Mrk Nchls.

To combat my growing indifference, I imagined Louis C.K. cast in place of Ryan Gosling, a middle-aged man who’s terrified of everything, confused by the plot holes, wondering why Albert Brooks won’t just take the million dollars and leave him alone — I mean, he keeps trying to give them the money, and they keep trying to kill him for the money. It’s nonsense. Louis C.K. would’ve acknowledged this; he would’ve called Albert Brooks and said, “Look, just take the money and leave me alone. I mean, if you’re going to try and kill me even if I give you the money — and why would you risk that after I killed like five people — I’ll just dump it all off the balcony of a football stadium while yelling ‘Make it rain!’ because f–k you, man.” Casting Louis C.K. would also lend the romance a more poignant tragic quality because, of course, Carrie Mulligan would have no attraction to a middle-aged comedian who spends ten minutes describing his balls. After all, I don’t think there’s anything particularly surprising or interesting about two attractive people hooking up, although if you can place yourself vicariously in the position of either Carrie Mulligan or Ryan Gosling, which I can’t, I’m sure it’s comforting in a fluffy sugar-sweet way like a bowl of warm marshmallows on a cold night.

—Thought Catalog - Drive Would Be Better With A Fat Ryan Gosling