filmmaker #2 had made a couple of very impressive films in his homeland reflecting a personal vision, but had recently gone to Hollywood and made a film within the studio system that seemed to be hopelessly compromised, based on a script that ultimately made no sense and a star turn that was flattering to the star but did not serve the material well. Shaking his head sadly, filmmaker #1 said about filmmaker #2: "He always wanted to work in Hollywood."
A couple of years later, I spoke with yet another director from Europe, who had made a fabulous first film on a tiny budget and had numerous other fleshed-out projects in mind that required bigger budgets. He met with Hollywood studio executives who professed excitement for the originality of his film, asked what he wanted to do next, listened politely, and then handed him a list. The list ran 18-20 pages, single-spaced, filled with properties -- novels, films, TV shows, scripts by other writers -- that the studio owned. They weren't interested in making one of his original scripts. Instead, they said: "You can make anything you want, as long as it's on the list."
My point in relating these stories is that originality is a tough sell in America, especially if you're seeking to reach as wide an audience as possible. That's not news, of course, to aspiring screenwriters, producers, and directors who are trying to secure financing for their original visions. I can't imagine that it's much easier outside of the U.S., though it's true that Drive was well into production before FilmDistrict acquired distribution rights, and Attack the Block was not acquired for U.S. distribution until sometime after its debut at SXSW.
We were probably all crazy for thinking (hoping? wishing?) that any of these films would cross over to the mainstream. Michael Mann's Thief, one of the stylistic godfathers of Drive, made about $11.5 million at the US box office in 1981, placing it below the top 50 earners for the year. Adjusting for inflation, that translates into about $32.9 million in today's market. So, while the opening weekend for Drive may accurately be described as "underwhelming," maybe it shouldn't be so surprising.
What really counts is that Drive is a stylish ride with a tiger for an engine and a wildcat at the wheel. The director brings an outsider's perspective to Los Angeles, not only geographically but also thematically and emotionally, which is what helps make the film so refreshing. Buoyed by terrific performances from Ryan Gosling and Albert Brooks, anchoring a strong cast, Drive is the kind of movie that only gets better with repeat viewings. It will live onward, long past remembering its box office returns.
As Herculean an effort as it is to make an original film these days, the journey to the box office can still meet with this kind of "underwhelming" response. There's no accounting for taste, and, while it doesn't really surprise me anymore, very often the cinematic taste of the mass U.S. audience leaves me shaking my head sadly.
If only more people would try driving a different kind of car, they might find they prefer it to the same old, familiar gas-guzzler.