Ryan Gosling delivers the goods in sleek ‘Drive’

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Ryan Gosling’s in the driver’s seat. Literally and figuratively.

Following last year’s emotionally wrenching “Blue Valentine,” in which he played a desperate young husband, Gosling stole this summer’s “Crazy, Stupid, Love” with his deft portrayal of a hilariously preening professional bachelor.

Next month, he shares star billing with George Clooney in the dirty-politics thriller “The Ides of March.”

For now, however, Gosling’s got the spotlight to himself in “Drive,” playing a contemporary version of that hallowed cinematic figure, the good bad man.

From silent cowboy star William S. Hart to Clint Eastwood’s laconic Man With No Name, this hombre’s always ridden alone. He doesn’t always obey the law, but he always follows his own personal code.

And when someone helpless truly needs his help, he can’t say no. Not even if, and when, it means putting his own life on the line.

We’ve met this loner countless times before, not only in vintage Westerns, but in thrillers of various stripes — including the arty, retro vibe Danish director Nicholas Winding Refn (“Pusher,” “Bronson”) brings to “Drive.”

It’s set in contemporary Los Angeles (where else?), but don’t look for sun-dappled beaches or Sunset Strip dazzle. We’re cruising seedy film noir territory here.

And the aptly named Driver (Gosling) definitely knows the road.

A Hollywood stunt driver by day, able to execute any high-stakes maneuver with piece-of-cake cool, Driver’s got an alternate, after-hours identity: getaway driver for hire.

Ask him no questions and tell him no lies; he’s not interested in whatever you might have to say. But for a price, he’ll help you outrun the cops and depart for parts unknown with whatever you stole.

It’s a tidy, emotionless existence — and it keeps Driver in the only place he feels at home, in the driver’s seat.

He’s so good behind the wheel that his manager Shannon (“Breaking Bad’s” Bryan Cranston), the solitary Driver’s main point of contact with the rest of the world, is trying to set him up on the racing circuit.

Unfortunately, Shannon doesn’t have the cash to do that by himself. So he appeals to two guys who do: sleazy gangster Nino (Ron Perlman), who runs a faceless strip-mall pizza joint, and the slightly smoother, if no less sinister, Bernie Rose (Albert Brooks), who used to produce sex-drenched action movies.

But why make action movies when you can star in your own?

That’s a question Driver confronts almost as soon as he encounters his apartment neighbor Irene (Carey Mulligan) and her adorable young son Benicio (Kaden Leos ).

Irene might be the only one able to thaw Driver’s existential chill. If only she weren’t already married to Benicio’s father, Standard (Oscar Isaac), who’s coming home from prison — but still has unfinished business, in the form of a pawnshop heist, that must be finished before he can walk away from his criminal past.

Naturally, that puts Irene and Benicio in danger. And just as naturally, Driver feels compelled to help out — even if it’s against his better judgment. Which it should be — because, inevitably, nothing is as it seems.

All of this is nothing we haven’t seen before, numerous times, but “Drive” shakes up the old cocktail mix and spikes it with stylized, self-aware aplomb.

Adapting James Sallis’ novel, screenwriter Hossein Amini (whose credits include such highbrow literary adaptations as “Wings of the Dove”) confronts a crucial characterization problem: Driver’s essentially enigmatic background and motivations.

We can’t know too much more than what we observe — because it might interfere with our ability to identify with Driver and his actions. By keeping Driver true to his code, however, Amini sidesteps that little problem, smoothly placing him in contrasting contexts (the appealing warmth of Irene and Benicio’s orbit vs. the seedy criminal territory Shannon, Bernie and Rico inhabit) to reveal his ability to blend into either setting.

By downplaying Driver’s day job as a stuntman, “Drive” misses a tantalizing opportunity to explore Hollywood’s golden-gloss facade. But that would only make the movie even more self-conscious than it already is — which is plenty.

That doesn’t necessarily make it a bad thing. (Clearly, the jury at this year’s Cannes film festival didn’t think so, they awarded Refn their best director prize for “Drive.”)

Reportedly an exploitation-movie fanatic in the Quentin Tarantino mold, Refn stuffs (and occasionally overstuffs) “Drive” with visual, musical and thematic references to several cinematic predecessors, among them “The Driver,” “To Live and Die in L.A.” and “Bullitt.”

Fortunately, Refn’s visual style leans toward the spare and sleek — and he’s obviously not a graduate of the Cuisinart School of Cinema, which substitutes slice-and-dice cross-cutting for crisp, precise visual storytelling.

“Drive” also differs from most high-octane action workouts in the quality, and variety, of its actors, who provide vivid portraits, notably Cranston’s eager but way-over-his-head Shannon and Mulligan’s winsome variation on the traditional femme fatale role.

Among the supporting players, however, it’s Brooks — cast against type as a deceptively affable conniver — who delivers the goods.

Not that there’s any doubt about who really owns “Drive,” though.

In a role that echoes such world-weary men of action as Steve McQueen (or, for you French New Wave fans, “Le Samourai’s” icy Alain Delon), Gosling delivers big time, dancing along the knife edge between stoic restraint and flashy swagger smugness without ever losing his balance — or his cool.

Contact reporter Carol Cling at ccling@reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0272.